Wicked Lovers: Forever Wicked Part 3

Of course not. And Jason was used to getting his way.

Gia stifled her guilt. "I'll talk to Mila tonight."

"Whatever she needs so she can manage without you for a few weeks, she'll get. Are we understood?"

The concept wasn't difficult. Jason had bought her until November twenty-fourth, and she'd let him. Though she'd chosen this path of her own free will, it made her feel dirty. "Yes."

He nodded at her. Then the conversation ceased, and he dug into his food. Gia stared at her salad. Her stomach roiled too much to take a bite. She picked at the greens and plucked at the grilled chicken, thinking about tomorrow night. How long would it take him to wholly own her body and heart again? An hour, or could she actually manage to hold out an entire night?

"You're not eating."

"I had a late lunch," she lied.

He set down his fork slowly. "Do you remember what I do to subs who aren't honest with me?"

o.r.g.a.s.m deprivation-hours and hours of it. Her s.e.x tightened. Heat crawled up her cheeks. Even on an olive-skinned Italian girl, the blush would be impossible to miss.

"I see that you do." Jason looked satisfied. "The sensual torture last time will seem minor compared to what I'll do tomorrow night if you don't tell me the truth now."

Gia gritted her teeth. Until tonight, they'd never even had an argument. She'd just willingly fallen under his spell and into his embrace. Trying to resist Jason now was as futile as it was arousing.

"All right, then. I was nervous when I walked in and now I'm sick to my stomach that I let you buy me, even for a few weeks."

With a cynical curl of his lips, he lifted his beer and toasted her. "Everyone has their price, Gia. I just found yours."

Chapter Three.

Gia tried to breathe through her nerves as she arrived at Jason's condo the next night. The mountain of lies she'd told her family still scalded her with shame. They wouldn't understand. Mila would tell her not to compromise herself. Her parents would be disappointed that she'd sold her morals and her body, even briefly. Her brother, if he'd been here, would have gone after Jason with c.o.c.ked fists and a loaded semiautomatic.

Fabricating excuses had been far better for everyone.

As she stepped off the gla.s.s elevator that gave her aerial views of the city stretching on forever, she crept into a foyer with a water feature cascading down a gla.s.s wall. His door stood to the left. Gripping her suitcase in her hand, she glanced at her phone. Three minutes until six. One hundred eighty seconds to decide how the h.e.l.l she was going to leave in eighteen days with her sanity and her heart intact. Of course, she'd had nearly twenty-four hours to ruminate on that problem. She'd come up with absolutely nothing.

Gia focused on his imposing black wood and wrought iron door, but couldn't make her feet move. Her belly clamped. Her heart stuttered. She tried to convince herself that she could handle this, but the mental pep talk wasn't working.

To her shock, the door opened suddenly, and Jason stood there in jeans, a long-sleeved jersey knit top in midnight blue, bare feet, and that triumphant hint of a smile she wanted to slap off his face.

"You're on time. Very good." He stepped back to admit her. As she entered with leaden legs, he glanced at her suitcase that had seen better days. "Is that all you brought?"

Had he expected her to bring her whole closet? "You gave me the impression I wasn't going to need many clothes."

"You won't." He shut the door behind her and took her bag. "I don't have many ground rules while you're here. Anything you see in the kitchen you want, take it. Don't leave the building without consulting me. I've got a heated pool on the deck outside our bedroom. There's a full gym downstairs. You're welcome to use either as you'd like. No work while you're here, especially on your brother's case. We'll discuss any family emergencies together as they arise. When we're sceneing, you will call me Mr. Denning. Is anything I've said confusing?"

"No." She supposed that since she hadn't seen or knelt for him in nearly a year, he no longer wanted her to call him Master. That was just fine. That slash of pain didn't mean a d.a.m.n thing.

To avoid staring at him, she eyed his personal s.p.a.ce. The expanse of a two-story wall of windows was unbroken by a drape or blind. Then again, why bother? Who could peek in on them this high up?

"Nice shoes." He glanced down at her dressiest T-strap black heels. "What three garments did you choose to wear with them?"

His high-handed att.i.tude made her feel like a piece of merchandise. Gia tried to keep a grip on her temper. Was he punishing her for the last year or was she seeing the real Jason Denning now that he had no reason to woo her?

"h.e.l.lo to you, too. My day was hectic. How about yours?"

"It dragged by while I counted the hours until I could f.u.c.k you again." He pulled his phone from his pocket and glanced at it. "I'm much happier now that my wait is over. And I don't want to hear the att.i.tude again. I've done nothing you haven't agreed to, so don't act as if I've insulted you."

Technically, he was right, and that rubbed Gia completely wrong. "Should I just drop all my clothes here, get to the floor, and spread my legs? Or will I make it up to the bedroom before you're all over me?"

Jason froze. "Do you need to reconsider your decision? The door is right behind you if you'd rather divorce now and forfeit the money."

So cold. Where was the firm but caring Dom she'd fallen for? If she was smart, she'd take him up on this reprieve and walk out the door. But she couldn't afford to. Besides, it wouldn't be the right thing to do. She'd hurt him, so now he meant to hurt her back. An eye for an eye.

"No. I'm staying until the twenty-fourth."

For a silent moment, he let her feel the weight of his anger. "Then act like it or we'll start talking about consequences."

Gia knew she shouldn't mouth off to him again, but she had to ask him one thing. "Would your parents be proud of you right now?"

He shifted his weight and seemed to ponder her question. The conclusion he reached apparently amused him. "My father would. He was an absolute b.a.s.t.a.r.d who ate other people for breakfast. My mother would expect it. In fact, just a few days ago she suggested that I take you in hand and be firmer in my expectations. I didn't listen to her much growing up, but I think she might be onto something now."

His answer horrified her, mostly because he appeared dead serious. Nor did he seem to think his behavior was appalling. Oh G.o.d... She wasn't just in over her head; he'd no doubt drown her before the night was through.

Jason had not only bought her body until their anniversary, he'd bought her soul. She'd sold it to him almost without a fight.

Gia closed her eyes in shame. "I'm wearing a sweater, a bra, and jeans."

"No panties?" he murmured in her ear as he set her suitcase down and began circling her like a shark. She heard the rustle of him around her, felt his body heat across her skin.

"None."

"I'm very pleased. Take everything off."

Her brows drew together as she tensed and tried to find her fort.i.tude. Would it be even harder when she had to spread her legs for him and allow him inside her, knowing he merely wanted revenge? Or would he, like before, overwhelm her with pleasure until she panted and begged? She didn't know which would hurt more.

Slipping out of her shoes, she stepped onto the textured wood. It was solid, comforting, kind of like the floor in her dad's den. Gia focused on that as she peeled her sweater over her head and dropped it to the ground. She tried not to think about what she was doing when she reached behind her and unhooked her bra. Not that the lace covered much, but as she removed what little protection it afforded, cold hit her nipples. They beaded. She refused to believe it had anything to do with Jason's blistering stare.

Slowly, Jason reached out and touched her. Gia started with a little gasp. His ghost of a smile haunted her when he ran his knuckles up the curve of her waist, to the swell of her breast, brushing over the sensitive bead. Against her will, a jolt of desire shivered through her system. Her breath hitched.

"Pretty. Soft," he whispered. "Now lose the jeans so I can see your p.u.s.s.y."

Gia dragged in a shuddering breath, her whole body tense. Why did she resent him and want him so much at the same time? What mystical control did he have over her body? Or did she simply respond because she'd always loved him?

Her fingers shook as she unsnapped her pants. The zipper fell with a subdued hiss. Then she fitted her hands on the waistband and pushed them down her hips. A year ago, they'd been tight. Since then, they'd gotten so big, they fell to her knees with the tiniest shove. She stepped out of them, leaving them piled on the wood beside her sweater.

Gia stood totally bare in front of him, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Jason took her chin in his grip. "You don't get to escape me by closing your eyes and pretending I'm someone else."

Lashes fluttering, she lifted her lids. "That's not... I wasn't even thinking of another man."

"So this is the sacrificial martyr routine. Perfect," he snapped. "Nothing makes a man feel more wanted than cringing."

Gia clenched her fists. "For the next eighteen days, you can tell me where to be, what to wear, where to sleep, how to kneel, and the way you want me to spread my legs. You do not get to tell me how to feel."

He hesitated, his stare taking her in. She wished she could see warmth in his blue eyes-something that made his strict care seem like the safety net it once had. Now it just felt like a blade he held at her throat.

Finally, he stepped back, reaching behind him to grab a fluffy white robe on a coat rack she hadn't noticed. It was too small for him, and it made Gia wonder if he kept it here for his overnight conquests. She tried not to weep at the thought as he slipped it over her shoulders and she rushed to belt it around her waist.

"Go upstairs," he demanded. "At the end of the hall, you'll find our bedroom and someone waiting for you. I'll be up soon."

Someone? He wasn't coming up to push her into bed right this second? Or had he arranged for another person to do his bondage dirty work first? She frowned.

Annoyance tightened his lips. "Problem?"

Whatever awaited her upstairs would allow her precious time to confront her feelings and get them under control. She'd been terrified out of her mind on the job once or twice. She'd buckled down, pushed through, and taken care of business. This required the same strategy.

"None."

Gia swept past him and headed up the stairs. Before they'd married, she would have taunted him with a kiss and a flirty smile. Now, she risked a peek at him over her shoulder and found him watching her, unblinking and resolved.

With a shiver, she raced to the master bedroom and got her first look at his personal s.p.a.ce. The soft lights of the recessed cans and the golden glow from a lamp on his nightstand illuminated the room, muting the view of the city. The big dark leather-tufted headboard dominated one wall and lorded over the king-sized bed, covered in white with accents of shimmering taupe. It looked like a sleek hotel room. Except for the two women who stood inside the s.p.a.ce, both gorgeous and impeccably groomed.

"Gia?" a blonde in her mid-thirties asked.

"Yes." Were they Jason's lovers? Did he want her to hear their bedroom tales or something?

"I'm Michaela." Her smile broadened, a friendly gesture that surprisingly set her at ease. Then she gestured to the woman beside her. "This is my a.s.sistant Stacia."

The very pet.i.te, exotic brunette bowed her head in welcome. "h.e.l.lo."

What was going on? "Nice to meet you."

"If you'll come with me into the bathroom, we'll get started on your hair," said Michaela.

Her hair? Jason wanted her tresses arranged in some fancy do before he tousled her in his big bed? Then again, this was his show. She was here to entertain him.

"Sure."

As they rounded the corner into the modern s.p.a.ce, she stopped short. A contemporary oval tub stood alone in the corner of the room on dark slate tile. Views of the city sparkled from the two walls of windows. A double vanity with hideously expensive marble carved out not only the counters but the sinks, all in severe angles. The piece took up half the length of one wall. A ma.s.sive shower ate up the rest. No curtain or gla.s.s part.i.tioned it off. The s.p.a.ce was designed to simply walk into, with shower heads to spray a body from every direction, as well as overhead.

In the middle of the large s.p.a.ce, Michaela had set up a big leather chair with an ottoman and waved Gia toward it. "Please sit here."

Getting her hair done wasn't exactly like being waterboarded. With a shrug, she eased into the seat.

Immediately, Michaela had her hands in Gia's tresses, fluffing and testing its texture. "Tell me what you'd like to do with your hair. I'd recommend a trim to clean up the ends. We can play with the color if you want. Your dark brown has gold tones. It's pretty, but I can add more warmth, frame your face with some highlights. We can also give you some depth with lowlights."

"He didn't give you specific instructions?" If he'd paid a pair of beauticians to come to his place, she figured that Jason would want to call the shots.

"Just to bring out your natural beauty and make you happy."

That puzzled the h.e.l.l out of Gia. She'd never been a girly-girl, and highlights would just mean maintenance later that she didn't need to deal with. Her plate was already full. But a free haircut was a free haircut.

"Just a trim, please."

Michaela didn't show her disappointment. "Of course. I'll condition it, too. Now that winter is coming, you'll need a little extra moisture."

Sure. Whatever.

Gia leaned back, lowering her head into one of Jason's sinks as Michaela wet her hair. Stacia approached her with several bottles of nail polish and asked her to pick one for her pedicure. Absently, she picked a peachy-bronze color and sighed as Michaela began to shampoo her. Gia knew she should relax and enjoy the pampering. She hadn't had any in the last year. Instead, the worry that the temporary nanny wouldn't remember to read Tony Jr. a bedtime story distracted her. And the hope that Jason would soon be in a better mood ran a close second.

An hour later, she stared at herself in the mirror, blinking in surprise. With a few snips of the scissors, the brandishing of a blow dryer, and some turns of a curling iron, Michaela had transformed her hair into something beautiful, full of body and shine. Stacia had finished her pedi, and now shaped and buffed her fingernails.

Afterward, she emerged from the bathroom. A baby-doll nightie in a blush color, trimmed with beige lace that would cup her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and flirt with her thighs, lay strewn across the bed. A very small thong accompanied it. A pair of new champagne-hued Louboutin stilettos sat on top of their box, their bows glittering, the red soles a bright warning.

"I'm supposed to put all this on?" she asked no one in particular.

"Not yet," Michaela answered, then turned to her a.s.sistant.

Gia caught sight of a pot of wax heating as Stacia set up what looked like a wide ma.s.sage table and covered it with a clean sheet. Her stomach dropped. Jason really meant everything he'd said. He intended to take her to bed. For that, he'd want her waxed. After all, why shouldn't he insist on his money's worth? Remembering how much she'd hurt him and how much she owed him, she eased onto the table, vowing not to give her husband any more of herself than her body.

Scrubbing a hand down his face, Jason paced his kitchen. The scents of the savory garlic-herb roasted chicken and vegetables blended with the delicious aroma of yeasty bread. He should be hungry by now. Starved, even. h.e.l.l, he couldn't notice a d.a.m.n thing but the clock ticking, his d.i.c.k aching, and that wretched pain only Gia could make him feel gouging his chest.

His wife had chosen money. He'd offered her the funds in desperation, never imagining that she'd take them. Rather, he'd clung to the hope that she had agreed to meet him at the Mexican restaurant because she wanted to resume their marriage. In truth, Jason had been worried that Gia had come to seek a divorce. He'd been prepared to talk fast to convince her otherwise. But never had he imagined that she'd actually take him up on his wretched offer and sell herself.

Apparently, she wasn't different from the rest, after all.

The only saving grace to this situation was that his mother had been gone when he'd returned home late Sunday. Not surprisingly, she'd taken the cash on his dresser. Later, she'd texted to say that she had found a new friend while consoling herself at Neiman's. Apparently, the man had invited her to dinner at The French Room. Jason hadn't seen Samantha since. Her new friend must be "entertaining" her. h.e.l.l, if the guy had enough money, he'd probably be husband number five.

Finally, the two beauticians he'd hired to take care of Gia's personal needs made their way down the stairs, implements all packaged up in their roller bags. He exchanged a few words with the quiet blonde, but didn't hear a lot beyond the fact that his wife was finished and waiting for him upstairs.

More eager than he wanted to be, Jason paid the women and tipped them amply before he tossed together a dinner tray, added a chilled bottle of wine, and headed up to find his bride.

His heart raced as he reached the closed door. "Gia?"

"Yes."

She didn't sound at all happy. He'd given her more than one opportunity to leave, but she'd taken the mercenary path. He refused to feel sorry for her.

Balancing everything in one hand, he turned the k.n.o.b and opened the door. As soon as he saw her, he nearly dropped the tray. She looked like his fantasies-only better. Her hair hung in loose waves. One of the women had done something that made her skin glow under the lights. Even her toenails shimmered. When he'd bought the miniscule sc.r.a.p of lace she now wore, he'd imagined how she would look in it and gotten hard as h.e.l.l. But seeing her in person? d.a.m.n. He could picture her spread out across his sheets, her gaze on him, her arms open as he ripped her thong away to expose her smooth, pouting p.u.s.s.y. The "f.u.c.k me" shoes made him want to do exactly that. Jason nearly growled with need. But he'd enjoy the s.e.x more if Gia felt half as eager as he did...and if she'd lie to him and say she loved him, like she used to.