Page 52 of When She Loves
Cleo scowls at me. “That’s really not necessa—”
I pull her chair toward me with one hand, lift her out of her seat, and deposit her onto my lap. She makes a strangled sound.
“Right here,” I drawl as I curl my hand over Cleo’s hip. My palm meets warm skin through the gaps in her dress. “Smile, darling.”
The waitress snaps a few quick photos and hands me the phone back before hurrying away.
“I’ll send them to you.”
Cleo scrambles off my lap. “I don’t want them,” she snaps.
Her phone buzzes on the table.
“Too late.”
She shoves her phone into the purse.
I raise my champagne glass to Cleo. She doesn’t reciprocate. Instead, she glowers at me. Her arms are crossed, pushing up her chest in the most alluring way.
I take a moment to admire her body. Her skin is like silk—luminous, soft, unblemished except for a smattering of freckles here and there. So fucking lovely.
So fuckingmine.
There’s a hint of muscle in her arms and shoulders, and since her dress is an abomination that covers nothing, I can see an outline of her abs.
They’ll flex beautifully when she’s on top of me, riding my cock.
My fingers tighten around the stem of my glass. “Anything wrong?” I ask.
“No,” she snaps.
I lean in closer, savoring her anger and frustration. She’s losing this game, and she knows it. “Tell me, what are you trying to accomplish with all this?”
She turns up her little nose. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t lie. The shopping spree. The dress.” I make a vague wave. “Is this the kind of thing that worked on your parents?”
When she doesn’t answer, I know I guessed right. “Your father is a weak man. When you acted out, he had to hide you away from the world. I don’t need to hide anything, Cleo. I can simply bend the world to my will.”
Her cheeks redden. “You’re way too full of yourself.”
“I’m only stating facts.” I take a sip of champagne. “If you tell me what you want, maybe I’ll give it to you.”
Her gaze narrows. “A divorce.”
“Anything that’s in the realm of possibility?”
“Can’t you just send me to live somewhere away from you?”
“What for?”
“So that I can be happy.”
“Why would that make you happy?”
“Because I can never be happy here with you. I’m your prisoner. I don’t have any freedom, and I don’t do well in captivity.”
“I don’t see how this is any different than what you had when you lived back home.”
