I didn’t understand. From what he was saying, I would need to ask to be punished. Why would I do that? It didn’t make any sense.
But then, I remembered Madame Lorraine’s evaluation room, and how I’d fantasised that it was Alexander wielding the flogger that caressed my body. Did I want that to happen?
My cunt spasmed at the idea, and I groaned inwardly. My body was conspiring against me.
Chapter 13
Ellie / Jenny:
A discreet knock on the door jolted me out of his lap. ‘Room Service,’ I heard a voice call out, and Alexander grinned.
“Breakfast?” he asked me. “It’s late, but you should eat. We have a busy day ahead of us.”
I hastily donned one of the plush hotel dressing gowns. “What time is it?” The room didn’t seem to have a clock.
“Eleven,” he replied. “In about fifteen minutes, someone is going to come to help you with your wardrobe.” He eyed me with hooded eyes. “Pity,” he muttered. He leaned forward and claimed my lips, and I groaned and let him, even snaking my arms around him and pulling him closer. I wanted him. My lust should have been quenched by my orgasms, but it wasn’t. It wouldn’t be until I felt the weight of his body on mine, felt his skin slide against my own.
“Mm.” His eyes were amused as he surveyed me. “I like this version much better than the scared mouse.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” I responded dryly. One part of me, the girl who had been Dylan’s captive for two years was screaming at me to behave, to be quiet and good and compliant. But the braver, bolder part of me, the one Lucien had trained to be a killer, decided to take his comment at face value. He preferred that I not act like a frightened mouse? I could do that.
He was still laughing as he walked towards the door and let in the white-clad waiter wheeling in a tray of food.
***
I eyed him warily as I ate. He had watch me pleasure myself, but he hadn’t touched himself or ordered me to. He hadn’t fucked me, and I didn’t understand why. After all, he’d bought me for sex. I thought he’d have taken me well before this point.
“I think the impact of those orgasms lasted about ten minutes,” he noted pointedly. “You are frowning again. What’s the matter?”
“I’m wondering why you haven’t fucked me yet.”
He politely pushed a plate of scrambled eggs towards me. “Eat,” he advised, taking a sip of orange juice.
I ate a forkful, wondering if he was going to respond to my question. He grinned at me, a lazy smile that set my insides fluttering. I craved him and I needed him to crave me too. Then I registered something he said. “What wardrobe?”
He raised an eyebrow. “The clothing in your suitcase is completely unsuitable, Jenny. In Paris, we will go out. I can’t have you walking around in threadbare rags.”
I contemplated being angry with him about his dismissal of my clothes, then I shrugged it aside. It was true enough. My clothes would mark me instantly as an outsider in his rich, privileged world. One thing I’d learned as an assassin was the importance of blending in. “Thank you,” I replied instead, taking another bite of toast and closing my eyes briefly in appreciation. The stupid starvation diet I’d been on to look appealing enough for him had expressly forbidden bread. Toast had never tasted better.
“Interesting, I would have expected a protest.” His voice was thoughtful. “I’m going to enjoy getting to know you, Jenny.”
“Why?” I asked. “Why does it matter what I want? It doesn’t. Your needs are paramount.”
“Is that so?” His lips curled into a line of distaste. “Your last master was a dick, if you really believe that.”
“Oh, come on, Alexander,” I snapped, goaded. He had purchased me at an auction. I didn’t have the ability to sit in front of him and be wooed with room service and fine clothes and kind words. “You bought me for a million dollars. If you think that puts us on any kind of equal footing, you are sadly mistaken.” I breathed heavily. I’d almost lost my temper.
“I bought you for a million dollars.” He didn’t look perturbed by my outburst. “Although I prefer to think of it as helping someone who was obviously in need. I have enough of an appreciation about the meaning of family to understand your desperation.”
Ah, yes. My imaginary sister with her life-threatening leukemia.
“Do you just go around sprinkling your billions then at the less-fortunate mortals?” I was still angry. I jumped to my feet in agitated rage. Inside, the part of me that had endured Dylan screamed at me to shut the fuck up, but I wasn’t listening. I had enough of this sanctimonious bullshit, this nonsense about how my desires and limits mattered. I’d seen too much in Nigeria to ever believe that.
“You should calm down,” he said evenly. “Sit down and finish your meal.”