Chapter Nine : A Sort of Proposal
1301 Words
ANA'S POV
For a moment neither of us spoke and I observed Lohan quietly, watching how he stood like a predator; his large frame towering over me. The white robe on his body hung loose, revealing the thick line of dark hair across his chest. His eyes were red, not just from alcohol, but from something deeper, as though he had been badly starved.
“My doll,” he repeated slowly.
I forced a smile, “Good evening, Mr. Pierre.”
His mouth curved and a frown followed, “You still call me that.”
“What?”
“Mr. Pierre.” He tilted his head. “After everything we've done.”
My fingers tightened around my purse and I clasped my hands together, “That’s how this works,” I said lightly.
He laughed under his breath, amusement written all over him, “You always liked pretending it was all business.”
I walked deeper into the suite, my heels clicking softly against the polished floor. The air smelled like wine and something darker...whiskey perhaps, Lohan liked to drink too much.
I sighted two glasses close to him, one was half empty and the other filled to the brim. He continued to watch me, a smirk curling at his lips, curiosity taking the better part of him.
“It's been a while," he peered at me.
I picked up the untouched glass with a bit of style, "Did you miss me?"
"What do you think?" His eyes went cold and he swept them over my body, leaving me feeling very vulnerable.
“You have many girls.”
“None of them are like you," he muttered, his eyes settling on my cleavage. He must have undressed me with his eyes with the way he licked his lips.
I took a slow sip of the wine and smirked, “Is that a compliment?"
“It isn't.”
When he stepped closer, I felt the shift in the air immediately. He traced my lips with a single finger and stood behind me, wrapping his arms across my breasts.
“You look different tonight,” he murmured.
The orange fabric clung to my skin like fire. I had rubbed oil over my shoulders and legs earlier, and under the warm light my skin glowed. Staring at the mirror before us, I noticed how hot I was and he did too.
I broke off him and leaned against the edge of the table. “Let us have fun.”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead he reached for the wine bottle and refilled my glass.
“Sit.” It was a command.
“I prefer standing.” I argued. He always made me uncomfortable but tonight was different; he looked at me like I was his little toy.
His eyes darkened slightly and I saw possessive hunger in them, “Still stubborn.”
Silence hung in the room and I gulped down the drink to ease the tension; he kept looking at me. Then he said something that made the air in the room tighten, “I want you to leave the agency.”
“What?” A tiny laugh escaped from me.
“You heard me.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
I searched his face and when I saw the seriousness, I brushed it aside, “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I can.”
“No,” I said calmly. “You can’t.”
He took another slow step toward me and pulled my chin,“I want you for myself.”
My heartbeat stuttered, “That’s not how this works. I work with agency, I say how much, I say how many men and I say when. You can't provide that. What you need is a wife."
“I don’t want a wife.” His voice dropped low. “I want you in my bed, in my house, with me when I travel for business. I want to see your face every day and hold your body at night."
I laughed again, but there was no humor in it. Lohan wanted to live his fantasy through me; he wanted a wife but without the tag.
“I’m not anyone’s property.”
He moved suddenly and caught my wrist firmly.
“You don’t understand something,” he said quietly. “They sell you.”
“That is my job description.”
“I don’t share.”
I pulled my hand free, “Well, that sounds like a personal problem.”
For a second his temper flashed but he regained his laughter almost immediately. He stood up abruptly, the sheer bulk of him blocking out the light from the city skyline behind him. He stepped into my space, his hand reaching out to grip my chin, forcing me to look up. “Don’t be ungrateful. I’ve spent enough on you over the last year to buy a fleet of those Porsches. I’m not asking. I’m telling you how it’s going to be.”
“Or what?” I challenged, my eyes narrowing. “You’ll stop calling? We both know you can’t help yourself.”
His grip tightened, his thumb pressing into my jawline. “Or I’ll make sure Leo knows you’re becoming… difficult. I can dry up your bookings with one phone call. You’ll be begging me for me by next month.”
The bullying ignited a cold fire in my chest. I reached up, my fingers grazing his wrist, not pulling away but leaning into the tension. “You want me that badly, Lohan? Then show me why I should choose you over every other man in this city.”
He grunted, his ego stroked by the challenge. He pulled me against him, his hands roaming hungrily over the silk of my orange dress. He didn't do gentle. He took everything he wanted with a frantic, desperate energy that spoke of a man who feared losing his grip on everything.
He spun me around, pressing me against the cool glass of the floor-to-ceiling window. Maxix ground spread out below us, a blur of neon lights, but my focus was entirely on the heat of his body against my back. He hiked the hem of my gown up, his rough palms scraping against my thighs, slick with the baby oil I’d applied earlier.
He was loud, demanding, and intense, his breath hot against the back of my neck as he whispered promises that sounded more like threats and that left me breathless and bruised, my fingers digging into the window ledge until my knuckles turned white.
Sex with him was raw and unapologetic; as though he wanted to break my spirit and make me submissive through sheer physical force, but I met his intensity with a fierce hunger of my own. I wasn't his property; I was his match.
When it was over, he collapsed onto the bed, gasping for air, his face flushed a deep, triumphant crimson. He reached for a cigar, looking at me as I straightened my dress in the mirror, my reflection a mess of tangled hair and smudged eyeliner.
- Writer
