HOUSE RULES AND HOW TO BREAK THEM
1218 Words
The Veyra mansion didn’t feel like a home. It felt like a cage made of glass and money.
Rodrick didn’t speak to her on the drive. He just sat there, suit jacket gone, white shirt open at the collar. The city lights of Bamenda flickered across his jaw, and every time she looked, his eyes were already on her.
They stopped at iron gates that opened without a sound. Guards in black nodded and looked away.
“House rules,” Rodrick said the second the SUV stopped. He got out and didn’t offer his hand. “You’ll learn them tonight.”
Mandy stepped out herself. “I don’t take orders from men who buy wives.”
He didn’t argue. He just walked.
Inside, the mansion was all cold marble and fire. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed the city below, but no one could see in. Perfect for hiding. Perfect for secrets.
A woman in a gray uniform appeared. “Sir. Your room is ready. Miss Margason’s is—”
“She’s not a guest,” Rodrick cut in. “East wing. My floor.”
The woman blinked. “Sir, the east wing only has—”
“One bed,” he finished. His eyes locked on Mandy’s. “Rule number one.”
Mandy’s stomach dropped. “Excuse me?”
Rodrick finally looked at the housekeeper. “That’s all, Elise.”
Elise vanished fast. Smart woman.
Mandy crossed her arms. “I’m not sleeping in your room.”
“Rule number two,” he said, starting up the stairs. Two at a time. No hesitation. “Don’t say no to me in my house. Say it with your mouth, and I’ll hear it in your body.”
She followed because staying downstairs alone felt worse. That pissed her off more.
The east wing was quiet. Dark wood. Black sheets. One massive bed in the center like a statement. No second room. No couch.
“House rules,” Rodrick said, closing the door behind them. The sound was final. “One: You eat with me. Two: You go where I go. Three: You don’t touch anyone else. Four: You don’t leave this house without me.”
“Five,” Mandy snapped. “You don’t touch me.”
He turned slow. Suit gone. Tie gone. Shirt half-unbuttoned. And when he pulled it off, the air in the room changed.
He was shirtless.
Not gym-model fake. This was real. Scars across his ribs. A tattoo low on his hip she couldn’t see fully. Muscle that looked like it was built breaking things and carrying weight.
Mandy’s mouth went dry. “Put. A shirt. On.”
Rodrick didn’t move. “Rule number six,” he said quietly. “In this house, we don’t lie.”
“I’m not—”
“You’re staring.” He took a step. Then another. “That’s not hate, Mandy.”
“It is.” But her voice came out too soft.
He stopped a foot away. Close enough that she could feel the heat off his skin. Close enough that she could count his breaths. “Rule number seven,” he murmured. “When you want something, you take it. Or you tell me, and I’ll take it for you.”
Her heart was pounding so loud she was sure he could hear it. “There is no rule that says I have to want you.”
“No,” he agreed. His gaze dropped to her lips, then back up. Slow. “But there’s also no rule saying I can’t make you.”
The word _make_ did something stupid to her pulse.
She stepped back. Hit the bedpost. “You think because my father signed a paper, I’m going to just—”
“What?” He tilted his head. “Submit? Beg? Come apart under me?”
“Stop.”
“Why?” He was close again. Bare chest to her clothed one. She could feel him without touching. “Because it turns you on to say no?”
Mandy shoved at his chest. He didn’t budge. His skin was hot. Solid. Her hands stayed there a second too long.
“You’re an asshole,” she said.
“You’re trembling,” he replied.
“I’m angry.”
“Liar.”
She hated that he was right.
Rodrick’s hand came up, slow, giving her time to move. She didn’t. His fingers brushed her jaw, thumb under her chin, tilting her face up. Not rough. Not yet. Just possession.
“House rule number eight,” he said, voice rough now. “In my bed, you tell the truth.”
“I—”
“What do you want, Mandy?”
She should say _nothing_. Should say _for you to go to hell_.
Instead her eyes fell to his mouth.
He saw it. She knew he saw it.
“Good girl,” he breathed.
And then he kissed her.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t asking. It was teeth and heat and the taste of something dark and expensive. His hand fisted in her hair, not gentle, holding her still while his mouth took hers like he’d been waiting years for it.
Mandy’s hands came up to push him away.
Ended up gripping his shoulders instead.
Because he was hot. Because he was hard everywhere. Because the second his tongue touched hers, something in her snapped.
She kissed him back.
For half a second, he stilled. Like he didn’t expect it. Then he groaned, low, and backed her into the bed.
They didn’t fall. They crashed.
His weight came over her, bare chest to her, and it was too much and not enough. His mouth left hers to drag down her throat, and she arched into it before she could stop herself.
“Rodrick—”
“Say my name again,” he ordered against her skin. “Like that.”
“Stop,” she said, but it came out broken.
He lifted his head. His eyes were black. Wild. “You want me to stop?”
Yes.
No.
She couldn’t speak.
He read her silence and cursed under his breath. “House rule number nine,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers. “I don’t take what you don’t give.”
Then he rolled off her. Sat on the edge of the bed. Back to her. Shoulders tight.
The cold hit her all at once.
Mandy sat up slow, lips swollen, hair a mess. Her shirt was twisted. Her chest was heaving.
He didn’t look at her. “Floor’s there,” he said, nodding. “Or the bed. Your choice.”
“You’re not going to—”
“No.” He finally glanced over his shoulder. And god, he looked wrecked. “Because rule number ten is mine. I don’t break a woman to win her.”
He stood. Grabbed a shirt from a drawer. Didn’t put it on. Just held it.
“Sleep,” he said. “Or don’t. But you’re safe here. With me.”
He went to the window. Stared out. Shirtless. Distant.
Mandy lay down on the far edge of the bed. Stared at the ceiling. Her body was still humming. Her lips still burned.
House rules. Ten of them.
And she’d already broken the most important one.
She wanted him.
*[End Chapter 3]*
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