Chapter 2
1512 Words
The silence in Dean's office was thick, heavy with unspoken tension between us too.
I watched him give orders. Starting from cleaning his office and disposing of the body of the thug he killed to making calls that deal with large sums of money, threatening some other gangs, and smoking.
Finally, he rose from where he sat. “Let’s go,” he said.
We walked out and he led me to his car. I had wanted to be that woman, maybe it was my time. With his sleek Bugatti, we drove to his house.
The courtyard was a scene straight out of a gangster movie. Men in dark suits, faces stoic, bowed as Dean passed. “Don D,” they murmured, their voices like whispers.
The inside of his mansion was just as lavish. Marble floors, chandeliers sparkling like a million stars and more rooms than I could count.
He walked down a hallway and I followed. One of the guards stopped me and Dean looked back, “Leave her be,” he ordered.
I knew I was doing too much. This guy can kill me. But I had leverage. I had something he really wanted so bad.
Dean led me to his room and it was another view. In it was the biggest bed I had ever seen. He turned to me and bit his lips.
“I have never been compelled to do anything for anybody but today. How much do you want? Just give me my child.”
His desperation was sweet music to my ears. I could see it in his eyes, the joy of having a child somewhere mixed with the fear of losing it, a child he hadn’t even been around for.
“Once I’m satisfied with you,” I said, letting the words hang in the air, “I’ll tell you where your child is.”
He looked at me and I saw the same look he had when he killed one of his thugs. Then, the look dissipated into a frown.
“Just don’t tell Ethan or anyone about this,” he pleaded. “I’m not the type that begs. But I am begging you. Don’t tell him.”
I nodded and my lips curled into a satisfied smile. I had heard the story. They both grew up in Summerville. And just as they were rivals back in the University, they remained rivals. None would bow for each other, none would shift for each other.
Dean turned away and removed his suit jacket. His movements were jerky, almost nervous. He was starting to unravel and I could see his soft spot.
He had always been a man of power from his young days, a man who controlled everything around him. But I had a power he couldn't control: the power of his child.
The moment he turned back to me, I saw the muscles of his chest and shoulders, the hard lines of his face, the familiar features that had captivated me in high school.
I wanted to touch him or have him touch me, but I couldn't just approach him. “I’m hungry,” I said in a low purr.
He seemed to hesitate, then said, "Go to the dining room, the maids have cooked."
I shook my head, the hunger I felt not for food, but for power. For his body. "No," I said, savoring the way he flinched at my defiance. “I want you to cook for me.”
"What? Wait, what?” he said in a sharp voice with a flicker of annoyance in his eyes.
“Yes,” I insisted, taking a step towards him. “I want you…to cook for me.”
He took a step back and his hands clenched into fists. I knew what I was doing. He was used to giving orders, not taking them.
“Listen,” he started, "I’m a Don. In the last five years, no one has used me the way you have done in the last few hours. So stop this s**t now!”
He was angry but all I could do was laugh. “Oh, I see. If you can’t take thisbshit, how can you father a child you didn’t see grow? I raised that child. I know the kind of requests he makes. If you can’t do this maybe I should just go to…”
“Ethan again…” he cut in. “Don’t mention that name here again. We were enemies in high school and we’re still rivals.”
I smiled as my eyes met his. “Are you scared that it might be…”
"What do you want to eat?" he snapped, interrupting me again. “Let’s go to the kitchen.”
Again I smiled as I followed him, enjoying the way he walked in front of me. He didn't want to take chances. He didn't want to think or decide. He wanted to keep the baby, regardless.
In the kitchen, it felt like the roles had reversed. He was the one who was controlled, the one who was following my every command.
“Get out,” I said to the maids and they scurried out. “I want omelets,” I said and he sprang to action immediately.
I watched him work, his movements were still and precise. As he mixed the Bisquick, I saw anger in his eyes.
He poured the omelets onto a plate and then looked at me. “Will you tell me now?”
“Not yet. Bring me the food to the dining,” I said as I turned to walk out of the kitchen.
“Wait. My thugs are out there. You want them to see me do this?” he asked.
“If you raised your child, won't you feed him if he wants to eat from your hands?” I responded.
He picked up the plate with his gaze fixed on me as he walked out.
“Y'all should get out,” I said to the thugs who stood as guard.
They hesitated.
“Do whatever she says,” he ordered and they scurried out too after saying…”Yes, boss!” The living room became empty. Just me and him.
He sat down across from me and didn't take his eyes away. I wondered what was on his mind. Kill me? Send me out after he got his child? I had no idea.
“That's what you want, eat,” he said.
“Feed me,” I said.
He hesitated and sighed. He lifted the morsel of omelet with a fork to my mouth and kept his eyes on me.
I opened my mouth, letting him feed me. The taste of the omelet was nothing compared to the thrill of having him serve me, of having him bend to my will.
I finished the omelet and then looked at him. He still had the predator eyeing its prey.
“I want to sleep in your bedroom,” I said. “And I want you to carry me.”
He didn't say a word, just stared at me, his face a mask of shock and confusion.
"Carry me,” I repeated, my voice firm.
He rose from the chair and sauntered to my spot. I reached out my arms, my eyes locked on his.
He picked me up, my body light in his arms. I felt the muscles of his arms tense, the heat of his body against mine.
He carried me to his bedroom and placed me on the bed. I had wanted to feel the texture of the bed. That wasn't alone, having him carry me in his hands was something I never thought I would achieve.
I watched him, my eyes locked on him. He was beautiful, a magnificent creature. And I began to see that his power and vulnerability are a dangerous combination.
He sat down on the bed, his face inches from mine. “Are you satisfied?” he asked. “Where is the baby?”
“Cuddle me,” I said in a purr, neglecting his question.
He sighed and lowered his head. “I’ll do anything you ask,” he said, his voice desperate. “I will make it up to you. Just don’t tell anybody about the baby. Whatever happens, I am the father, please.”
He was desperate and I was relishing it. This was my game, and I was winning. “I'm waiting. Cuddle the mother of your child.”
I said and closed my eyes. Slowly, he came close, drew me to himself, and wrapped his hands around my waist.
The heat of his masculine body radiated to me and I sniffed his cologne. I was about to delve into the thoughts of being his wife but that was not the game. The game was to make him suffer and so I could make a living out of it.
“I will break you,” I whispered. “I will make you love me. I will make you do anything to get your baby.”
- Writer
