She swallows as a frown settles between her brows. Resignation follows.

  Her downshift is a kick to the solar plexus. I hate that I put that expression there.

  But I have a plan. I need to see it through.

  “You,” she finally murmurs.

  “That’s right. I want you on the bed. Flat. Legs spread.”

  A wariness I don’t precisely understand crosses her face. If she was ready and willing to jump on me mere moments ago, why is she hesitating now? Do the restraints scare her? Or do I?

  Finally, she collects herself and nods before crawling off my lap, chin held high. Then she climbs on the bed on all fours and rolls to her back, meeting my stare with challenge in her eyes. She settles her feet a few inches apart.

  That won’t do.

  But damn if she doesn’t look absolutely beautiful spread across this sumptuous bed all sleek and rosy-cheeked and ripe for fucking.

  Never taking my stare from her, I rise to my feet, standing tall, and slowly tear away my tie. My coat follows, then my half-buttoned shirt. I shrug it off my shoulders and stand over her, naked from the waist up.

  She might want me to think she’s ambivalent or even reluctant to be here. She might try to act as if she’s rebellious, hostile, or indifferent. But the way her hungry stare gnaws at me makes a liar out of her. So does her wet pussy.

  “What are you going to do?” she asks.

  Her voice still shakes…but I don’t think that trembling note is powered by fear now.

  “Whatever I want. It’s my forty million dollars.”

  The second the words are out of my mouth, Whitney stiffens. Shit, I fucked up. She might be a lot of things, but she isn’t a whore. She’d never do anything purely for money. The question is, did she come with me strictly to help Vance? Or because somewhere deep down she wanted to?

  That’s what I need to figure out. That will tell me how to proceed for the rest of the week.

  Her face closes up. “Don’t let the money fool you, Jett. You always did whatever you wanted, regardless of anyone else’s feelings.”

  That bullshit insult is an argument starter. She’s baiting me, and I refuse to fall into the trap. “I’m not here to talk, Whitney.”

  “You’re here to fuck me.” She spits the words like I ought to be ashamed of myself.

  “I am.” I have to know what’s left between us before I burn this bridge for good. “And I think you’re here to fuck me, too. Find out what you missed out on all those years ago.”

  She doesn’t answer right away. “Think what you want. You always do.”

  “I’m done talking.” In fact, I’m over this cat-and-mouse game altogether. She’s naked, spread across my bed, and open to me. Why are we even talking before I’ve stripped away her barriers? Once I’ve made her beg and plead for orgasm, then we’ll see what she really wants.

  I cup one of her ankles and reposition her leg toward the corner of the bed, then I bend to retrieve the cuff. She’s gasping when I buckle her in, sliding my fingers underneath to ensure she still has adequate blood flow.

  When I’m satisfied, I reach for her other foot.

  She jerks it out of my grasp, biting her lip, “Jett…”

  I shake my head. “You’ve heard the rumors about me. I’ve given you plenty of proof they’re true. So don’t act surprised. I won’t hurt you, but I want you completely open to me. You agreed to submit to my every whim this week. I’m waiting.”

  This is normally where I would give my partner a safe word, but Whitney would only use it to escape her mental discomfort. I won’t put her in physical peril enough to need to speak at all except a gasping, screaming plea.

  In fact, I look forward to it.

  “Do you understand?”

  “Yes…Sir.”

  “That’s right. Now give me your foot.” I hold out my hand. In the other, I’ve already gathered the cuff.

  Whitney stares at me. I sense her fear. And I smell her desire. She’s confused and she doesn’t understand her reaction.

  I simply smile.

  Slowly, she slides her free leg in my direction, then places her dainty instep in my palm.

  Without any haste at all, I buckle her in and step back. And I stare at the banquet of female spread out before me. My mouth waters.

  Since it’s wiser for me to keep my pants on—at least for now—I shuck my shoes, then crawl onto the bed, hovering over her. I study her delicate face.

  I remember when I thought I’d be the luckiest bastard in the world if I could just call her mine. It’s been eight years, two continents, and too many meaningless fucks later. Goddamn it if I don’t still think that having her, even just for the week, will make me a lucky bastard.

  Whitney looks nervous. “Are you leaving my hands free?”

  “For now.” Unless she gives me a reason not to.

  When she nods, it takes everything inside me not to give in to my urge to soothe and reassure her. Instead, I dip my head and take her mouth in a demanding kiss. Fuck if I don’t have the urge to stay at her soft, bee stung lips and feast. There’s something so delectable about them. The top bow tempts. The bottom pout lures. How can I not want her?

  But there’s more—a lot more—I haven’t touched in what seems like forever.

  “These breasts. Hmm…” The words slip out. I’m so busy staring at her swells and the dark nipples tipping them that I don’t even realize I’ve spoken.

  “I’ve changed since I was sixteen.”

  “For the better,” I murmur as I open my lips to her neck and taste her skin.

  She tips her head back and offers me her vulnerable throat. Absently wondering if she understands the unconscious trust she’s giving me, I skim my mouth down her flesh, kissing the pounding pulse point at her neck, tonguing the swells of her breasts, and nipping my way to her hard, tempting crests.

  I remember her being sensitive…but it was a long time ago, and I was the first man to touch them. Thankfully, when I catch one of her nipples between my thumb and finger and pull, her body tightens. Her breathing stutters.

  Fuck, she’s still incredibly responsive to my touch. I shouldn’t let that arouse me more, but I gorge on the visual feast of her arching and sucking in a sharp breath as sensation hits her. Need flares through me unchecked.

  Again, I pluck at her tender peak, gratified by the way she grips the bedding and stares up at me like she wants to control her body…and she can’t.

  “Do you want me to suck your nipples?”

  I pinch her hard tip again, rolling and thumbing it without mercy. She swallows and presses her lips together. “Do what you want. You’re going to anyway.”

  “Answer me.” When she doesn’t, I plant my knees on either side of her hips and take both nipples in my grip, manipulating them simultaneously. “I can do this all night, Whitney, until you’re willing to beg me for relief. If you force me to, how much mercy do you think I’ll have?”

  She tosses her head back and closes her eyes as if she’s trying to shove me out of her reality. But we both know I won’t let her.

  “None,” she pants.

  “That’s right. Last time I’ll ask. Do you want me to suck them?”

  “No matter what I say, you’ll undo me.”

  The crying catch in her voice flips more than my libido. “Yes, so you’re only prolonging the inevitable.”

  “I hate you.”

  That hurts, but I hate myself far more for not being able to fall out of love with her.

  Whitney is still pushing, testing. What is she after?

  “So you’ve said.” I tug and caress the tips. They harden more as she flushes and writhes in unconscious offering. “But that doesn’t change anything, so why not take what you want from me?”

  I release her and sit back on my heels, watching and waiting.

  Seconds later, her eyes flash open. They’re even more dilated than before. A little whimper escapes from her throat. Jesus, how long before I get inside her? How long before I feel—at least for a few precious minutes—like she’s mine?

  “Suck my nipples,” she finally gasps. “Hard.”

  “Please?” I taunt.

  She nods. “Please.”

  “Sir?”

  She sighs, then jolts when I pinch the sensitive tips again, this time with more bite. “Please suck my nipples hard, Sir.”

  “I know that wasn’t easy for you, so I’m inclined to comply. This time. But next time you want something, the begging will have to be much sweeter.”

  “You’re a bast—Oh!”

  Whitney stops berating me when I suck one of her sweet berry nipples past my lips and take it deep. I slide my tongue over the crest, swirl around it, nip gently, then draw it to the roof of my mouth and pull without mercy.

  The sounds she makes are both desperate and animal. When I release the tip into the waiting vise of my fingers, I capture the other orally, alternately soothing and torturing it, too.

  She squirms and twists, gasping and fisting the sheets. Unconsciously, she parts her knees wider like she burns for me alone. That sends my desire rocketing.

  Fuck, she’s going to my head.

  “Princess…” I murmur against her glistening nipple before switching back to the first and giving it another suckle and jerk. “More?”

  “Yes.”

  “Am I still a bastard?” I scrape the edge of her nipple with my teeth.

  Her gasp sharpens. “Yes.”

  “Do you want me to give you an orgasm?”

  Whitney’s eyes slide shut as she thrashes under me, her voice and neck straining. “Yes. Please.”

  “Sir?”

  “Yes, Sir.” Even through clenched teeth, she sounds breathy. “Please give me an orgasm.”

  “Better,” I praise, but I don’t make any move to grant her wish, just keep at her nipples.

  I’m enjoying my power over her, I confess. Not simply because I’m tormenting her—though that’s part of it—but because she’s so close to admitting she wants me, too.

  I’ve fucking fantasized about this more times than I can count.

  “Will you?” she pants.

  “Probably. Eventually.” I shrug. “We’ll see.”

  Her keening cry of demand is music to my ears. As I curl my tongue around her nipples again, one after the other, I let the agonized sound crawl into my brain and fill the space between my ears so I can replay it over and over.

  “Jett…” she whines. “Don’t do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Deny me.” She lifts herself enough to stare at me, eyes soft and pleading. “Deny us.”

  Her reply makes my heart stop. I feel my resolve wavering.

  I’m so close to stripping her bare. Not physically. Getting her naked was easy. But emotionally, in the way I need her most? Yes.

  God knows I’m ridiculously hard for her. But it’s more—far more. I’m fast coming to a fork in the road. What I choose next may dictate my entire future.

  Revenge or Whitney?

  She reaches for me, pressing her palm between my legs. I have to bite back a groan. But it gets ten times worse when she curls her fingers over my aching ridge.

  Why the hell didn’t I take my pants off?

  “Don’t play games,” she implores.

  “We’re already playing, princess.” Brow raised, I grab her wrist and tug it away. “Right now, I have the power. The more you insist, the less likely I am to give in to you.”

  “Because you’re vindictive?”

  If I’m being honest? Because I’m susceptible. Because the minute I hear her scream for me, I’ll probably rush to get inside her—heedless of the consequences—and meld myself with her. Because when she’s near me, I have to fight for every ounce of my control.

  Because I know if I don’t have my head screwed on straight, my brain won’t be the organ making my decisions.

  “Think what you want. I only care what you do. Put your hands on the mattress, palms flat. Now.”

  She scowls. “Who are you? Not the Jett I used to know.”

  It’s a valid question I’d rather avoid answering. “Ah, guilt. Sadly for you, it’s a trite, ineffective response. Surrender, Whitney.”

  “No.”

  “Then we’re both wasting our time. I’ll call Valentin. He’ll drive you home. Our deal will be null and void.” It takes Herculean effort to back off the bed and stare at her, naked, restrained, and aroused, knowing our lust—and probably more—is mutual.

  I can’t force her to give herself to me; I know that. Just like I know I’m probably wasting my time. But Whitney is the single biggest regret of my life. Giving up now is the last thing I want. She’s leaving me little choice.

  Because she’s moved on.

  Biting back a sigh of defeat, I turn away.

  “Wait.” She grapples to her knees and grabs my arms. “Don’t go.”

  As much as I’d like to sprawl her across the bed once more, urge her flat on her back, and tunnel inside her, I can’t—at least not yet. “Your pride has no place in our bed.”

  “And yours does?”

  “No.” If I want to keep her, I not only have to meet her halfway, I have to give her the kind of reassurance she needs. “If you haven’t figured it out, you’re here because I want you more than forty million dollars. You’re here because you haunt me. Because there hasn’t been a day gone by that I haven’t ached for you. Did you need to hear that?”

  She blinks as if my blunt honesty startles her. “Oh.”

  “And unless you’ve completely changed, I know you too well to believe you came here simply for the money.”

  “I didn’t.” Her whisper is so soft I can barely hear it.

  “Did you come to fight me?”

  She shakes her head. “I fight you because you terrify me.”

  That deflates what’s left of my righteous anger. “I said I’d never hurt you and I meant it.”

  “That’s not what I’m afraid of.” She lets out a trembling breath.

  Now I understand. Whether she likes it or not, she never purged me from her heart. “Be honest. Why did you come?”

  Whitney softly blushes. “I think you know.”

  I finally do. And I’m so fucking relieved.

  Fighting a smile, I climb on the bed again, forcing her to her back and hovering over her as she lies bare and vulnerable. “I won’t lie to you. I plan to exploit your feelings.”

  “I know.”

  And that’s why she’s terrified. But it’s a two-way street. Maybe she hasn’t figured that out yet, but I doubt it will take her long to realize that no matter how many years have passed, how far I’ve traveled, or how many hookups I’ve used to forget her—it was all futile.

  “I understand.”

  “And?”

  “Let’s try this again. Do you want me to kiss you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want me to touch you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want me to give you an orgasm?”

  An emphatic nod accompanies her response. “Yes.”

  “Are you going to surrender your body and will to me?” When she hesitates, I press. “Lie to me if you want. But don’t lie to yourself. If you don’t give in now, won’t you spend the rest of your life wondering what if?”

  Her eyes slide shut, as if she can’t quite face the answer. She looks like she’s fighting tears. “Yes.”

  Finally, she’s being really, truly honest.

  “Then offer me your mouth.”

  She closes her eyes, curls her arms around my neck, and lifts her face to me.

  I’ve waited nearly three thousand empty days—and nights—for this. If my life depended on resisting her invitation, I’d be utterly doomed.

  With a rush of breath, I bend and slant my mouth over hers, losing myself in the sweet spice of her kiss, in the whispered promise of what might be between us.

  When I finally back away long moments later, my heart pounds. My breaths are unsteady. “Good. Offer me your nipples.”

  It takes her a minute to puzzle out my meaning. Impatience nearly rubs me raw before she finally cups her breasts and lifts them to me.

  “That’s it. Who do those belong to?”

  “You.”

  “Yes.” I fall to my elbows like a man kneeling at the altar of her nipples and take a stiff one in my mouth again, sucking, laving, tasting, tonguing, and tugging until Whitney claws at me, urgent for more.

  With a final lingering lick, I back away from the hard, glossy crests. “Now offer me your pussy.”

  Her breath catches. She bites her lip as she meets my desperate stare—then flares her knees wider and raises her hips to me.

  Oh, thank god, yes.

  I can’t even pretend to be removed or restrained. I drag my lips down her body without any teasing or finesse, with one imperative in mind.

  To get her on my tongue.

  Quickly, I wriggle down until I wedge my shoulders between her spread legs and lie on my belly, inches away from the succulent nirvana. She’s swollen and rosy and pouting. When I part her with my thumbs and my gaze devours her most secret flesh, it’s as if I’ve opened a whole new world. Yes, I’ve seen a woman’s pussy before—lots of them. But this is the one I’ve craved for too many years.

  My nostrils flare. I bite back a groan of need at her hard red clit silently begging me.

  “Jett?”

  “Do you tingle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you ache?”

  “Yes. I want you so much I’m cramping and throbbing. Please…”

  If she’s switched tactics and decided to use my own weakness against me, she couldn’t have played her hand any better.

  “Fuck.” I grip her thighs and lift her to my hungry mouth, needing to worship her.

  It seems like I’ve waited millions of barren minutes, but I’m finally pressing my greedy mouth against her pussy and dragging my tongue through her folds. Then I suck in her clit, drawing on her, pulling and working her stiff bud until she moans.

  The second her spicy-sweet flavor coats my relentless tongue and registers in my brain, all my grand plans to toy with her half the night, then make her pant and scratch her way through a savage blow job before I ramp her up again—only to refuse her relief until she begs me to fuck her however I like—all fall away.