“They will if you’re doing that to me day in and day out,” I murmur, referring to the events from last night. He chuckles. The expression sends a warm vibration through my whole body.
“You could just give in right now.”
“Why not just sex? Why does it have to be complicated?”
He pushes me back gently, his hazel eyes burning into me. He lifts his head a little and his hair falls into his eyes. Automatically, I reach out and brush it back. He grabs my fingers and kisses them, one by one. “Because I want you to submit completely to me.”
“Maybe I’m not a very good submissive,” I murmur.
Cocking his head to one side, he gives me a funny look. His hair falls into his eyes again but this time I don’t bother pushing it back. He gives my bottom a little squeeze and raises me off of him. “I’ve gotta be at the studio by 10, so get dressed.”
Another order, but at least I won’t be stuck in this house all day answering Lucas’s fan mail. Yesterday had been a beast considering a good majority of his emails were frantic demands from fans about the chick he was filmed in the bar with.
Despite the tenderness of the last fifteen minutes, he’s grinning like the Cheshire cat. I grit my teeth into a sugary smile. “Right on it, Mr. Wolfe.”
“Your teeth,” he warns in a low grow, and I stop grinding them. Just as I reach the door, he says, in a voice that has dropped an octave, “That thing you said about not being a very good submissive?”
“Yes?”
“You will be.”
Lucas’s words play like a song on repeat as I get dressed. Since he didn’t specify what we’re doing after the studio, I opt for a vintage-looking polka dot dress. It’s cute and when I plucked it off the shelf a couple days ago, I instantly thought of Kylie. It’s definitely more her style than mine, so I snap a picture of myself in the bathroom mirror and send her a text. Then I dab on minimum make up and leave my long red hair loose.
Not because Lucas always tells me to wear my hair down.
Of course not.
While I wait for Lucas to call for me, I check my Facebook.
There’s a message from Tori. Okay, three messages from Tori. They all pretty much say the same thing—don’t have sex with Lucas—but the last one makes me laugh. She’s gone the extra mile and put her message into one of those eCards she sends me whenever Tomas is behaving badly at work. It’s a picture of some Edwardian woman being groped and the caption reads:
May your attempts at having sex with me result in a guitar being smashed over your head. Which head is open for debate . . . .
Shaking my head, I shoot her back a quick message: Be nice. Hope you’re being good. Miss you like crazy, you beautiful girl, and thanks again for listening to me yesterday. I move the mouse up to close out the page, but someone sends me an instant message. It’s Kylie.
Kylie Martin: Loved the dress! I see Lucas made you go shopping. He treating you well?
Me: Besides bossing me around and being hell-bent on making me his submissive?
Kylie Martin: . . . I could’ve lived without knowing half of that.
I snort. She had asked how her brother was treating me. Did she really think I’d hold anything back considering she’s already fully aware of all his vices?
Kylie Martin: Look on the bright side—5 more days and I’ll be back, your job will be done, AND you’ll be able to give your grandmamma the deed to her place back. Easiest mega-chunk of change ever made, right?
No, wrong. Very, very wrong. How can anything be easy when being around Lucas makes my emotions feel like they’re in a game of extreme tug of war? Was Lucas always so dominating or did it happen once he became famous? Was there ever a point in his life where he wasn’t so dynamic? Regardless, I know one thing: Gram is the only person I would put myself out there like this for—I wouldn’t have even agreed to this arrangement to save my own place because of all the physical and emotional turmoil involved.
And we’ve got five days left.
Me: Yeah, real simple.
Kylie Martin: Got to run. Tell Lucas I said be nice to you—well, as nice as he’s capable of. Text me or call if you need anything! <3
She logs off before I can ask her about Lucas’s obsession with being dominant over me, but even if I had asked her, I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t answer. Kylie seems to stay as far away from her brother’s kink as I do with my little brother’s . . . everything.
I curl my toes at the thought of Seth, at the thought of confronting him after yesterday. I clutch my phone, considering whether or not I should call him. I get three-digits in and end up dialing my grandmother instead. The voicemail box picks up.
“Hey Gram . . . haven’t talked to you in a few days. Just wanted to let you know that I’m thinking about you and that I love you. See you soon, okay?”
Staring down at the phone, I sigh. Then, there’s a knock at my door and Lucas yells, “Let’s go, Red.”
Because I’m feeling facetious, I return to the message Tori sent me of the eCard and email it to him.
†
Live rock is all dark lights and grit and sweaty bodies slicking against each other, but studio music is the total opposite. The Music Row studio is all ambient lighting and luxurious-technology. Lucas is the first of his band members to show. He tells the pretty blonde-haired assistant that we want to wait in a private room, and then she asks us if we’d like refreshments.
Lucas goes for a bottle of water and I order a Coke. From the way the size nothing assistant looks at me, I’m almost afraid she’s never heard of caloried-drinks, but then she nods and sashays off. I hate Lucas’s effect on other women just about as much as I hate the way he glances at her butt as she leaves. Reminds me of what a player he probably is.