So while I'm waiting for her to get back from meeting with mom and Mia, I dress to impress. Or rather undress. I pull on my ripped jeans, my playroom jeans as she calls them. I know they're her favorites and I know what they do to her. A snug-fitting black T-shirt completes the look I'm going for.
And I wait.
I know she'll have had a couple of drinks, so she'll already be less able to argue with me. Good. I have no intention of playing fair.
I sit at the piano and play Liszt's Mephisto Waltz. It's perfect: I'm feeling a little devilish.
Over the swirling notes I hear the elevator doors hiss open at last. I stop, mid note, and rise slowly from the piano stool.
"Good evening, Miss Steele."
"Hello, Christian," she says, a little breathlessly.
I smile at her, a gleam in my eye. Good! It's working.
I pace towards her, slowly, so she'll see my intent and know that I won't be denied.
"Christian..."
She backs away slowly, a rosy flush rising to her cheeks. My body responds and I grow hard immediately, my body craving contact with hers.
"Christian. No. We need to talk..."
"We can talk later, Miss Steele. Much later."
"Christian! You are not going to dazzle me with your sexpertise!"
"Are you sure about that?"
I halt, a bare millimeter from her, letting the heat from my body soak into hers.
"I'm not going to obey you," she says in a whisper that has a slight tremor to it.
I scowl.
"Why not? It's traditional. It's..."
"I'm not saying it," she says, more loudly this time.
And it's there again: that panic rushing through me. I can't let her see me like this. I turn on my heel, seeing the look of pain on her face.
I head to my study and collapse at my desk, my brain reeling.
