Savage Little Games: Chapter 4

It took longer than I anticipated, but now I’ve got the pretty little blonde right where I want her, and I refuse to let her go.

She looks good wandering around my penthouse as Eli gives her a tour. I bet she’ll look even better in my bed tonight. Not that she knows that’s where she’ll be sleeping yet.

Maybe it makes me a bastard to have used her boyfriend’s life to twist her arm, but I don’t ever throw away money without getting something in return. I’d be a shitty businessman if I did, and a dead gangster.

While Vanessa is insistent about turning me down, I’ve seen the way she looks at me. I’ve been inside women who have spent less time staring at my face and body than when Vanessa takes my drink order. She wants me, even if she hates me for some goddamn reason. I do plan to get to the bottom of that. Although, after a few orgasms I’m sure even she will forget why.

I know I’m an attractive man, that it’s not just the money and power that draw women to me. Even if I’m not Vanessa’s type, she would have to admit that I’m better looking than that hippie boyfriend of hers. Ex-boyfriend now hopefully. She would be an idiot to go back to that piece of shit who let men beat her because of his bad decisions.

“So, that should be pretty much everything you’ll need,” Eli says as he leads Vanessa back to where I’m still waiting in the foyer. “Don’t go on the third floor unless you’re invited.”

“Invited?” Vanessa repeats as she looks to me. “Is there like a VIP club up there or something?”

“It’s where—”

“Something like that,” I interrupt before Eli can blurt out my personal business to her.

And really, I should’ve thought about how my girls would react to this situation before now. They probably aren’t going to be happy about me having a live-in female guest. I’m sure Vanessa can handle them, but there’s no reason to start a cat fight before I have a chance to spend at least one night with her. They can meet tomorrow at dinner if she hasn’t bolted yet.

The next twenty-four hours is when I’ll test our boundaries, see how much she’ll put up with, how far I can push her under the “not refusing any of my demands” part of the agreement.

“You gonna take it from here, Dante?” Eli asks when we continue to stand around in the foyer.

“Yes. You’re dismissed,” I tell him. “Just don’t wander off too far.”

He nods and flashes me a grin on his way to his room. He also knows that Vanessa is a flight risk and that being unable to trust her will drive me fucking crazy. That and her constant rejection.

Why the hell does she hate me?

Her asshole boyfriend has been cheating on her and is the reason she was beaten, yet she didn’t hate him enough to let me kill him. That may be the one life I’m grateful I didn’t have to take because it would’ve meant losing this chance to be with her.

“Your room is down that hall.” I point to the hallway on the left side of the open room where Eli just disappeared. Better late than never, I ask, “You don’t have a fear of heights, do you?”

“No, I’m not afraid to be up this high.” Vanessa takes a deep breath and then heads down the hall with me right behind her. “And I’ll even admit that the view is amazing,” she adds.

“Then you’re going to love the floor to ceiling windows in the bedroom. Last room on the right. Eli’s is on the left if you need anything.”

I wait impatiently for her initial reaction to the spacious room that I’ve never shared with anyone.

“Holy shit,” she says as she tips her head back up at the ceiling that’s two stories tall, all glass and only sheer gray curtains hanging from the top but currently pushed back. The silver bed frame matches the wardrobe, and the navy bench at the foot of the bed accentuates the navy bedding. That’s the only furniture I wanted in here because I didn’t want to block the view. There’s also a private balcony that’s just mine with a chaise lounge. Now I’m wishing there were two for when Vanessa wants to sit out there with me. Because she want to one day.

Seeing her standing in my dim, masculine room feels about as frustrating as trying to catch a lone firefly on a pitch-black night. She’s tiny, delicate, alluring, and always fucking evasive. At least for now…

“Is this really where I’ll be sleeping tonight?” she asks over her shoulder still taking in the glow from the lights of the Vegas strip now that the sun has set.

“Yes, you’ll be sleeping in here tonight and every night…with me.”

“Oh my god.” Vanessa spins on her heel to glare at me. Her cheeks are rosy red again, just like they were on the elevator when I was considering sexual positions and logistics for us. I like to stay one step ahead, always prepared. “This is your bedroom? You expect me to sleep in here, with you?”

“Of course.”

“There’s no way I’m—”

I take a step toward her and clear my throat to interrupt her rant while keeping my hands in my pockets. They’re not allowed to touch her yet, and it’s really fucking frustrating. I’ll have to work around the rules to manage some sort of contact before I go crazy. “Careful what words you say next, butterfly.” She really should’ve gotten firefly tattoos instead, even if they’re not as beautiful. “You sleep in this room, bed, with me every night. But don’t worry. I won’t touch you until you ask me to.”

“If.

I ask you to. And I won’t.” She glances down at the floor. “No carpet, either, which means the marble floor would be miserable.”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor or on the bench,” I add when her eyes dart to the long, soft velvet cushion. “End of discussion.”

Vanessa squeezes her eyes shut and breathes deeply with her fists clenched by her sides as if reminding herself that I can still slice open Mitchell’s throat. When those sparkling emeralds open again, she looks right at me to grit out, “Could I please have something to sleep in?”

“Help yourself. The closet is through the bathroom. Wardrobe is right there. I need a shower.”

“That’s it? You don’t mind if I search through all your things?”

“What exactly do you expect to find besides clothing?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs and licks her lips. “Money? Guns? Bloody knives? Other various torture devices?”

“Other than the gun I keep on me during the day,” I reply while pulling the 9 mm out of the shoulder holster to show her, “the rest of my weapons, torture devices, and cash are locked up behind the safe built into my closet.”

“Do you sleep with your gun?”

That’s an odd ass question.

Does sleep with a fucking gun? Is she that scared after those goons hurt her? I’ll have to have Eli ask the guys who go pack her things tomorrow. And also see where we’re at on bringing the Russian fuckers who touched her in so I can repay the favor.

“No, I don’t sleep with a gun. The only people who could get through the casino’s security and my own personal guards to attack me in my sleep are people I trust. And now you. Do I need to point out our size and weight difference if you were to try and kill me?”

“I’m well aware that you’re a big, tough man.”

“Exactly.” She doesn’t sound very impressed, so I shrug off my suit jacket and toss it on the bench, flaunting what’s underneath. At six-five, it took years for me to fill out. Several more years of lifting weights before I bulked up and could handle myself in a fight. I’m up at seven a.m. every morning to run five miles on the treadmill and work out in my personal gym with a rotation of trainers from every type of martial arts.

Vanessa’s eyes follow me as I make my way to the bathroom, my fingers unbuttoning my shirt. “Get comfortable while I take a shower.”

“You’re just gonna…” she trails off when I toss my shirt on the floor and pull the white undershirt up over my head.

“Am I just gonna what?” I try not to look smug when her eyes glaze over as she takes in my hard-earned six-pack, the ink covering both arms and spanning across my chest as angel wings. Hell, my biceps may be thicker than her entire waist. Petite as she is, I do love her hourglass figure. The black dresses she wears to serve cocktails are snug enough to hug every curve as tight as possible while barely allowing her to breathe. My father had a Dolly Parton obsession. I think I get it now. Vanessa, thankfully, doesn’t look like she’s about to topple over, though. I’ve got big ass hands, but I bet her breasts would fill them perfectly.

“Am I just going to what, butterfly?” I ask again to get her attention.

Vanessa shakes her head and glances away from me, drifting over to the windows. “You’re just gonna throw your clothes all over the floor?”

I empty my pockets, leaving my wallet and phone on the bathroom counter to work on my belt buckle. “I pay people to pick up my clothes and clean them.”

“Of course you do,” she says as she keeps her head turned away. She even tries to cross her arms over her chest like she doesn’t know what to do with her hands but winces and drops them to her sides because of the fucking bruises.

Until she’s all healed up, I won’t even try to convince her to give in to me. Because when I have her, it’s not going to be a gentle fuck. When it finally does happen, I predict that we’ll both be good and angry. Need it nice and rough. And it’ll probably be over way too fast.