RAVAGED
Chapter 4
All black.
That’s what I ask Sienna
to wear when she meets me to start working early the next morning.
It’s a fucking
crazy request, but all I can imagine when I tell her what’s required of her is
the sight of her in nothing but black panties that hug that delectable ass. A tiny
scrap of black lace covering her tits. A black blindfold over those wide blue
eyes. I can see it all clearly in my head—so goddamn clear I write down my
first coherent lyrics in weeks that are one hundred percent inspired by her ass.
So clear that my dick is rock hard when I finally fall asleep and there’s not a
goddamn thing I can do about it because the only
relief is across town and a challenge.
But I have ten days now, I remind myself
when I wake up and my cock is still hard. And
there’s no challenge that takes that long.
At least I hope so
for the sake of my sanity, music, and dick.
For the first time
since fate sent her back into my life earlier this week, she actually listens
to something I’ve asked her to do. She shows up at my record exec’s house the
next morning dressed in all black. A prim sweater that covers up too much and
pants that are a little too loose for an ass made for worshiping. Hell, she
looks like something that belongs on the front page of a J. Crew circular—not on
the doorstep of a musician who wants a taste of everything she’s got to offer—but
I still can’t rip my eyes from her when she walks into the office behind my
lawyer. She’s got that hold on me. The kind where I’d think she was the sexiest
woman in the room, even if she were wearing a Hefty bag.
Spotting me behind
the desk, she bows her head and her red ponytail tumbles over one shoulder.
I’ve about had it
with her ponytails. So much that I wish I had written that in the contract she’s
about to sign: No fucking ponytails.
“It’s 8:10. You
agreed to be here at 8 am,” I say as she takes a few steps closer to the desk.
She lifts her eyes from the wood floor until they lock with mine, blue meets
hazel. Saint and sinner. And now, employee and boss. When she gives me an
excuse about her taxi being late, I release a noise that makes her flinch. “Do
you make excuses like this to Tomas Costa?”
The mention of her
boss’s name back in Los Angeles is enough to make her cringe again. When Kylie’d
researched her the other day, she discovered that Sienna’s worked as a wardrobe
assistant on the set of some teen paranormal soap opera for almost a year. I
personally don’t know Tomas, but my sister had heard of him. Said he was a real
dick—just like me.
But at the end of
the day, he’ll never pay Sienna anything near what I’m offering.
Her grandmother’s
house and myself.
I’m not going to
rest until she has both.
Sienna’s gaze
lowers to the center of the tee shirt I’d thrown on this morning, focusing on
the “Pink” in “Pink Floyd” for a long time while I remind her that I need her
on time. “Got it?” I bite out.
Her eyes fly back
to mine. “Yes …. Mr. Wolfe.”
Mr. Wolfe. Two
words and this girl has blood pumping to all the right places at the worst
fucking time. “Glad you understand,” I growl then glance at my attorney, Court.
“We’re ready to sign.”
Her skin burning
that delicious shade of pink, she turns her attention on Court as he rehashes
the terms and rules of our written agreement.
Sienna lives with
me for the next ten days.
She’ll carry a phone
and a tablet that I’ll provide for being on call at all times and taking
whatever notes are necessary. I’d picked up both yesterday, only a few hours
after she agreed to the arrangement, and it was the best trip to Best Buy I’ve
taken in my entire life. Hadn’t even bothered me when some woman stalked me
around the store, pinging between taking pictures and calling a friend to
whisper, “Yes, I’m sure it’s him!”
Sienna will wear all
black. She’s already done that today, but I’m almost guaranteeing that, as
defiant as she’s become over the last couple years, her panties are a different
color. White or pink, maybe. Or red.
My Adam’s apple
drops at the thought of her in skimpy red panties because the imagery of that
shade against her creamy skin is almost as enticing as black.
Whenever Court
says the words “rules” and “obey,” Sienna’s flush deepens and she’s bright red by
time he hands her his pen. “Where do I sign?” she asks in a husky voice.
He points to the
spot right above where I’m supposed to sign. “Right here, Miss Jensen.”
Her hand trembles
as she lowers the pen to the paper, and she manages to get most of her name
written, but then something makes her pause. And I’m not going to lie, my heart
drops right into my gut. She’s changed her mind. Shit, she’s just changed her
mind and I’m about to look like the biggest fucking idiot in front of Court
after giving him so much hell to get this handled and fast.
She looks up from
the page and darts her gaze between Court and me. “Is there something wrong
with the language in the—” he starts to ask, but she swishes her head from side
to side. Licks her lips.
And then she lets
us know she doesn’t want any of this to get back to Mrs. Previn, her
grandmother.
I bite down on my
tongue to hold back my relieved laugh. She isn’t backing out. She just doesn’t
want her grandma to know what she’s up to. To think she’s exchanging a good
fuck for the house, though I’m not too sure how she plans to explain getting it
back. It’s almost a given she’ll end up in my bed—it might not be tonight and
it might not even be this week, but by the end of this deal, I’ll have enjoyed
everything there is about Sienna Jensen’s perfect body. Still, just because I
want to possess her doesn’t mean she’s not going to work her ass off. With
recording, a quick trip to Atlanta, and a documentary crew following me around
for a few days, I’ve got a full schedule. Sienna’s going to be there with me
every step of the way, keeping me on track.
Like a real
assistant.
And if I were her,
that’s what I would tell her grandmother when she returns home with keys and a
deed.
It’s her decision,
though.
“I want your word
that nothing about this agreement will get back to my grandma,” Sienna repeats,
and she crosses her arms over her chest when I grin broadly.
Before Court can
squeeze out an explanation, I speak up. “Although Court is bound by attorney
and client privilege, I’ve gone ahead and had him sign another agreement.” And
when I had him sign his NDA, he had looked at me like there was a dick growing
out of my forehead. I trust Court, but I want to protect her more. I don’t like
the idea of anyone finding out that she’s doing this for a house. Don’t like
the idea of Sam ever knowing because I know my ex-wife and she will tear this
girl apart just to hurt me. And since I intend to have Sienna on my arm and in
my bed for much longer than ten days, I need to take every precaution
necessary, including making Court sign an agreement.
“Trust me,” I tell
her softly, “if he wants to keep his practice and all his cash cows, he fucking
knows better.”
She visibly
relaxes and nods her head. Murmurs that she appreciates it. Then, she makes my
fucking year when she bends over the page again and finishes scribbling her
name on all three copies.
While Court and I
sign, she wanders off to the couch on the other side of the room. Out of the
corner of my eye, I drink her in. The way she crosses her long legs demurely at
the ankles. The sliding of her hands over her fuzzy black sweater. The tug of
her bottom lip between her teeth. She’s worn some sort of glossy pink lipstick
today, and I’ve already decided that’ll be one of the first things I’ll ruin
the second she asks for more.
I’m going to enjoy
smearing that color everywhere and anywhere and hearing her cry out in pleasure
while I do it.
“I think this is
it,” Court huffs once he signs the final document. He hands me my copy but
leaves Sienna’s on the desk and doesn’t spare her another glance, probably
because I’ve scared the shit out of him by telling him I’d destroy his practice
if word gets out about what we’re doing here. He stutters out an excuse about a
client meeting—he told me this morning that the rest of his day was free—then
takes off, almost forgetting his briefcase. Not that I care if he leaves.
Because now, I’m
alone with her.
I lean against the
front of the desk, staring at her for so long that she starts to clench her
teeth. And when I clear my throat, she gasps, drawing her shoulders back until
they’re pressed against the couch cushion behind her and her chest is heaving.
“Looks like you’re
mine,” I finally say, and I watch her mouth the words, her full lips slowly
forming around each syllable. “For the next ten days, that is.”