Opposition: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (NYC Doms), page 6
Liam
I want her and I hate that I do.
I fucking want her, and I shouldn’t.
She’s a damn brat, and way too young for me. Poorer than a church mouse and worst of all? She’s got kids she’s responsible for. Almost as bad as a single mom and that is fucking anathema to me. I don’t care who a woman is, how beautiful she is, how much I enjoy her… children are a hard limit.
A hard fucking limit.
Why am I even thinking about what I want to propose?
The elite women I socialize with don’t pose a challenge to me. The only challenge is who to pick. Cora, though… Cora is playing hard to get, and I doubt it’s even intentional.
After I told her my name, she closed her eyes and groaned, and I got my shit together. I released her and smoothed out my suit while she righted her hair and grumbled, though I didn’t miss the flush on her cheeks and chest, the wide, bright eyes and the way her pretty lips are slightly parted.
Christ, what I’d do with that mouth.
“You look oh so happy to be going out to eat with me,” she mutters, shaking her head and staring out the window. “Not super sure what your problem is.”
My problem is her, damn it.
I don’t do relationships with strings attached. Hell, the past half dozen relationships I had, we had contracts. There wasn’t anything beyond the bedroom involved. The exchange of power. Control.
I like what I want, and what I want is a woman who obeys me, who accompanies me to events, and who leaves with a cool sum of cash so there are no hard feelings when I’m ready to move on.
This is not good.
Not to mention the fact that she’s openly protesting the largest business deal I’ve had in well over a decade.
Christ, I’m a moron.
Everything in me says, run, and yet here I am, bringing her to the rooftop of Fiamatta because the girl needs a good fucking meal, and I love this place. It’s casual enough for what she’s wearing, and the rooftop gives us privacy because I already called in and reserved it.
“You’re the guy,” she says, her lips thinning when she pauses between words. “You’re the guy that wants to pave The Greenery.”
I shrug. “You make it sound like I want to skin live rabbits and sell their fur. I’m not that cruel, Ms. Myers. I’m a businessman. And I prefer not to discuss that at the moment.”
“No? You don’t make sense, though. You don’t know me at all and clearly don’t even like me. And yet here I am, in the back of your fancy-pants car, getting something to eat. I don’t know what it is you want from me.”
She will.
God, that mouth of hers.
It’s been too long since I’ve had a contract with a woman, and I haven’t had one with a kink virgin like her. What I could introduce her to. What I could show her…
“Tonight, I want dinner,” I tell her. “Now stop complaining for a damn minute, will you? Are you hungry or not?
“Starving,” she says, glaring.
I roll my eyes and huff out a breath. After one good night with her hands cuffed behind her back while sucking my cock, a jeweled plug in her ass, and her body striped good and well with a short-handled whip, I bet she’d find that mouth of hers doesn’t run so freely.
My cock hardens. God, do I want a chance to tame this wild girl. If only she didn’t get on my nerves so much.
“Then for the love of God, shut up and let’s get something to eat.”
“How charming. You tell all your dates to shut up?”
“No,” I mutter between clenched teeth. I give her a pointed look. “I typically gag them if they’re mouthy, after I give them a good spanking.”
It’s actually amusing how she opens her mouth then clamps it shut, her bright eyes wide.
“I—you—”
But we’ve pulled up to the curb and Manuel is opening the door. “They’re waiting for you, sir. Go right on up.”
We get out of the car, but before we enter the restaurant, I take her hand.
“A quick word with you before we go upstairs,” I tell her.
Pretty, angry eyes meet mine. “Yes, sir?” she parrots.
“Behave yourself. My reputation matters to me. I don’t allow people to speak to me the way you have, and if you do, I’ll put an end to it.’
Rolling her eyes, she asks, “Oh? What will you do, daddy? Spank me?” Oh, that lyrical little voice of hers wouldn’t sound so saucy if she was panting out a plea.
“Not yet,” I murmur. “A spanking on bare skin is far more effective, but I don’t like the idea of anyone else’s eyes on you but me. Sorry to disappoint you, but that will have to wait.”
I like the way her pretty mouth falls open when I continue. That one little spanking over her fully-clothed ass was just a warning.
“If you get mouthy, I’ll kiss you again to silence that tongue of yours. Got it?”
“Sounds terrible,” she mutters.
“Cora,” I warn.
“Silencing me with a kiss. Next thing you know, you’ll punish me with chocolate cake.”
I sigh with practiced patience.
“Buy me roses to teach me a lesson?”
Christ, she’s mouthy. I shake my head, take her wrist, and give her a sharp crack to the ass when we approach the entryway door. The spank has the desired effect and she clamps her mouth shut.
We’ll see how much she runs her mouth when I make her the offer.
“Enough. Let’s get something to eat. We have a few things to discuss.”
When the uniformed waiter opens the door and bows to us, the smell of fresh-baked bread, roasted garlic, and basil wafts through the air. I notice Cora swallow hard, her mouth closed.
Why is she starving? Does she not have enough money for food? Does she get too distracted with her work that she doesn’t take the time to care for herself? Does she have some kind of preposterous notion in her mind that she doesn’t fit the ideal body type and needs to starve herself to lose weight?
I want to find out.
There are so many things about her I want to know, and I hate that I do. It’s dangerous. I prefer being aloof to women like her.
I walk in silence ahead of her and she follows, until we’ve reached the secluded round table on the rooftop. It’s a pleasantly warm fall evening, and a gentle breeze kicks up. The tables are laden with white fabric tablecloths and little bud vases with single stems of white roses. Pleasant strings of classical music plays in the background. I normally dine here alone, and this is the first time I’ve brought a guest.
“Well isn’t this place fancy,” she says, but I can’t tell if her tone is derisive or teasing.
“It’s fine,” I mutter, pulling out her chair for her.
“Why’d you do that?” she asks.
“Do what?”
“Pull out the chair for me.”
Is she serious?
“Because I’m a gentleman,” I tell her. “Now sit your ass down.”
With a snort, she plunks herself down and I adjust her at the table.
“Gentleman my ass,” she mutters. “I don’t know if a gentleman would tell me to sit my ass down.”
“You’d try the patience of a saint,” I tell her, taking my own seat across from her and signaling the waiter to bring us the wine menu.
“And what would I do to a sinner?” Her eyes are bright but dancing, I only catch them for a second before she casts her gaze away and eyes a roll from the basket on the table. She doesn’t touch it.
“Time will tell.”
That brings the faint flush to her cheeks that I love. Reaching for a roll myself, I butter it and we sit in comfortable silence. She still eats nothing.
“No food menu,” she says.
“We don’t need one,” I tell her. “I know exactly what to order.”
“Is that right?” she asks. Leaning across the table, she lowers her voice. “You don’t know me at all. How would you know what I like?”
And suddenly, I’m not sure we’re talking about dinner.
I lean closer to her, take a bread roll from the basket, and rip it open. Steam wafts in the air between us, while I slather some butter on the roll. I hand it to her.
“Because you’re predictable,” I tell her. “And reading you is like reading a first-grade primer.”
It astonishes me how quickly those eyes go from curious to angry in a split second.
“I’m not a primer,” she chokes out.
“Didn’t say you were.”
“You did!”
“Did not.”
“You just said—”
“I said you were easy to read, not that you were the primer. Oh, no. Not at all, Cora. You’re far more complex than that.”
She takes a savage bite out of the roll while glaring at me.
“Keep scowling at me like that, your face could get stuck that way,” I tell her, remembering the old adage my grandma taught me.
“Oh?” she says. “Tell me why I’m so easy to read. What am I saying with my body language or whatever?”
The waiter comes to our table, so I order a bottle of wine for us both. The waiter pours us each a glass, and when we’re finally alone, I give her my answer.
“It’s partly in your body language,” I tell her. “You’re overwhelmed and busy, and while other people you go to school with are stressing over mid-terms and exams, and what to wear, you’re worried about paying your bills. Making sure your brother and sister get what they need. Keeping your grades high while you juggle the responsibilities a woman your age shouldn’t have to bear.”
She’s stopped chewing, but the side of her cheek bulges out, like she’s got half a loaf in there she forgot what to do with.
Finally, she swallows. “Well, that’s obvious,” she says. “Any college student who was guardian to their siblings would feel the same.”
“Maybe,” I allow. “But that isn’t all I’m reading from you.”
She lifts her wine and drains half the glass in one large gulp,
I barely stifle a smile. I’m getting to her.
“What else is there?” she says with a shoulder shrug.
I take a slow drink from my wine glass while I carefully formulate my reply.
“The other night at Verge,” I tell her. “You were looking for something or someone. Something to keep your mind off whatever it is that troubles you. Someone who would be willing to do that for you.”
“I was not,” she says, finishing her glass of wine.
“Don’t lie to yourself, sweetheart,” I tell her. “And don’t lie to me. You’re a bartender at the most well-respected kink club in the state. And you didn’t want to know what it was like to submit?”
“I—it was more curiosity than anything,” she says. “But laying over your lap for a spanking is hardly the same as looking for someone to relieve me of my responsibilities.”
I shake my head. “You can deny what’s written right across your face, Cora,” I tell her. “You want someone to take care of you. Protect you. Someone you can rely on.”
This time, she doesn’t respond at first, but sits immobile at the table. She doesn’t touch the bread or wine, but just sits. Contemplating?
Our pizza arrives, and our waiter slides a piece on each of our plates.
“Eat,” I tell her. “We’ve got to get to the club.”
In silence, she eats her food, and I can tell she likes it by the way she licks her lips and her gaze softens.
“I don’t like that you think I’m so predictable,” she says. “It makes me feel stupid and shallow.”
“And that’s exactly the type of thing I wouldn’t allow if you were mine.”
Blinking, she looks genuinely confused. “What?”
“The self-deprecation.”
Shaking her head, she takes a second slice of pizza.
“And to be clear, I don’t think you’re predictable. There are a handful of things about you I’ve surmised, but there are many things I have not.” It’s time to change the subject. “Tell me about your family.”
“You first.”
“Alright.” I take a sip of wine and lean back in my chair. “My parents are socialites, the elite. They’re retired and remote, and I like it that way. My father is an asshole with no low he wouldn’t stoop to to get ahead. And he did. Over and over again. My mom was happy as long as she got what she wanted, which, in her case, was diamonds and furs and servants to wait on her. She wanted nothing to do with me, and less to do with my father.”
Cora’s eyes widen. “Wow.”
I shrug. “Yeah. So, they’re retired and hate each other, and I only have to see them on holidays.”
“Sounds… lovely,” she murmurs. “So… no siblings. No fond childhood memories…”
“Right. I don’t want to talk about my parents. There’s no love lost on either account.”
“That’s so sad,” she murmurs.
“So your mom was an alcoholic who died in jail,” I say. “Your father died overseas in the military, and now you have custody of two children.”
“Right.”
“How do you do it?”
“Do what?” she asks.
“Hold down two jobs, go to college, and parent two kids?”
I watch her cast her gaze away from mine when she eats her pizza. Swallowing, she finally answers. “I don’t do it well, as evidenced by my mad scramble to get to parent-teacher night tonight. I see Ben and Bailey on the weekends, but it isn’t nearly enough time. My grades are good, but only because I’ve been miraculously gifted the ability to do well academically without much effort. I just retain information easily.”
Shrugging, she looks back at me. “Now let’s get to the real reason why we’re here, Mr. Alexander.”
God, her spunk. No pussy footing around the real issues with this one.
“The real reason? You were hungry and so was I. I wanted to talk to you in private, so I brought you here.”
With her eyes on mine, she sips more wine, bringing a color to her cheeks that makes her fetching.
“You take poor college girls for uber expensive rooftop pizza on a whim often?” she asks.
This wasn’t how I would propose things to her. Not now. Not like this. But she’s asking, so I’ll give her the bald truth.
“I’m a man with particular tastes, Cora,” I tell her.
She snorts.
God, she needs her ass whipped.
“Aren’t we all?” she murmurs, before taking another bite of her pizza.
“Perhaps. But I don’t do relationships. I ask for a simple agreement. Eight weeks where you follow my rules.”
“Wait. What?”
“I’m offering you a proposition.”
I shouldn’t do this. I should not do this.
But I can’t fucking help it. I want her.
“Is that so?” she asks, her eyes wide with shock. “And what might that be?”
“For two months, you’ll agree to be my submissive. During that time, I ask that you step down as bartender of Verge, though you may keep your job at the bookstore.”
“What?”
“I will expect you to accompany me on dates and scene regularly with me at Club Verge. In turn, I will see to your utmost needs, and pay you amply.”
“You’re insane,” she mutters.
I write down a number on a napkin and show it to her, enjoying how she stills in shock.
“What’s that?” she whispers.
“The payment I’ll give you for following my terms.”
Her eyes widen and she bites her lip, brows furrowed. I watch how she wrestles with her needs and reservations, not knowing how to respond. Does the idea intrigue her?
“I can’t do this,” she finally whispers. “I can’t… no.” She’s on her feet. With eyes flashing at me, she’s backing away. “And you’re an asshole for even offering. You knew I was poor. You knew how hard it would be to say no. And still, you had the audacity to taunt me like this. No. You think everyone has the inclination to obey you, just because you’re wealthy and powerful? There are some things, Mr. Alexander, that money simply can’t buy.”
I watch her leave and pull up my phone to instruct Manuel to take her to wherever she needs to go. She can take off but she’ll do it safely.
I smile to myself as I watch her go.
This was the first conversation we’ve had about my proposal. It won’t be the last.
Seven
Cora
The guy has such nerve. I can’t believe he wanted me to sign my life away to him like that, like I’m some sort of sex slave. Is he for real? Incredible.
I go outside, only to find Manuel waiting for me. “Mister Alexander says to take you wherever you need to go.”
“I’m fine on my own,” I say, not wanting to take another handout from this guy. But I have no idea where exactly in the city we are, I have to get home and check on Bailey and Ben before my shift starts, and a taxi is an expense I can’t afford.
“Miss, please,” the driver says. “It’s no trouble. And Mr. Alexander doesn’t take no for an answer.”
“Well sometimes it’s illegal insisting someone won’t take no for an answer!” I snap. But he remains unruffled.
“In this case, it’s totally legal,” he says placidly. “Now, please get in the car.”
“Fine,” I huff. “Just take me home.”
God, maybe I need to call in sick. What if he goes to Verge? Damn it. I don’t want him and his fucking proposal. He can shove it up his ass.
The city whips by as he takes me home.
“So, you’re going to go back and get him?” I ask. “He’s just going to sit on the roof alone eating million-dollar pizza until you come back?”
Manuel’s lips twitch. “If he chooses. Or, he can call another driver. He’s messaged me and told me to wait for you, so he’ll likely do that.”
“Maybe he should just hire a private jet,” I mutter.
Manuel shrugs. “He has. The inner city is a bit impractical for the jet, though.”
God!
We pull up outside my apartment building, and I’m immediately struck with how incongruous it is to have this fancy, gleaming car in the midst of such a low-income area. We live in the poorest section of the city, a high-rise with apartments with way too many people crammed into it. When I step out of the car, a baby wails in the distance, and someone’s playing loud, raucous music. A billow of cigarette smoke wafts in my direction. I sputter and turn to Manuel, who steps out of the vehicle and takes his place by my side like he’s my personal bodyguard.
