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His words feel like the best fucking compliment in the world. I look over at him sharply, but his expression is unreadable. He’s watching me, but I can see the wheels spinning in his head. He’s thinking about something and I don’t know what it is.

I remember my manners, though. Manners are important to Ian. I know that if I’m impolite or rude, he’s going to hurt me, and not in a sexy way. If I’m a good girl for him, if I do what he wants, then I might still be punished, but it’ll be in a way that makes me fucking hot as hell.

“I’m happy to see you, too, Mr. Salucci.”

His lips quirk. I didn’t respond exactly as I should have. I let my emotions show a little bit, but I’m not embarrassed by what I said. Iamhappy to see him. Working at Wild Paws is a wonderful experience. I really do love my job, but my entire life is so monotonous and fuckingplanned. Having a mystery dude show up at work and whisk me away is fucking fantastic.

“You might not feel that way once you realize why I’ve taken you,” he tells me. Ian’s voice is firm. I try not to shrug. That’s not polite, right? Shrugging is rude. Still, he hasn’t touched me yet. He hasn’t put his hand on my thigh or slipped it over my breasts and I’m aching with need already.

My body remembers.

As much as I might try to fight this attraction, it remembers. My skin remembers the goosebumps I got as he slid his tongue along my neck. My tits remember the way he flicked my nipples, teasing and playing with them like they were the most interesting things he’d ever seen. Then there’s my pussy, of course: achy and empty without his dick inside of it.

Yeah, I fucking remember.

So, I shrug.

And he’s on me instantly.

His hand is on my throat, and I’m pushed against the car door. My head is resting awkwardly against the window, and I have a fleeting hope that I don’t accidentally unlock or open the door somehow. That would be fucking awful, wouldn’t it? To be captured by this hot fucking guy and then just go rolling around on the highway or wherever the fuck we are?

Ian doesn’t say anything, though. My eyes are locked on his. I can’t look away. I’m suddenly terrified, but the fear is a welcome emotion. I’m used to feeling afraid of things in my life – my father is a scary fucking man, after all – but there’s still always an element of safety in most of my daily interactions.

My time with Ian is very muchnotsafe.

“Why am I here?” I whisper. I’m starting to feel a little dizzy, though. His hand tightens, and I can feel the slight twinges of a headache beginning to form.

“We need to talk.” He doesn’t loosen his grip. He doesn’t stop touching me. He doesn’t evenpretendto want to stop touching me. I reach for his wrists, holding them like it’s going to help, but it doesn’t. He’s still letting me breathe, but the pain is there.

What the fuck does he want to talk about?

My dad?

He probably wants to talk about my dad again. The last time Ian fucked me it was to reveal the fact that my dad owns the ballet studio where I love to dance. He also brought me back to the party where my dad was trying to have a nice, relaxing evening with friends solely to make sure that dear ol’ Dad knows the two of us slept together.

No, not slept together.

That sounds way too casual for what happened between us.

“Okay,” I manage to spit out. I can’t really say anything else, and I certainly can’t offer him information until he lets go of my throat. He seems to realize this because he lets me go, releasing me from his hold. As soon as his hand is gone, I’m rubbing my neck where he touched me. His hand might be gone, but I still feel his touch on my skin.

Shit.

Why am I getting addicted to this guy?

He’s a monster. A freak. A villain. Still, he’s given me the best fucking sex of my life. What’s worse is that I’ve been craving him since he left me at the party. Every damn night I masturbate, touching myself to the memory of what he did to me, and it doesn’t help. My panties seem to be permanently soaked. I’m starting to feel a bit like a mermaid.

“Lorenzo.”

One word.

Just one word.

Ian speaks this single name and confusion washes over me. Last time it was Dad: now Lorenzo. Why? What is it that my father’s empire has done to Ian? And why is Ian Salucci so hell-bent on making it crumble? I understand in my head – and maybe my heart – men like Ian aren’tgood, but I also don’t really know what it is that I could possibly have to offer to help his cause.

What could I do to make this situation better?

“He works with me,” I whisper. “He’s never spoken to me, though.” Why am I telling Ian all of this? Is it because I care about his vengeance mission, whatever it might be? Or is it because I’m almost positive that if I do what he wants, he’s going to slide his fingers into my pussy?