Page 31 of The Tower (Billionaire Brothers Grimm #1)

Twenty-Two

Owned

I wake to the sensation of being watched.

Grimm’s beside me, his hair mussed from sleep and sex, that hard mouth softened by the hint of a smile at the corner.

The ridiculously luxurious sheet is a knot of three-thousand thread count at my feet, and his eyes are roaming over my naked body, leaving heat in their wake, as if from a physical touch.

When he reaches my face, I see that heat reflected in the ice blue of his eyes, along with a possessiveness that makes my core clench and my pulse race.

“There she is,” he says, now tracing lazy patterns on my stomach, dipping lower and lower with each pass.

My breath stutters, and my core tingles in both anticipation and desire.

I close my eyes, expecting his fingertips to trail lightly over my waxed pubis, then lower until he teases my clit, and lower still until he slips inside me. Taking without asking. Claiming.

And damned if I don’t want him to.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls his hand back, then sits up, leaving me cold and exposed and confused.

“Go ahead and shower,” he says. “I’ll wait.”

“I’m fine,” I snap, my temper flaring as I tug the sheet over me, willing myself to acclimate to this abrupt shift in demeanor.

Last night, he was all heat and possession, claiming me with a ferocity that both frightened and thrilled me.

Two seconds ago, he seemed warm and sweet, as if reveling in the memory with me.

Now, he’s turned on a dime. Harsh and cold and distant. And I really don’t get it.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, hating the neediness I hear in my voice.

“We’ll talk after you’re cleaned up,” he says, as if we’d been doing yardwork, and my thighs are caked with mud and not the evidence of everything we’d done last night.

Before I can press him, he slides from the bed, pulls on his trousers, and says, “I’ll order breakfast.”

He leaves the bedroom without a backward glance, closing the door behind him with a soft click that sounds like rejection.

I sit perfectly still, holding the sheet tight against me as I blink back tears I’m determined not to shed. I tell myself I’m pissed, not hurt. I don’t know him well enough to be hurt.

But if I’m not hurt, then what’s this horrible tightness in my chest?

With a sigh, I force myself out of bed, my body aching in a way I want to enjoy, but instead only makes me ashamed, especially when I see myself in the bathroom mirror.

My hair is a wild tangle that will take hours to brush out. My lips are swollen, my neck marked with the evidence of Liam’s mouth. Not to mention the finger-sized bruises on my hips, my wrists, my waist.

I look thoroughly claimed. Owned. Possessed.

And the most disturbing part is the tingle I still feel between my legs. I want more—and I’m terrified that not only will I have nothing else, but that he regrets last night completely.

The shower helps, washing away the physical evidence and soothing my body, though it does nothing for my spinning thoughts.

I’m towel-drying my hair when the door opens without a knock, and he steps inside.

I start to protest—after all, I’m completely naked—then remember I don’t have the right.

So instead I turn to face him straight on, not even trying to cover myself or the bruises and bite marks from last night’s sextivities.

His eyes skim over me, and as he lingers on the marks, I think I see something flash in his eyes. Satisfaction, maybe. Or perhaps the pride of ownership.

I tilt my head and cross my arms over my breasts. “Like what you see?”

His eyes snap to mine, dark and heated. “Very much.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling the reverb of his words all through my body.

He’s holding a bundle, and now he sets it on the counter. My clean clothes—and a pair of slip-on sneakers. “I think they’re your size.”

“I—Thank you.” It’s stupid, but I feel a bit undone by the gesture.

He nods, then pauses as he turns to leave. “Breakfast will be here in ten minutes. Don’t let it get cold.”

I stiffen at the reminder of our deal. Everything. And that includes my obedience. “Yes, sir,” I say, intending it as a dig. But he just smiles, then shuts the door behind him.

I enter the connecting room nine minutes and fifty-five seconds later to find Grimm seated at a small table that’s been set up in the living area and is covered by every form of breakfast food imaginable.

Once I’ve settled in across from him, I reach for a croissant and the strawberry jam. It’s flaky and perfect, and as I lift it to my mouth, my stomach growls, reminding me of how little I’ve eaten in the past twenty-four hours.

“You should have some protein, too.”

I don’t even realize how annoyed I am with him until I snap. “So this is it?” I practically spit the words. “You fuck me, then order me around? Take a shower. Be on time. Eat three square meals a day.”

I stand, knocking my chair backward in the process, then toss my napkin down, which doesn’t have the dramatic impact I’m looking for since it’s just a flimsy piece of cloth.

My storm-out into the bedroom works better, and with one final hurl of vitriol—“you goddamn fucking bastard”—I slam the connecting door behind me.

Then I collapse face-down on the mattress, wondering what the hell is wrong with me.

And wishing I’d thought to storm out with coffee. Because now I’m stuck in here.

Dammit, dammit, dammit .

For that matter, what the hell is wrong with me? This is an arrangement. A deal. An unconventional liaison between me and Grimm in exchange for Grimm exposing my father and setting me free.

I’m not his girlfriend. And why on earth would I want to be? He’s a controlling bastard, just like my father, whose price for keeping me safe is sex, and who ultimately only cares about bringing my father down.

We have that last bit in common. But the rest of it? Why should I care about a man like that?

Because he’s not like that .

Except he is. The little voice in my head is an idiot, because Liam Grimm is exactly like that. Controlling and vengeful and hard. But he’s not like that in the same way my father is. Even as annoyed as I am with him right now, I have to give him that much.

Dammit .

I roll onto my side, then hug my knees to my chest. I close my eyes, letting myself drift. Despite hours in bed, I didn’t get much sleep last night, and in no time at all, I succumb to the lure of dreamland.

When I wake, there’s bacon.

I blink, wondering about this strange dream. Then I realize it’s real. Grimm is sitting on the edge of the bed holding a plate with five pieces of bacon, a croissant, and a tin of jam.

“You didn’t eat,” he says, leaving the plate as he stands, pointing to the side table. “Coffee’s there.”

I look up at him. “I guess I was wrong.”

“How’s that?”

“You’re not the devil after all.”

His grin is mirthful, but something dark flickers in his eyes when he says, “Don’t be so sure. The devil’s a charmer.”

I let my eyes trail over him. “And beautiful, too.”

He holds my gaze. “My dear Ms. Reed. Are you flirting?”

“Why would I do that? You’re my captor, remember? That would be creepy. Besides, I don’t like you.”

A hint of a smile dances on his mouth, so subtle it could be nothing more than an illusion. “Yes,” he says. “You do.”

He crosses to the door and pauses at the threshold. “Eat. Get dressed. We’re moving on.”

I sit up straighter. “Where?” I ask, despite a mouthful of bacon.

“Somewhere not here.” He taps his watch. “Thirty minutes, Sasha.”

I push the plate aside and stand up, wrapping the sheet around me. “You can’t just tell me to eat, then tell me that we’re leaving, but not actually tell me anything.”

“Yes. I can. You’ll follow my instructions like we agreed.”

“Dammit, Grimm, last night?—”

“Last night didn’t alter any of our terms. You were part of our deal.

The major part, in fact. I took what I was owed.

A small portion, yes. And I look forward to taking more.

We have a contract, Princess, and consideration was exchanged.

And until that contract expires, I will take payment when and how I desire. I assume that’s clear?”

I can only stare at him.

“Sasha?”

“Crystal,” I say. “Now get the fuck out and let me change.”

He turns to go, but pauses at the door, his back to me, his hand on the knob. I see his shoulders stiffen, then the subtle movement of his torso as he takes in a deep breath and slowly releases it.

He turns the nob and pushes the door open, then stops to look back at me. “What did you expect, Princess? We walked into this with very specific terms. But don’t worry. If it’s more sex you want, you won’t be disappointed. I’ve barely begun to use you the way you should be used.”

He turns back to the doorway and steps through, his head barely missing the plate of bacon I hurl in his direction.

It hits the doorframe and shatters, and I sit there, staring at the shards, wondering what happened last night, and how I’d gotten it all so horribly, incredibly wrong.