Page 36 of The Tower (Billionaire Brothers Grimm #1)
Twenty-Six
Hunger Games
T he next few days blend together as I spend most of my time.
drafting my affidavit for the attorneys, incorporating the medication timeline, my memories, my fears and phobias.
It’s rough work, but cathartic as well, and I frequently find myself lost in my memories, and silently celebrating how much stronger I am now.
When I’m not working on evidence for the hearing, I find myself charting time by small changes—the way the afternoon light slants across the kitchen island, the changing hum of traffic outside, even the hours when Grimm disappears into his office and I hear only a whisper of his voice as he makes call after call.
Today, Grimm surprises me by suggesting we venture outside. “Just to the street market,” he says, watching me carefully. “It’s only a block away.”
I nod, determined not to show how my heart races at the thought.
Dr. Chen told me that my agoraphobia and my fear of heights might dissipate once I was through withdrawal.
But it’s equally possible that they aren’t artifacts of the drugs but of my trauma.
Seeing my mother fall to her death. Being abandoned in the forest.
There’s just no way to know.
Right now, the world seems both too vast and too close, and I only agree after Grimm promises that he’ll not only stay beside me, but he’ll hold my hand the entire time.
That negotiation settled, he passes me sunglasses and a ballcap, and I put them on, feeling more foolish than clandestine. Still, the disguise is necessary. My face is all over the city, plastered across billboards for Reed Cosmetics.
The market is a treasure chest of scents and sounds. I stay close to Grimm’s side, my fingers brushing his arm when someone passes too close. Each time, his eyes find mine, and I see something dark and hungry flickering there before he looks away.
We don’t buy any trinkets, but we do return to the loft with tomatoes and peppers and a loaf of fresh bread.
Then I sit at the kitchen table and watch in a state of shock and awe as he makes homemade pasta sauce from the wares we’ve brought home.
Not only does he chop and sauté and do all the other culinary things that I’m not familiar with, but the end product tastes amazing.
Not that he cooks every night. Instead, our nascent routine consists mostly of ordering takeout, then watching a movie on the massive screen that descends from the ceiling with the press of a button.
During the day, he does whatever a cybersecurity person does, and I read or tuck myself away in the yellow room to visit Elysium.
What we don’t do is have sex, though he insists I sleep in his bed every night.
Not that I take much convincing. He hasn’t touched me since the day Dr. Chen told us about Project Recall, and while I’d like to be an icon for women everywhere, the truth is that I keep expecting him to take payment for our deal—and I’m embarrassingly disappointed every night when he doesn’t.
Which, of course, sends me straight to Elysium and into Killiam’s virtual arms. A girl can only take so much.
“He’s playing you,” Ruby says, one afternoon when our avatars are hanging out together in Elysium’s Crystal Garden.
“I shouldn’t care,” I say. “I mean, it’s Liam Grimm. The man who spent a significant portion of his life being a huge asshole around me.”
“He wins the biggest prick cup for sure,” she says.
“Except …”
“Except what?”
I scowl, but without the neural headset, it doesn’t show up on my avatar.
“Come on, Sasha. What were you going to say?”
“It’s just … I don’t know,” I admit. “He’s different. I mean, think about it. He’s helping me bring down this Project Recall bullshit. He told me the truth about how my mother died. He brought in an actual doctor, and he’s keeping me safe now that I have to stay hidden until the hearing.”
“All of which he’s doing to bring down your father. It benefits you, but he’s doing it for himself.”
“What does that matter?”
“Because you’re missing the point,” she says.
“Fine. What’s the point?”
“Well, duh. That you like fucking him.”
“Ruby!”
“Oh, please. You just told me it’s driving you nuts that he’s not pushing on this Everything deal. Don’t pretend to go all prim and proper on me now.”
I grimace, wondering if I’d have been better off saying nothing. Except she’s my best friend. Not to mention the only one I can truly talk to. Except Grimm. It’s surprising how easy just talking with him is.
Not, however, about this.
“So what should I do?”
“Sweetie, there’s only one thing you can do. Make the first move.”
A full day later, I’m still thinking about her advice. She’s right, of course. But I can’t do it. I already have zero power in this arrangement. If I tell him I want sex, then I drop down into negative numbers.
Still, there must be other ways to get the message across.
I ponder that problem for the rest of the day, finally sneaking up on a solution that evening as we’re sitting with take-out Chinese food and scrolling through the various movie options for the night’s entertainment.
“Let me pick tonight,” I say. “I can’t do another action movie.”
His eyes dance with humor as he hands me the remote, his forefinger brushing over my thumb as he draws his hand back. “Not into action?”
I make a valiant effort not to whimper as I concentrate on pulling up a movie selection on the huge screen.
I scroll through, then finally find what I’m looking for.
Secretary. An over the top, fucked up erotic movie with a cult following and the kind of sex scenes that are sure to rev his imagination.
“This works,” I say as I use one remote to dim the lights and another to start the movie.
I’ve seen it before, of course. It’s weird and wonderful, and I’m more than a little turned on by the time it ends.
Especially since I’ve been leaning against Grimm the entire time, both of us stretched out on the couch, me between his legs and leaning against his chest, our shared popcorn on my lap.
It’s an intriguing position, and I realize less than a quarter of the way into the film that my plan will work. How can it not when his hand is already teasing my breast and making my nipple ache?
Not only that, but his cock is rock hard against my lower back … and when it stays that way into the credits, I know that my plan is golden.
Hashtag yes! Hashtag fistbump!
As the last of the credits roll, we both sit up so we can face each other, and there is no escaping the heat and need I see in those beautiful eyes.
He leans in, and my breasts ache for his touch. I’m already wet, and it takes all my effort not to straddle his thigh and rock myself to Orgasm Number One.
He smiles, soft and sensual. Then his fingers comb through a long lock of hair that he gently tucks behind my ear. My breath catches as he leans in for a kiss … which ends as a soft peck on my forehead.
Before I can say what the fuck , he’s standing. “I should get some work done,” he says, his voice rough.
“Hold up there, mister,” I say, hurrying to catch up, then grabbing his elbow.
He stops, then lifts an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” I repeat. “What’s wrong ? Are you kidding me? I mean, come on. If you’re not going to push this Everything deal, then why not just let me go?”
“Two reasons,” he says, his voice steady and calm. “First, you wouldn’t be safe. Second, you don’t want to.”
“Excuse me?”
“You don’t want to go,” he repeats. “And not just because you know you’d be in danger out there.”
“Oh?” I cross my arms, both pissed off and curious as hell. “Then why?”
“You know,” he says, moving closer, so there’s barely even molecules between us. I tilt my head up, and his breath whispers over my face as he speaks. “You want me to fuck you. To take you. To claim that right we bargained for every single night.”
My lips are parted, and I’m breathing hard, but I say absolutely nothing.
“You want to experience every decadent, depraved, wonderful, sexually deviant act I can imagine with my exceptionally creative mind.”
His smile is slow as he cups my cheek with his palm. “But you don’t want to want it.”
“The hell I don’t.”
“Which is why you don’t get it until I’m sure you mean it. In other words, Princess,” he concludes, “you don’t get it until you beg me.”