Page 3 of The Tycoon (The Douglas Brothers #1)

sutton

I’m screwed. Completely fucking screwed.

The more Dolly talks, the more I realize that I want her.

Not in the sick, sadistic way I normally want women, no.

She’s too pure, too angelic to be sacrificed to the beast. Her story won’t end tonight, as originally believed.

She has turned my meticulous plans for her on their head, and I couldn’t be more excited.

My eyes roam over her, studying every micro expression while she enjoys the tail end of her dinner.

She’s careful not to speak while her mouth’s full, and I find myself wishing she would chew faster so I can hear her melodic voice once again.

We’ve spent the last thirty minutes talking about everything and nothing at the same time.

She’s still nervous, but not about me anymore.

She’s nervous because she likes me, and she’s afraid that I’m just like the rest.

I suppose I am up to a certain point. Like the other men she’s probably dated, I do want to fuck her senseless.

But it's oh so much more than that. I want to own her, to consume every delicious inch.

I need to cut her into pieces with a razor blade, and stitch her together with delicate silk.

I want to hear her beg for mercy from the pain I inflict and plead for the pleasure only I can bestow.

I need to wallow in her misery and bathe in her delight.

I want to be her fucking god.

Holding her knife and fork correctly, she cuts into her medium-rare steak. Her light blue eyes watch where she slices before dragging back up to meet mine. She notices my barely there grin and responds with one of her own while bringing her fork back to her mouth.

“So, when was your last relationship, Sir?” she asks, her voice just as soft as her body.

Suppressing a laugh, I attempt to measure my answer.

The truth is that my last relationship was seven years ago, when I was twenty-five.

I thought Brenna was the love of my life, but she turned out to be a cheating slut like the rest. It’s a pity that our relationship ended the way it did, but it was a necessary evil.

I already know that Dolly would never betray me the way Brenna did.

“It was uh, oh, five years ago, I think?”

Her blonde eyebrows raise in surprise, before dropping in skepticism. I know what question will be next. It’s always the next question, whether it’s an interview for a news article or just polite conversation. I honestly don’t know why.

“You’ve been single for five years, Sir?”

Called it.

“Yep, five years. Now, I’ve been on dates, obviously, but haven't felt that spark with anyone. Haven’t felt that connection that makes me want to see them again…until tonight,” I reply, my voice deep and smooth to convey to her that I am being truthful. Well, truthful in the part that matters.

Swallowing her steak, her gaze sinks to the table in a biological act of submission.

Her nose crinkles as she smiles, her free hand moves to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

It’s all for naught, that ornery piece of hair won’t stay put no matter how many times she tries to rein it in, but I’ll gladly watch her tuck it back again and again.

Her reactions to my answer might not seem like much, but they’re pushing all of my buttons.

“I’m sure you say that to every girl you take out,” she replies, forgetting to address me correctly for the first time.

I let it slide. There are times to correct, times to reprimand, and times to forgive. She is worthy of my forgiveness, I know I will show her more leniency than I have any other person in my life.

“No. I don’t. You’ll soon learn that if I want something, I go after it,” I say, leaning forward in my chair and softening my steely blue eyes. “And oh, my sweet little Dolly, I want you.”

A visible shudder runs through her, goosebumps ripple the fair skin of her forearms. Placing her fork down on the table, she pauses for a long moment to probably gather her wits.

She knows I’m not another fuckboi, or whatever the hell women now call them, but I’m also too good to be true.

Her bottom lip trembles as she struggles for a response, and I allow her to sit with her feelings.

I don’t want to poke or prod her right now.

It’s better if they make up their minds all on their own.

“I…I uh, I want you too, Sir,” she replies, giving me a full smile that reveals her snaggletooth canine that I’m so glad was never fixed.

I hum low, my expression just a tad bit cocky. I want to leave with her right now, and I almost do, but my phone vibrates in my pocket right before I go to take her hand. It sobers my lust within two seconds.

My Mama is going to kill me.

Dolly notices the break in my smirk. Her smile falls, as does the rest of her beautiful face. Her instant uncertainty squeezes my cold heart.

“Is everything ok?”

Nodding my head, I clear my throat as I regain my composure. My phone vibrates four more times in rapid succession. The longer I take to respond, the angrier she will be. Word to the wise, never piss off a Southern redhead.

In my mind’s eye, I can almost see her acrylic nails clicking against the screen as she types away.

No doubt my Papa is by her side, downing his third scotch on the rocks and trying to ignore her bitching.

She’s naturally high strung but even more so on harvest days.

I love her to death, but God she puts a burr in my saddle.

“Yes, Princess. I just have to check my texts really quick, I’m sorry.”

Nodding her understanding, she turns her attention to her nearly consumed glass of water.

She doesn’t pry, but I know she’s wondering if it's another woman. I will make a point of finding out who she’s been in past relationships with.

The assholes are clearly due some type of karma for damaging her psyche, and I have no problem helping the Devil claim it.

Digging into my pocket for my phone, I watch as the waiter approaches our table to refill her drink. He’s a young kid, probably not even out of high school yet, but I know he’s taken a liking to my Dolly. He’s lucky he’s not my age; I’d take him out back right now.

“The waiter is coming up behind you, Princess. I want you to order dessert. I suggest the strawberry shortcake, it’s delicious here.”

Widening her eyes, a tiny laugh bubbles from her throat. I know she’s getting full, and is on the verge of refusing, but I’ll hear none of it.

“That’s not a request, Princess. You will order dessert. Even if you only take a bite, every good dinner ends with a bite of something sweet,” I say sternly, unlocking my phone.

Her laugh becomes bolder, but it doesn’t offend me. She’s enjoying the fact that I want to take care of her, and that I want her to have the freedom to enjoy the things she’s been made to feel guilty about. I am going to turn her into a glutton for pleasure.

“Yes, Sir,” she says, thoroughly amused.

“Good girl,” I praise.

Allowing her to speak to the teenaged waiter, I catch his gaze from the corners of his eye.

Giving him a nonverbal warning, I can’t help but chuckle as he takes half a step away from Dolly.

Secure that he will behave his adolescent self, I turn my attention to the barrage of text messages from my Mama.

Swearing under my breath, my eyes make note of the time. I’m late. Very late. I thought we had only been here for an hour at most, but it’s nearly ten-thirty. Shit. I’m lucky she hasn’t already marched her petite ass in here and dragged both Dolly and I back to the hotel by our ears.

Pressing my lips into a fine line, I quickly begin to type a text back to her.

I know a lot is riding on tonight, but neither she, or Senator Murphy, will be getting what they want.

I need time to think of a plan though, so I will placate her as long as I can.

Her wrath can wait until breakfast. She will forgive me, eventually.

She always does. I am her sweet Sutton, after all.

Locking the screen of my phone, I shove the damn thing back into my pocket. Damn it all to hell. I really wanted to spend the night between Dolly’s thighs and worry about the consequences in the morning, but I must put this fire out immediately. My Mama is such a cockblock.

“Is everything ok, Sir?” Dolly asks, knocking me from my thoughts.

Sighing softly, I meet her curious gaze. I hate that I must lie to her. I don’t want her to think I’m stringing her along.

“I wish it was, Princess. We’re having issues with six different solar windmills in the fourth quadrant.

There’s one mechanic that knows how to fix the problem, and he’s out on another call in Palm Springs.

He won’t be able to come out for a couple of days, so I just need to placate some very panicked investors. ”

I pull off my lie so smoothly and perfectly that I impress myself, but my deceit-filled pride evaporates the moment I see the look of sheer disappointment wash over her face.

It causes a lead weight to settle in the pit of my stomach.

I’m not used to feeling guilty, it leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

I swear that I will make all of this up to her.

“Oh. Do you have to leave right now?” she asks, her voice shaking slightly.

Shaking my head, I purposefully warm my body language.

Sure, it’s a manipulation tactic, and one that has worked well for me, but I want her to feel in her soul that I’m not trying to get out of our date, or that I will ghost her the minute we part ways.

She doesn’t know it yet, but she now belongs to me. I’m not going any-fucking-where.

“No, I want to watch you enjoy your dessert first, Princess. Business can wait,” I reply, softening my eyes.

Reaching over the table, I take her hand in mine. Holding it gently, I give it a tiny squeeze. It’s so delicate in my big ole’ mitt, but I happen to think it fits perfectly. I know it will look exquisite pumping my cock.

My thumb runs over her ring finger deliberately, my eyes take note of its size.

I wonder if the sapphire and diamond ring my Mama was given before her Debutante Ball would fit.

She’s always said that the first one of us boys that wants to get engaged has the privilege of using the custom Cartier for their bride.

“Well, good Sir, I uh…I don’t want to say goodbye just yet,” she admits.

Chuckling softly, my hold on her hand turns possessive. Cursing the table that separates us, I lean in as close to her as I’m physically allowed. I will be stripping that word from her vocabulary when it comes to me.

“You’ll never have to, I can promise you that.”