Page 24 of Twisted Play

The pet name hit like a bucket of ice water, remindingme of what I’d done to get this job. My legs gave out, and I collapsed into the chair, hating how his voice alone stripped away my control.

Alek studied me, his dark eyes unreadable. The silence stretched until I wanted to scream. He moved to his mini-fridge, the quiet, domestic action surreal after Carter’s intimidation. The bottle he pressed into my hands was ice cold, grounding me. I pressed it against my cheeks, furious at how my hands shook and the visible loss of control.

“Drink,” he ordered. My fingers trembled so badly, I couldn’t open it. Alek didn’t comment, just took it back to open for me, his fingers brushing against mine. The water couldn’t wash away the acrid taste of fear.

He took the empty bottle, his fingers lingering on mine longer than necessary. “Interesting,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Carter frightens you more than I do.”

I jerked my hand back. “I’m not afraid of you.”

His smile was cruel. “No? Then why are you shaking, baby girl?”

Fury and humiliation warred in my chest. “Because you’re a bastard who made me?—”

“Made you?” He leaned forward, invading my space. “I didn’t make you do anything. Youchoseto get on your knees.”

I waited for him to tell me to strip or to give him another blow job or to degrade me like the fucking stereotype he was.

Instead, he watched me silently, as if thinking. Finally, after a silence that grew uncomfortable, he gestured to an expensive espresso machine. “Your resumé mentioned you worked as a barista. Do you know how to use one of those?”

The sudden shift in conversation knocked me offbalance. I stared at the machine in the corner, uncertain if this was another test. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” His voice carried the same quiet cruelty as Carter’s, but where Carter’s threats made me want to flee, Alek’s made me want to—I swallowed hard.

“Yes...” I trailed off. “Yes, Sir?”

“Good girl,” he rasped.

I hated how much those words lit up the pleasure centers in my brain. I didn’t want to be a good girl to a creep who’d blackmailed me into giving him a blow job in exchange for a job I needed to satisfy a second blackmailer.

And yet.

“You want me to make you coffee?” The words came out flat. “And that’s it?”

He leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs wider. The casual display of dominance reminded me of that first day in his office, the interview, when I’d knelt between his powerful thighs and—no.

“I want you to make me a macchiato,” he said. “And you will thank me for the opportunity to serve me.”

“You’re insane.”

“Am I?” His eyes glittered, and he leaned forward over the desk. “You need this job badly enough to get on your knees for it, and Jedediah Carter knows who you are. Tell me, Eva, what makes you so desperate?”

Ice slid down my spine as I realized just how closely Alek watched me, saw me.

I stiffened my posture and lifted my chin. “Fine.”

“That’s right, malyshka. The milk’s in the fridge.” His voice followed me, a dark caress. “Show me how well you can serve.”

My hands trembled as I measured the beans. The routine should have been calming—I’d worked as a baristaall through high school. Alek watched from his desk, silent and assessing, as I made what I knew was a perfect macchiato.

His gaze never left me as I walked toward him, my equilibrium restored, confident in my coffee-making abilities.

“Kneel,” he instructed. I looked at the coffee, then at the carpet beneath my feet, confused. He arched an eyebrow, unamused.

Right.

I set the plate and mug on his desk and sank to my knees.

“Now offer me the coffee,” he said.