Series: Chicago Sin Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“It doesn’t look like you have a lot of things,” he says. “What were you going to eat for dinner if I wasn’t here? Your refrigerator doesn’t have any food.”
I shrug. “I’d figure something out.”
Armando scowls. “You should be taking better care of yourself.”
I roll my eyes. His protectiveness is sweet, but I’m a grown woman, and I’m not sure I like the idea of being lectured.
“I am taking care of myself,” I say. “Just because I don’t have a fancy refrigerator stocked with all the latest and greatest doesn’t mean I’m not taking care of myself.” I smirk. “But thanks, Daddy, for caring.”
“Maybe that’s exactly what you need. A daddy to take care of that ass of yours.” He slides closer, his dark eyes full of promise.
My breath catches in my throat. I should push him away and tell him that I’m not interested. But I can’t. I want him, even though I know it’s dangerous. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my pounding heart, and whisper, “Maybe I do.” I flutter my eyelashes. I’m trying to play this game of seduction but I’m probably failing.
“A daddy to spank you when you’ve been bad,” he continues.
My face heats as my eyes meet his. I want to look away, but his gaze holds me. I’m rooted in place, mesmerized.
“I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
I open my mouth to protest, but I’m too flustered to respond. I just shrug, not trusting my voice. I don’t want to give away just how much he’s turning me on—again.
Heat rushes to my cheeks. Armando smirks, his gaze dropping to my lips then back to my eyes. His intense stare says that he’s not just being playful. He’s serious.
“Do you want a daddy? Do you want a man to take you in hand and tell you what to do?” His voice low and husky.
I swallow hard and shake my head. “Please. Like you could.” My fake resistance is obvious, I’m sure, but no way can I admit just how much that question sent shivers down my spine.
Armando moves closer and reaches out to stroke my hair. His touch sends electricity through me, and I close my eyes, savoring the sensation. “Maybe I need to change your mind.”
“Good luck trying.” I wonder if my feelings are written all over my face. “Besides, you’re just a guy who semi-kidnapped me. I mean, is this a kidnapping or a date? Can we have some clarity here?”
He gives me one of those unfathomable looks and takes a huge bite of his calzone and chews. “Kidnapping with benefits?”
I hide a smile with my own bite. “Oh God. This is so good.” A long line of cheese trails out of my mouth, and I go out wide to break it.
“Right? Missed the fuck out of Gio’s.”
I study him. He’s coarse-mannered but gentlemanly all at once. A tough guy, for sure, built of taut deadly muscle but no tattoos. That surprised me. “Are you staying the night?”
He gives a single nod. “Definitely.”
“What happens tomorrow?” I’m halfway through the calzone already. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now. That granola bar I had for lunch was a long time ago.
Armando wolfs his food down too. “I’m still sitting on you. Until I’m sure.”
“What would make you sure?” I press.
He shakes his head. “Stop. Just stop.”
I wait, thinking he’s going to say something more, but he doesn’t. He just takes a swig of wine.
“Fuck this.” I stand and wrap up my remaining calzone. If I eat any more, I’ll get a stomachache. “You’re getting the benefits. I’m the one who’s kidnapped. I think you owe me a little more information.”
He doesn’t move, but his gaze on me is intent. “You’re benefiting too.” It’s not a question, but I sense that he’s asking again. He’s careful about this. It’s what upset him in the bathroom, when he thought I was trading sex for my freedom.
I have to appreciate this code he’s operating under. He’ll kidnap me, but he won’t harm me. I know because of the way he freaked out when he thought he gave me the cat scratches. He’ll dominate, but he won’t coerce me into sex.
Weariness suddenly sets in. Maybe it’s the wine or just the intense stress of the day, but I suddenly want to fall down on the floor in a heap. Or cry some more.
I turn away from him, blinking back sudden tears.
Screw this. I’m going to bed. I head to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
I hear him washing the wine glasses. Putting things away.
I remake the bed, which he screwed up when he pulled the sheet out to cover me. Another gentlemanly gesture.
Stop making lemonade out of lemons. I am the definition of Stockholm Syndrome right now.
I climb in and pull the covers up to my waist. “Can I have my phone back? If someone called or texted, they’re going to think it’s weird if I don’t answer.”