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Saturday, October 28, 2017

Ravaged Chapter Four

Chapter 4

All black.
That’s what I ask Sienna to wear when she meets me to start working early the next morning.  
It’s a fucking crazy request, but all I can imagine when I tell her what’s required of her is the sight of her in nothing but black panties that hug that delectable ass. A tiny scrap of black lace covering her tits. A black blindfold over those wide blue eyes. I can see it all clearly in my head—so goddamn clear I write down my first coherent lyrics in weeks that are one hundred percent inspired by her ass. So clear that my dick is rock hard when I finally fall asleep and there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it because the only relief is across town and a challenge.
But I have ten days now, I remind myself when I wake up and my cock is still hard. And there’s no challenge that takes that long.
At least I hope so for the sake of my sanity, music, and dick.
For the first time since fate sent her back into my life earlier this week, she actually listens to something I’ve asked her to do. She shows up at my record exec’s house the next morning dressed in all black. A prim sweater that covers up too much and pants that are a little too loose for an ass made for worshiping. Hell, she looks like something that belongs on the front page of a J. Crew circular—not on the doorstep of a musician who wants a taste of everything she’s got to offer—but I still can’t rip my eyes from her when she walks into the office behind my lawyer. She’s got that hold on me. The kind where I’d think she was the sexiest woman in the room, even if she were wearing a Hefty bag.  
Spotting me behind the desk, she bows her head and her red ponytail tumbles over one shoulder.
I’ve about had it with her ponytails. So much that I wish I had written that in the contract she’s about to sign: No fucking ponytails.
“It’s 8:10. You agreed to be here at 8 am,” I say as she takes a few steps closer to the desk. She lifts her eyes from the wood floor until they lock with mine, blue meets hazel. Saint and sinner. And now, employee and boss. When she gives me an excuse about her taxi being late, I release a noise that makes her flinch. “Do you make excuses like this to Tomas Costa?”
The mention of her boss’s name back in Los Angeles is enough to make her cringe again. When Kylie’d researched her the other day, she discovered that Sienna’s worked as a wardrobe assistant on the set of some teen paranormal soap opera for almost a year. I personally don’t know Tomas, but my sister had heard of him. Said he was a real dick—just like me.
But at the end of the day, he’ll never pay Sienna anything near what I’m offering.
Her grandmother’s house and myself.
I’m not going to rest until she has both.
Sienna’s gaze lowers to the center of the tee shirt I’d thrown on this morning, focusing on the “Pink” in “Pink Floyd” for a long time while I remind her that I need her on time. “Got it?” I bite out.
Her eyes fly back to mine. “Yes …. Mr. Wolfe.”
Mr. Wolfe. Two words and this girl has blood pumping to all the right places at the worst fucking time. “Glad you understand,” I growl then glance at my attorney, Court. “We’re ready to sign.”
Her skin burning that delicious shade of pink, she turns her attention on Court as he rehashes the terms and rules of our written agreement.
Sienna lives with me for the next ten days.
She’ll carry a phone and a tablet that I’ll provide for being on call at all times and taking whatever notes are necessary. I’d picked up both yesterday, only a few hours after she agreed to the arrangement, and it was the best trip to Best Buy I’ve taken in my entire life. Hadn’t even bothered me when some woman stalked me around the store, pinging between taking pictures and calling a friend to whisper, “Yes, I’m sure it’s him!”
Sienna will wear all black. She’s already done that today, but I’m almost guaranteeing that, as defiant as she’s become over the last couple years, her panties are a different color. White or pink, maybe. Or red.
My Adam’s apple drops at the thought of her in skimpy red panties because the imagery of that shade against her creamy skin is almost as enticing as black.
Whenever Court says the words “rules” and “obey,” Sienna’s flush deepens and she’s bright red by time he hands her his pen. “Where do I sign?” she asks in a husky voice.
He points to the spot right above where I’m supposed to sign. “Right here, Miss Jensen.”
Her hand trembles as she lowers the pen to the paper, and she manages to get most of her name written, but then something makes her pause. And I’m not going to lie, my heart drops right into my gut. She’s changed her mind. Shit, she’s just changed her mind and I’m about to look like the biggest fucking idiot in front of Court after giving him so much hell to get this handled and fast.
She looks up from the page and darts her gaze between Court and me. “Is there something wrong with the language in the—” he starts to ask, but she swishes her head from side to side. Licks her lips.
And then she lets us know she doesn’t want any of this to get back to Mrs. Previn, her grandmother.
I bite down on my tongue to hold back my relieved laugh. She isn’t backing out. She just doesn’t want her grandma to know what she’s up to. To think she’s exchanging a good fuck for the house, though I’m not too sure how she plans to explain getting it back. It’s almost a given she’ll end up in my bed—it might not be tonight and it might not even be this week, but by the end of this deal, I’ll have enjoyed everything there is about Sienna Jensen’s perfect body. Still, just because I want to possess her doesn’t mean she’s not going to work her ass off. With recording, a quick trip to Atlanta, and a documentary crew following me around for a few days, I’ve got a full schedule. Sienna’s going to be there with me every step of the way, keeping me on track.
Like a real assistant.
And if I were her, that’s what I would tell her grandmother when she returns home with keys and a deed.
It’s her decision, though.
“I want your word that nothing about this agreement will get back to my grandma,” Sienna repeats, and she crosses her arms over her chest when I grin broadly.
Before Court can squeeze out an explanation, I speak up. “Although Court is bound by attorney and client privilege, I’ve gone ahead and had him sign another agreement.” And when I had him sign his NDA, he had looked at me like there was a dick growing out of my forehead. I trust Court, but I want to protect her more. I don’t like the idea of anyone finding out that she’s doing this for a house. Don’t like the idea of Sam ever knowing because I know my ex-wife and she will tear this girl apart just to hurt me. And since I intend to have Sienna on my arm and in my bed for much longer than ten days, I need to take every precaution necessary, including making Court sign an agreement.
“Trust me,” I tell her softly, “if he wants to keep his practice and all his cash cows, he fucking knows better.”
She visibly relaxes and nods her head. Murmurs that she appreciates it. Then, she makes my fucking year when she bends over the page again and finishes scribbling her name on all three copies.
While Court and I sign, she wanders off to the couch on the other side of the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I drink her in. The way she crosses her long legs demurely at the ankles. The sliding of her hands over her fuzzy black sweater. The tug of her bottom lip between her teeth. She’s worn some sort of glossy pink lipstick today, and I’ve already decided that’ll be one of the first things I’ll ruin the second she asks for more.
I’m going to enjoy smearing that color everywhere and anywhere and hearing her cry out in pleasure while I do it.
“I think this is it,” Court huffs once he signs the final document. He hands me my copy but leaves Sienna’s on the desk and doesn’t spare her another glance, probably because I’ve scared the shit out of him by telling him I’d destroy his practice if word gets out about what we’re doing here. He stutters out an excuse about a client meeting—he told me this morning that the rest of his day was free—then takes off, almost forgetting his briefcase. Not that I care if he leaves.
Because now, I’m alone with her.
I lean against the front of the desk, staring at her for so long that she starts to clench her teeth. And when I clear my throat, she gasps, drawing her shoulders back until they’re pressed against the couch cushion behind her and her chest is heaving.
“Looks like you’re mine,” I finally say, and I watch her mouth the words, her full lips slowly forming around each syllable. “For the next ten days, that is.”

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