Chapter 14: Chapter 14

FRANCESCA

I've just proven that everyone has a price. Mine includes dental and twice my stripper salary for a quarter of the work.

I cradle my mug, blowing on the hot chocolate that Christian made for me.

~I can’t believe I stayed.~

I shake my head, scolding myself internally.

~You’re desperate and pathetic, Francesca Barton.~

“I thought I had cookies.” Christian reenters the living room, his brow furrowed.

He’s pouting like a kid who just found out he’s eaten all his Halloween candy. I have to admit, he looks adorable. I like this side of him, this softer side of Christian.

“We don’t need cookies.”

“I could call someone, surely—”

“Christian, it’s nearly one in the morning. Drink your hot chocolate, and let’s go to bed.” He raises an eyebrow, and I quickly add, “Separately.”

Christian smirks as he lifts my legs up before sitting down on the couch and placing my legs on his lap. The only thing between me and his touch is a thin pair of thigh highs.

He runs his hand up and down my leg as we sit in comfortable silence, both sipping our hot chocolates.

“What exactly do you do?” I blurt out, and Christian chuckles before answering.

“I’m the CEO of the NY division of QB Enterprises.”

“I know ~that~. But what do you do? I think I should know this if I’m going to be working with you.”

“For me.”

“What?”

“Working ~for~ me. As of Monday, I’m officially your boss.”

“Two days a week.” I stick my tongue out at him, and he squeezes my calf.

“Well, I do own the club as well.”

“Don’t remind me.” I dramatically put my head in my hands, and Christian pokes my side.

“I have to admit you look mighty fine when you are up on that stage.” His eyes are full of desire.

“And ~you~ wanted me to stop dancing.”

“For them, of course. I never said you couldn’t dance for me.”

Christian leans in closer, taking my now empty mug out of my hands and setting it on the coffee table.

“Do you realize what you do to me, kitten?”

~Probably the same thing you do to me.~

I bite my lip as I stare into Christian’s eyes, unable to look away.

~Kiss me!~

“We should get you to bed, gattina.”

“W-what?” I gape at him.

Christian moves out from under my legs and extends his hand to me. I stare at it for a long moment before pushing myself up off the couch.

I grab my purse, trench, and duffle off the floor, ignoring his still outstretched hand.

“So, where is my room?”

“My apartment only has one room. You can take my bed.”

I glare at him, and he raises his hands in surrender.

“I will take the couch.”

Christian leads me to his bedroom, where in the center is a huge king-size bed. The whole thing looks insanely comfortable, but it doesn’t feel right kicking someone out of their bed.

“I can’t kick you out of your own bed.”

“I insist, kitten.”

“But—”

“Do you need to use the bathroom? I can use the guest one.” Christian cuts me off and is already gathering some items and leaving the room.

His bathroom, if possible, is more impressive than the bedroom. It’s almost the same size, for starters.

“Who the hell needs this much space?” I mutter to myself.

I unzip my duffle and pull out my favorite sweatshirt from high school and a change of underwear.

I knot my hair on top of my head before stripping out of my clothes and hopping underneath the most amazing shower I have ever felt.

Not only is it the perfect temperature, but the spray is also doing some weird massaging thing which is making my tension melt away.

It annoyed me that Christian felt he could investigate me, check into my past.

I don’t really have anything to hide; there was a patch after my mom passed away where I got arrested for drug possession.

It was a small town, and the local sheriff knew my situation, and since I was still a minor, he let me off with a warning, after one night in a holding cell, of course.

It’s not that he investigated, it’s more that he didn’t just ask. He says he wants me, he wants a relationship, and yet he can’t ask me a basic question.

My heart flutters every time he refers to me as his. The feminist in me is constantly shaking her head, but I do enjoy that possessiveness.

After pulling my sweatshirt on, I let my hair out of its knot and step back into his bedroom.

The view from the floor-to-ceiling windows is incredible. Being in the penthouse certainly has its perks.

But to me, it’s another reminder of how different we are, how our date was a complete disaster because of my lack of social standing.

“What on earth does he see in me?” I ask myself softly.

“Determination, beauty, and passion,” his voice sounds from behind me, and I gasp when I turn to face him and notice him naked from the waist up and dripping still, clearly having just had a shower.

A towel is around his neck, and his boxers hang low on his hips, leaving me with a delicious glimpse of those washboard abs I’d like nothing more than to run my fingernails up and down.

“Impressed, kitten?” That signature smirk appears on his lips, and I roll my eyes to appear unaffected.

“I’ve seen better.”

Christian chuckles as I comb my finger through my hair, take my hair tie from my wrist, and tie my hair back up on top of my head.

I turn to plug my phone into the charger on the nightstand, and Christian growls from the back of his throat.

“What are you wearing?”

I turn, tugging at the bottom of the sweatshirt, which covers my G-string like a dress.

“Seriously? I was wearing less before, and you are worried about—”

“Let me rephrase. Whose shirt is that?”

Christian’s words make me frown. I’ve had this sweatshirt since high school.

“What do you—” I stop mid-sentence as realization hits me. “It’s Leo’s,” I admit quietly.

I’d practically lived at Leo’s place during our senior year, and I’d claimed this sweatshirt as my own. I’d forgotten that the number four and ~Chambers~ were printed on the back.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you wearing ~that~?” Christian’s voice is filled with distaste as he says the last word.

“Wearing my best friend’s sweatshirt?” I retort, raising an eyebrow. “Because it’s mine. I’ve had it since high school. It’s full of memories, Christian!”

“Do you still love him?”

“Oh, for god’s sake!”

“Answer the question, Francesca.”

Christian’s gaze is intense, and I meet it with a glare of my own.

~Do I love Leo?~

Yes, I do, and I probably always will. But I can’t tell Christian that. It would hurt him, and for some reason, I don’t want to cause him pain.

“It’s just a shirt, Christian,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

“I have some work to do.”

Before I can respond or protest, Christian slams the bedroom door. I hear him walk down the hallway and slam another door.

I sigh and look down at the sweatshirt that used to be my favorite. Who knew a single shirt could cause so much trouble?

I walk into Christian’s unnaturally tidy closet and find a drawer full of identical black T-shirts. I pull one out and return to the bedroom.

I take off Leo’s sweatshirt and pull on Christian’s black T-shirt.

I glance between the bed and the couch, finally choosing the couch. I grab the fourth ~Harry Potter~ book from my duffle bag. I turn off the main light and curl up on the couch.

I clip my book light inside the cover.

I try to lose myself in the Yule Ball of the Triwizard Tournament, but my thoughts keep returning to Christian.

He must know how irresistible he is. I should hate him for trying to control my life.

I should have stormed out of here, but instead, I’m sitting on his couch, which probably costs more than my car back in Jackson.

I find myself reading the same paragraph over and over. Eventually, I put the book down and stare into the darkness, my mind racing.

I don’t know how much time passes, but after what feels like hours, Christian reenters the room, still wearing only his boxers.

He stands near the bed, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. I watch as he clenches his fists, staring at the empty bed.

“Fuck!” He swears loudly and heads for the door.

“I’m right here,” I say softly, and he spins around.

He stares at me for a moment, unblinking, then drops to his knees beside the couch.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, his voice filled with regret. “I’m sorry I looked into your background. I shouldn’t have. It’s none of my business why you do what you do or what you need the money for.

“I want to take care of you, but that doesn’t mean I should try to control you, to possess you.”

“What if I want you to?” My question surprises both of us. Christian lifts his head and looks at me, his eyes wide.

“I don’t know what this feeling is, but it’s intense. I’m still angry at you for being so controlling, but if I’m honest, there’s a part of me that likes being controlled. By you.”

“So?” he asks, his eyes bright with hope.

“Take me,” I whisper, and his lips crash against mine.

He kisses me passionately, as if he can’t bear to let me go. When we finally break apart, gasping for breath, he asks, “Will you let me take care of you?” His hands roam over my body, leaving me aching for more.

“Yes.”

As soon as I answer, I’m tossed onto the bed, and I can’t help but giggle. Christian smirks when he sees I’m wearing his shirt.

My cheeks flush, and my stomach flips, knowing that I’ve made him happy.

It’s only when he rips his shirt off me and tosses the pieces aside that I realize he means business.

His hands and lips explore every inch of me.

“Now, kitten, when you’re dancing in front of those drunk idiots, will you remember who you belong to?”

“I don’t belong to anyone,” I manage to gasp out, and he bites the skin behind my ear, making me moan.

“Wrong. Whose body is this?”

“Mine.” I laugh, knowing he won’t like my answer, and he nips at my neck again.

“Wrong.”

I feel his arousal pressing against my stomach, and my body tightens in response.

“Whose. Body. Is. This?” Christian growls, punctuating each word with a bite.

“Yours!” I cry out as he bites down harder.

“Good, kitten.”