Chapter 4

Genevieve

The car arrived at exactly 8:00 PM. I had spent the last three days staring at my phone, waiting for a message that never came, only to have a black sedan pull into my driveway without a single heads-up. It was typical Arthur. He didn't need to check if I was ready; he knew I didn't have a choice.

I climbed into the back seat. The driver didn't look at me, and I didn't look at him. My heart was doing the same frantic thudding it had at the gala, but this time the fear was drowned out by a restless, gnawing curiosity.

I had replayed several possible scenarios of how our meeting would go, and all of those scenes left me hot and bothered. No, there wasn't any feeling of dread or fear; I found myself even anticipating it.

I had dressed in a simple black dress, nothing like the red silk from the gala, and a trench coat. I wanted to look like I hadn't tried, even though I'd spent an hour in front of the mirror wondering what he wanted to see.

I curled my hair to perfection, applied a thin layer of makeup, and bathed myself in nicely scented perfume.

The gates to his estate opened silently. The house was a dark stone mansion with eccentric statues. I used to be deathly terrified as a kid coming here. When the car stopped, the driver finally spoke.

"He's in the library, Miss Jacobson. Straight through the foyer."

I stepped out, the night air chilling my bare legs. I walked inside, the sound of my heels clicking against the marble sounding like a countdown. The library was at the end of the hall; the heavy mahogany doors were slightly ajar. I pushed them open.

Arthur was sitting in a leather armchair, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He wasn't wearing a suit tonight.

He had on a charcoal sweater with the sleeves pushed up, looking relaxed in a way that made him seem even more dangerous. He didn't get up. He just watched me walk toward the center of the room.

"You're on time," he said, his voice low and raspy. "I appreciate punctuality, Genevieve. I really do."

"I didn't think I had a choice," I replied, keeping my voice steady. I stood a few feet away, my hands buried in my coat pockets to hide the fact that they were shaking.

"You always have a choice," he stated, finally setting his glass down. "You could have stayed home. You could have told Richard everything. But you're here." He tilted his head, his eyes scanning me. "Take off the coat."

I hesitated for a second, my pulse jumping. Then, I let the coat slide off my shoulders. It pooled at my feet, leaving me in the thin black silk.

Arthur's gaze didn't flicker. He looked at me with the same bored, cold look he'd used in the office, but there was a new edge to it, something hungry.

"The dress is a bit plain compared to the red one," he remarked. "Are you trying to hide from me tonight?"

"I'm not trying to do anything," I snapped. "You said you had terms. Tell me what they are so I can get this over with."

Arthur stood up. He was a head taller than I was, and as he walked toward me, the room seemed to shrink. He stopped just inches away, so close I could smell the scotch on his breath and the faint scent of cedar musk on him.

"The first term is your attitude," he said, his voice dropping an octave. He reached out, his thumb catching my chin and forcing me to look up at him. "The defiance you showed at the gala was amusing, but it stops here. When you are in this house, you are not a Jacobson. You are not a 'princess.' You are mine."

"You don't own me, Arthur." I had let go of the name "Uncle Artie." We were way past that. "You just have a video."

He smiled, a slow, dark expression that didn't reach his eyes. "The video is just the key that opened the door, Gen. You're the one who walked through it. Tell me, did you enjoy the way I touched you at the table? With your father right there?"

I wanted to lie. I wanted to tell him I hated it, that it made me sick. But the memory of the heat between my legs made my throat dry.

"I hated it," I whispered.

"Your body said something else," he murmured, his hand sliding from my chin to the nape of my neck. He pulled me slightly closer, his breath hot against my forehead. "I felt you trembling. I knew you were wet when I led you to that dance floor. Don't lie to me. It's the one thing I won't tolerate."

I pulled away, my chest heaving. "What do you want from me tonight?"

Arthur walked over to a small side table and picked up a heavy, leather-bound folder. He tossed it onto the desk.

"That is a list of every event your father and I are attending over the next three months. You will be at every one of them. You will wear what I send to your house. You will sit where I tell you to sit."

He paused, looking back at me. "And every Tuesday night, you will come here. You will learn how to serve me, Genevieve. Not as a stripper, but as a submissive. I want to see how well you can follow a command."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then the video goes to Richard's inbox at 8:01 tomorrow morning."

The silence in the room was suffocating. I looked at the folder, then back at him. The "Uncle Artie" I had known was officially dead. This man was a stranger, yet he knew the darkest parts of me better than anyone.

"What's the first command?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

Arthur walked back to his chair and sat down, spreading his legs slightly. He gestured to the floor at his feet.

"Kneel," he said.

My heart hammered against my ribs. "I'm not a dog, Arthur."

"No," he agreed, his eyes darkening. "You're a girl who made a very silly mistake, and now you're going to pay for it. I want you on your knees, Genevieve. I want to see that stubborn pride break just a little bit before we begin."

I stared at him, my mind screaming at me to turn around and walk out the door. But my feet wouldn't move.

I looked at his calm, expectant face, and the curiosity I'd felt all day flared up again. I wanted to know how far he would take this. I wanted to know how far I would go.

Slowly, I lowered myself. My knees hit the plush rug, and I looked up at him from the floor.

Arthur reached out, his hand resting on the top of my head, his fingers tensing in my hair. It wasn't a gentle touch at all. His fingers tangled in my hair as he tugged at it.

"Good girl," he whispered. "Now, tell me. When you were lying in bed last night, wondering what I was going to do to you... what did you hope for?"

I looked away, my face flushing. "I didn't hope for anything."

He tugged my hair, not enough to hurt, but enough to make me gasp. "Lying again. The fact that you came is all the reason I need to know you wanted this badly. You were waiting for it. The naughty part of you is curious to see what I'd do."

He let go of my hair and leaned back, his gaze fixed on me. "Since you're already down there, let's see how well you can perform without the stage. Take off the dress."

I froze. "Here? In the library?"

"I told you," Arthur said, his voice cold and final. "In this house, I am the only audience that matters. Take it off, Genevieve. Let me see what I've bought."

My fingers went to the thin straps of the dress. I felt the cool air hit my skin as I slid the silk down, letting it fall to my waist. I didn't look at him. I couldn't. I just focused on the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall.

I reached behind me to unhook my bra; I struggled with it, but he didn't offer to help me at all. I finally pulled it off and tossed it to the side. I lowered my gaze when I pulled off my panties.

"Look at me," he commanded.

I lifted my gaze. He was looking at me with an intensity that made me feel completely exposed, more than I ever had on the stage at the club.

"You're beautiful," he said, his voice losing some of its edge. It was the first compliment.

His fingers caressed my face lightly, and then he brushed my lips. "Let's see what that little smart mouth can do…"

My brows creased as I looked up at him in confusion.

It was only as he began to unbuckle his belt that I knew what he meant.

Heat traveled to my cheeks instantly.

He pulled out his dick, and my eyes grew wide instantly.

"You like it, don't you? You naughty little whore." He sank his fingers into my cheeks, pulling me closer.

"Uncle Artie…" I called out to him softly, looking up at him from under long lashes.

"Open your mouth, Gen, and take this cock like you love to do…"

I shuddered involuntarily. I hated how much his words affected me. My juices were already trickling down my thighs.

He lifted my chin with his hands so he could stare directly into my eyes, and then he shoved his cock into my mouth.

He felt warm against my tongue. His eyes rolled to the back of his head when I swirled my tongue around the tip of his cock.

"Yes," he raked his fingers through my hair. "I knew you could do this. Now suck my dick like you want it."

And I did. I told myself it was because I didn't have a choice, but I knew that was a lie. I wanted him. So I stayed there on my knees and took his full length in my mouth, no hands.

My mouth made sloppy sounds as I sucked him. I rubbed the base of his cock, lightly squeezing his balls.

"Oh f…" he cussed aloud, biting down on his lips as he shot his seed down the back of my throat. He covered my mouth with his hands. "Swallow."

I did as he asked, taking the salty liquid down my throat.

He reached out, his hand brushing over my shoulder, tracing the line of my collarbone. I shivered, my body reacting to him despite everything.

"This is just the beginning, Gen," he whispered. "Tuesday nights are going to be very long for you."

I looked at him, the fear and the excitement finally merging into one. I didn't say a word. I just stayed there, on my knees at his feet, waiting for the next command.

Tuesday had arrived, and I was exactly where I was meant to be.