Hopefully, today’s entry is filled with less emphasis on how horny he makes me.
“You first,” Dad retorts to whatever was said in Italian as I rise out of my seat to deescalate the situation.
“You. First.” Miko bites back.
“Yeah, that shit’s not fucking happening, especially while my daughter is unarmed, and you’re standing in my fucking bedroom, asshole,” my father calmly counters again. “Now, you lower your weapon first.”
“Quella merda non sta accadendo,” Miko immediately states.
“You-”
“Dad, it’s fine,” I insist on my stroll towards the men who have no business in his house or invading my personal time. “I’ve got it under control. You can put your gun away.”
My father releases an unconvinced grunt prior to asking Miko, “Contemporaneamente?”
“Do it,” Mr. Bennett instructs with no room to argue.
The two of them slowly begin to lower their weapons in tandem; however, to no surprise, neither relinquishes the grip they possess.
They continue to exchange suspicious glares while Mr. Bennett and I focus our gazes upon one another. Much like yesterday when his dark hazel stare first devoured me, I find myself fighting to remain intact rather than just a pile of chocolate pudding at his designer shoe-covered feet.
It’s practically impossible.
Like his voice, his gaze is commanding and compelling.
Every look given without mercy.
Each glance absolute.
The power in a single blink is comparable to that of one word spoken to spare or take a life.
I’ve never met anyone in my entire existence to wield such sovereignty.
It’s intriguing.
Intoxicating.
Terrifying.
Three very different emotions that I may undeniably feel but know better than to ever admit to.
Well, admit outside my journal, which is written in code anyway making deniability easy.
“I must confess,” Mr. Bennett begins warmly, “it is…comforting to know that yesterday’s incident with a weapon was not simply a fluke.”
“What incident?” Dad loudly questions.
“You’re a woman not easily rattled or unnerved. It’s admirable.” His lips lift upwards until they’re showcasing a sexy smirk. “And attractive.”
My heart threatens to break past my ribcage to leap into the palm of his hand.
Thankfully, Dad’s increased volume and repeated question prevent the outrageous action. “What. Incident?”
I wave a hand his direction to indicate it’s unimportant before inquiring, “Why are you here, Mr. Bennett?”
“Benicio.”
Denying the desire to moan grows even more difficult than it previously was.
Ugh.
I fucking moaned the damn thing while writing it.
How pathetic is that?
“And,” he lets the corner of his lips curl upwards again, “I’m here for our date.”
His words receive a crinkled brow.
“I said eight.” He pauses to check the watch on his wrist. “I’m approximately four minutes early, assuming this damn thing is working properly again.” Mr. Bennett’s attention returns to me. “It is better to be early and prepared than to be late and defenseless.”
“That sounds like the rules for a hostile takeover not a happy date.”
“Lo stesso con lui,” Miko chortles under his breath.
“Outside,” Mr. Bennett swiftly commands without bothering to break eye contact. “Now.”
His second grumbles what I imagine are a slew of curse words in Italian and storms out of the room.
Once he’s no longer within hearing range, leaving us slightly more alone, I politely state, “I didn’t agree to have dinner with you. I never said yes, Mr. Bennett.”
“Benicio.” He shoves one hand into his pocket. “And, no is not a word I accept.”
“Then that makes you a special type of monster. What kind of man forces a woman to do something she clearly doesn’t want to do?”
All of a sudden, he leans over so that his lips are near my ear, volume at a level just above a whisper, “Make no mistake, Chantal. I do not need to use force. You are willing to do the things I want and eventually will be begging for them.”
The aroma of arrogance is suffocating and seductive, yet I’m incapable of instantly caving. My mouth tilts towards his ear which is when I quietly declare, “I beg no one.”
“Correct.” Mr. Bennett’s hot breath burns the brim of my lobe. “You will only beg me.”
“You. First.”
A deep, low, primal growl escapes him, overpowering every one of my senses as it reverberates through me. The very tip of his teeth manages to steal the tiniest taste prior to him pulling away, clearing his throat, and plastering a politician polite smile on his perfect face.
“Mr. Brooks,” he begins at the same time he steps around my barely stable frame, “please, pardon my rudeness and that of my security. I’m Mr. Benicio Bennett. Your daughter’s employer.”
I chomp down on my inner cheek to stop from adding anything inappropriate like the fact he’s the little thing that I would like to enjoy in my own life.
Or, more accurately, by the small thump I felt against me the huge thing I’d like to enjoy.
Except for the fact he’s my boss.
And one of the most influential men in the world.
Legally and illegally.
Mr. Bennett’s hand extends to shake my father’s. “More importantly, I am the quite charming man who is interested in her company for this evening.”
Dad steals a small glimpse of me now that I’ve turned to face the situation, grips his gun tighter, and extends the other to shake. “Benicio Bennett as in the only son of the late Benedict Bennett, the billionaire?”
Fuck. Me.
For all of like five seconds I had forgotten about the billionaire aspect and was just focused on the pushy to the point it’s almost irresistible part.
The list of reasons to avoid Mr. Bennett on a personal basis keeps getting longer with each uneven breath.
Along with the journal entry on how much it pains me to do so.
“Yes, sir.” He firmly shakes and relocates his hands to be folded behind him. “Benedict was my father.”