He Claims Me by Cynthia Sax Page B

be fine, nymph. Volkov and I will do much of the talking.” He slides his hands under my skirt, hooks his fingers around my panties and pulls them down to my ankles.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” I squeak, my pussy moistening.
    â€œWe’ve talked enough about Volkov.” Blaine’s lips lift, his eyes gleaming. “I’m the only one you should be concerned about.” He strokes my bare legs. “And I want you bared to me.”
    I can give him what he wants. My skirt is long and Blaine will be by my side. I rest my head on his chest, drawing strength from his touch. He won’t allow anyone to hurt me, to truly see me. He’ll shield me with his presence, his big form.
    The limousine slows and Blaine raps his knuckles against the window. The door opens. Blaine exits first and extends his hand. I grip his rough, callused fingers and he draws me to him.
    I suck in my breath, fitting into his hard body. He’s not handsome, he’ll never be handsome, but he’s striking, powerful, and mine.
    Blaine links our fingers together and we navigate the busy sidewalk, ­people swarming around us. Grocers display exotic vegetables. Plucked clean ducks hang in store windows, their heads remaining attached. A white ceramic happy cat stares at us, its paw raised in greeting. The aromas of cooked meats and fragrant spices make my stomach growl.
    We walk toward a small Chinese restaurant, one of many situated along the busy street. The restaurant with its pavilion roof, multicolored neon lights, and red Chinese lanterns is magnificently gaudy. I recognize the name immediately.
    â€œThis is the restaurant you ordered from during your start-­up years.” I hug Blaine’s arm. This is a special place for my self-­made billionaire.
    â€œWe make all of our big announcements here,” Blaine murmurs.
    I’ll be present during tonight’s big announcement. I’ll be part of his team, belonging. “I won’t let you down.” I cling to Blaine’s hand as we approach the restaurant’s glass doors.
    A tiny Chinese lady clad in a tight-­fitting navy blue suit steps forward, her straight black hair swinging over her shoulders. If it weren’t for the five inch heels on her feet, she’d be my height.
    â€œMr. Blaine.” She gives Blaine a curt nod. “You must be Anna.” The lady smiles. She’s gorgeous, her beauty marred only by a thin silver scar skimming along one of her cheeks.
    â€œYou must be Yen.” I smile back.
    â€œAhhh . . . he has been talking about me, I see,” the woman blusters, appearing more pleased than upset. “I’d say not to believe everything you hear, but you heard it from Mr. Blaine. Although he seldom volunteers the truth,” she slides her glance to Blaine and shakes her head, “he doesn’t lie.” She holds out a finely woven black silk shawl. “This is for you.” Yen’s gaze drops to my arms and her eyes narrow.
    â€œMr. Blaine didn’t hurt me.” I quickly wrap the garment around my shoulders, covering my bruises. The material is sinfully soft, the design beautiful in its simplicity.
    â€œI know Mr. Blaine didn’t hurt you.” Yen fixes her gaze on Blaine. “As your legal counsel, I’m advising you that it isn’t self-­defense if you kill him.”
    Blaine’s lips flatten. “I didn’t do anything . . . yet.”
    â€œIt was nothing, an accident.” I slip my fingers into one of his palms. “Accidents happen.” I inwardly wince at my own cliché.
    â€œIf accidents happen again, make certain she pulls the trigger,” Yen advises, her brown eyes glinting.
    â€œYou’re not helping,” I mutter. Yen laughs and Blaine’s lips twitch.
    We walk into the restaurant. The tantalizing scent of seasoned beef, roasted chicken, and steaming rice fills the air and my stomach rumbles. Heads turn, the