Weeks passed, and as I grew more comfortable living in Oliver's house, I also became accustomed to his unpredictable schedule. He spent some days almost entirely in his office, while on other days, he wasn't around at all. He was gone during many evenings as well, though I never knew where.

All the while, I kept waiting for him to come up with some sort of job for me, even if it was mostly a ruse. Of course, I wasn't complaining about my free time. Instead of serving as my father's live-in maid and waiting on him hand and foot, I now spent my days by the pool, or in Oliver's massive library. He wasn't much of a reader, but Damien prided himself on selecting a variety of books for his collection.

Oliver also arranged for me to see a gynecologist for the first time. Though I was nervous about the examination, the doctor immediately put me at ease. We discussed my options for birth control, and I decided on an IUD. That way, I wouldn't have to remember to take a pill every day. The IUD insertion was far from a pleasant experience, and Beckett, who'd been tasked with driving me to my appointment, appeared alarmed when painful cramps caused me to double over in the SUV's backseat during our trip home. But in just a few days, the pain had almost completely subsided.

One evening in early August, Oliver had to attend some function in the city, leaving me on my own. He wore a gorgeous three-piece suit to the event, and I found myself imagining how it would feel to be at his side, dolled up and glamorous in my peach cocktail dress. But it went without saying that I couldn't accompany him.

I was curled up on the leather couch in Oliver's library, immersed in a novel by Ursula Le Guin, when Damien wandered into the room. "Mind some company?" he asked. In his hand was a highball glass.

"I'd love company," I told him while quickly sitting up. "Is Beckett gone tonight, too?"

"Yep. He's helping Ted with security at this function Oliver's attending."

I could tell by Damien's relaxed gait that his current drink wasn't the first of the evening for him. As he sat down next to me, I felt guilty for even considering it, but I had to wonder if the liquor would make him a little more willing to answer my questions. Ever since that night in Oliver's office, when he'd forbidden me from going anywhere near the conference room where he was meeting with some mysterious guest, I couldn't subdue my curiosity.

Now, Damien chose some music to play on the built-in sound system. He had a passionate love of eighties music, and as Exposé's "Let Me Be the One" began playing, a delighted smile formed on his lips. Holding up his glass, he asked, "Want a drink? I won't tell if you don't."

"No, thanks." I wanted to wait up for Oliver, and seeing as how I never drank, I knew I wouldn't be able to tolerate even a small amount of liquor.

Damien was clearly feeling no pain while sipping from his glass and swaying to the music's beat. I was used to seeing him as the consummate professional, so I was secretly thrilled that he would let his guard down around me tonight.

Sitting beside me once more, he leaned back against the couch and released a faint sigh. "This is how we'll spend much of our lives, Dreama: waiting for our men to come home."

I tried to sound casual as I asked, "Do you ever worry about Beckett?"

Damien stared at the ceiling for a long moment, his expression suddenly pensive. "I try not to. It's his job, and he loves it."

"And what about Oliver? Should I be worried about him?"

"Not if you want to keep your sanity." Looking over at me, Damien added, "Oliver knows how to take care of himself."

For the countless time, I was struck by how much Damien resembled Oliver. Moving a little closer to him, I spoke in a low voice. Hopefully, the music would drown out my words if we were being recorded. I knew the exterior of the house was under surveillance, but no one had ever given me a straight answer about how much of the interior was monitored.

"I really care about Oliver," I confessed to Damien.

He flashed a sweet smile. "I can tell."

"So it seems crazy that I have absolutely no idea what he does." Again, I strove for nonchalance, as if this was merely another one of our typical conversations.

Instead of responding right away, Damien drained his glass. Just when I thought he didn't plan to answer at all, he brought his lips close to my ear and murmured, "Look up organized crime, and you'll get a pretty good idea of what he does."

I struggled to keep my expression neutral. Of course, I'd suspected as much, but it was still a shock to hear Damien state it so plainly.

"Now," he went on, his eyes locking with mine, "no more questions. It really is best to remain oblivious about his business dealings."

I quickly nodded, and Damien's grin returned as he set his glass aside. "Let's dance!" Before I could protest, he started playing that old Divinyls song "I Touch Myself" at full blast.

"Oh my God, turn that down!" I shrieked through my giggles.

"What?" Damien shouted. "I can't hear you!" Grabbing my hand, he pulled me to my feet. I was a horrible dancer, but he didn't seem to mind in the least. Instead, he moved his body against mine, and I was soon holding him tight while swaying my hips with an instinctual rhythm. It was fun to simply let go like this, I realized. Though I was completely sober, I felt giddy in my friend's arms.

"Am I interrupting something?" a voice boomed over the music.

At the sight of Oliver standing in the doorway, I jumped back from Damien, as if his touch burned me. Damien, meanwhile, hooted with laughter at my stricken expression. After turning off the music, he told Oliver, "You caught us!"

"So I did," Oliver replied with an amused smile. "Looks like your evening's been far more entertaining than mine." He no longer wore his suit coat, and the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up his forearms. I couldn't help but stare at him with blatant longing.

"Everything go okay tonight?" Damien asked mildly.

"It did. And Beckett's off the clock now."

"Say no more!" Damien gave me a kiss on the cheek and wished us both goodnight before hurrying from the room.

Once we were alone, Oliver beckoned to me. "Come here." I readily closed the distance between us. Smoothing my hair back from my face, he asked, "Have you been drinking?"

"Not even a sip." I narrowed my eyes slightly while looking up at him. He had that same looseness in his shoulders that I'd seen in Damien tonight. "You, on the other hand..."

Oliver laughed low and soft. "Guilty as charged, but Ted was driving. And don't worry, sweetheart, I'm not ready to call it a night just yet." Taking my hand, he guided it to his cock. "I must say, watching you dance like that was a real turn-on."

The feel of his strengthening erection unleashed my pent-up lust. I gave him a fervent kiss, seeking out his tongue with my own. I would have let him fuck me right there on the couch, but the sound of Ted talking to another guard made Oliver whisper, "Let's go upstairs."

The wildness that often overwhelmed me when I was in his presence now returned with a ferocity. As we made our way through the house, I was all over him, kissing his mouth and stroking his cock through his pants.

After stopping several times to return my kisses, Oliver fell prey to his own need. His lips were hard on mine, and his touch became far more demanding. Even as I distracted him with my mouth and hands, I knew I was testing his patience.

Ted's voice was distant but still audible. It followed me and Oliver up the stairs and into the shadows of the landing. Again, I reached for him, and he backed me up against the wall. When he kissed my neck, I felt the threat of teeth.

"Keep this up, Dreama, and I'll fuck you right here," he warned.

"I dare you!" The words tumbled from my lips before I could stop them. Lifting his head, Oliver regarded me. Even in the semidarkness, I could easily discern his devilish smile.

I gasped as he yanked down the bodice of my sundress. It was strapless, so I wasn't wearing a bra. My nipples hardened in the cool air, but they were quickly warmed by Oliver's mouth. He eagerly suckled and licked those peaks, delivering playful bites. My moans were already too loud, and I had no idea how I would keep quiet when he fucked me out here.

Soon, he had my dress lifted and my underwear circled around my ankle. The sight of him taking out his cock made me pant with need. Just one floor below us, and not far from the bottom of the steps, Ted and the other guard continued their animated conversation.

As I leaned back against the wall, Oliver hooked his arm under my right leg, simultaneously lifting and spreading me. I balanced precariously on the tiptoes of my left foot until he drove his cock inside me.

"Oh, fuck yes!" I cried.

Once I'd wrapped my arms and legs around him, he effortlessly held me aloft, with his strong hands cupping my ass. "Such a bad girl," he growled while thrusting hard. "You couldn't even wait for us to reach the bedroom!"

"I'm so bad!" I agreed in a breathy voice. "All night, I've been thinking about you fucking me."

Oliver's mouth claimed mine as the force of his fucking slammed me against the wall. "Not so shy now, are you?" he murmured against my lips. "Offering your pussy to me right here in the hallway!"

His words, and his relentless cock, drew a low scream from my throat. Instead of trying to quiet me, he urged me on. I was so wet that I could easily hear his dick pumping in and out of my cunt.

"My God, I love it when you're a little slut for me!" he groaned.

While reveling in the feel of Oliver's fingers digging into my flesh, I noticed the voices downstairs had fallen conspicuously silent.

"I bet they're listening to me fuck you." The grin in Oliver's voice let me know he was getting off from this, too.

I began violently shaking in his grasp. As excited as I was, it still surprised me to be right on the edge of orgasm so quickly. "Come inside my pussy!" My filthy words echoed off the walls, no doubt carrying to the men downstairs.

"I'm going to empty my balls inside your greedy cunt! Is that what you want?" Beneath my hands, Oliver's muscles tensed, and his thrusts grew even more brutal.

"Yes! Please!" I begged like a shameless whore.

"Come for me, Dreama! Come around my cock!"

The moment I did, Oliver reached his own release. Making no attempt to hold back his roar, he pulsed inside me. His climax seemed to prolong my own, coaxing forth a fresh wave of contractions. My pussy milked his cock, as if it craved every drop of his semen.

When my orgasm finally subsided, Oliver gently pulled out and set me on my feet. But instead of letting me go, he held me in his arms. The sensation of his cum seeping out of my well-fucked pussy gave me an indescribable satisfaction.

That night, I slept in Oliver's bed for the first time. It was an entirely new experience, resting in the embrace of another. I loved the warmth of his body against mine, and the way he woke me with kisses when he was ready to make love again.

And Oliver was right about my shyness fading. As several more weeks passed, I grew used to the guards' presence. They acted professionally toward me at all times, even when they knew Oliver was fucking me senseless on a daily basis. Damien was the only one bold enough to flash a sly smile over breakfast as he asked, "Another late night?"

One evening in September, Oliver and I were enjoying a late dinner in the dining room. It had already grown dark outside. Before lifting another spoonful of bouillabaisse to my lips, I said, "You still haven't come up with a job for me."

"Are you bored?" Oliver asked with a raised eyebrow. "Needing something to occupy your time?"

"Not at all," I replied. "I don't think it's possible to be bored in this house. But you said I'd need a job to account for the money I have now."

Oliver leaned back in the chair, regarding me over his wineglass. "That's not necessary unless you want to start depositing it into a bank account. Is that what you want, Dreama?"

I quickly shook my head. "I'm perfectly fine with you holding onto it for me. I just thought I should consider my future." Swallowing hard, I looked down at the table. "I can't keep living under your roof without making myself useful."

"Oh, you're plenty useful." He pushed his chair back from the table, and I feared I'd made him angry with my talk of future plans. But his face revealed only concern when he asked, "What's this about? Is something worrying you?"

"No," I said. Oliver's narrowed eyes made it clear that he saw through my lie. With a sigh, I reluctantly went on. "Maybe I'm afraid that you'll get tired of me. I'm not glamorous or sophisticated, and if you decide I'm not what you want, I'll have no way of taking care of myself."

"Come here, darling." His gaze was tender as he spoke.

Rising from my chair, I went to sit on his lap. "I'm sorry I ruined dinner."

"Shh, none of that," Oliver said. As I relaxed into his embrace, he went on in a low, soothing voice. "Do you know how much you excite me, Dreama? I could never get tired of you. And let us not forget that you're twenty-five years my junior. I figure you'll eventually grow bored with me."

"Never," I vehemently insisted.

Oliver smiled, clearly pleased by my response. "No matter what happens," he whispered, "I promise you will always be taken care of."

I returned his smile while blinking away tears of relief. Until now, I hadn't realized just how much the future's uncertainty was weighing on me.

When I pressed my lips to Oliver's, he eagerly kissed me back. Growing bolder, I parted my legs so that my prim skirt rode up my thighs. Oliver caressed my skin, lifting my skirt even higher in the process. I was wearing thigh-high stockings, which I knew he loved. Still, his eyes held a challenge as he said, "One of my men might be outside that window right now. As bright as this room is, he'd be able to see everything."

My hips began a sensual rocking. "Sounds like you're the one who's shy, Oliver."

That silly taunt was the reason I ended up bent over the dining room table, with my skirt bunched around my waist and my panties removed altogether. Oliver took his time, sliding the tip of his cock between my folds until I feared we'd be discovered for sure.

Then he entered me with a force that made me yelp. The table's edge bit into my flesh as he pounded my pussy, slamming into me at a relentless pace. Soon, I was clawing at the tabletop, trying not to scream. The thought of a man watching us from the darkness beyond the window only intensified my arousal.

While holding tight to my hips, Oliver said, "Do you really think I could ever get enough of your sweet pussy?" Again and again, his body slapped against mine. I was sure our fucking could be heard outside the room. Though my face burned from both lust and shame, I couldn't suppress my cries. At least anyone approaching the dining room would be given fair warning, I told myself.

When I began shuddering, Oliver leaned forward, resting his upper body lightly on mine. Then he cupped a hand over my mouth, which allowed me to scream all I wanted as I came hard.

Moments later, Oliver surrendered to his own climax. Even after he was spent, he remained inside me, his hands sliding over my body. I lay against the table, trying to catch my breath. Closing my eyes, I smiled at the feel of his lips on my hair.

When he finally pulled out, I gave him a quick kiss before hurrying from the room to clean myself up. In the hallway, I encountered Beckett. Knowing that he'd heard what had just taken place, I couldn't meet his eyes. By the time I returned from the bathroom several minutes later, he was mercifully absent.

But someone else had joined Oliver in the dining room. A man I'd never seen before sat in a chair to Oliver's left. He wasn't far from the spot where I'd just been fucked. Oliver had again taken his seat at the head of the table. Our eyes locked, and I didn't bother hiding my confusion. How had this man not only gotten into the house, but into the dining room in such a short time? Oliver would have barely had a chance to put away his cock.

Realizing that introductions weren't forthcoming, the man stood and offered his hand to me. Reluctantly, I took it. He was dressed in a fine suit, and despite his silver hair, his face had few wrinkles. It made it difficult for me to judge how old he was. His eyes, almost as deep a blue as Oliver's, held no warmth.

"I'm Phil," he said, not even attempting a smile. "And you are?"

Glancing at Oliver, I waited for him to nod before I told the man my name.

"Sorry to interrupt your dinner, Dreama." Phil's stare hardened when it settled upon Oliver. "I didn't realize Oliver had company." The way he said the word company made it sound dirty.

Oliver reached for his cigarette case, his expression suddenly exhausted. Still, he managed a smile as he said, "Dreama, would you please give me and Phil a few minutes?"

"Of course." Without another word to the man who had entered this house like an unpleasant chill, I left the room.

But I didn't go far. Instead, I lingered within eavesdropping distance while no guards were around to stop me.

"What the hell are you doing, Oliver?" I heard Phil hiss. "Word's gotten around about that girl. Her father has a big fucking mouth, and he's telling anyone who will listen that you've practically kidnapped his daughter. He claims she's been brainwashed into staying here!"

"Does she look brainwashed to you?" Oliver responded dryly.

"She looks like a goddamn eighteen-year-old!" Phil shot back. "And what makes you think she's loyal? Does she know how you humiliated her dear old dad?"

"That was because he sent her to do his job!" In the brief silence that ensued, I imagined Oliver taking a deep drag on his cigarette. "He had to pay for that mistake. My men let him off easy."

"Christ, Oliver, you can't trust her! I'm sure the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"She doesn't know anything."

"Bullshit!" Another silence fell before Phil went on in a lower voice. "You pay me a fucking fortune to ensure that things run smoothly for you. I grease the right palms, and I make sure no one looks too closely at your enterprise here. But if that girl starts talking—"

"She won't." Oliver's words held a sharp edge I'd never heard before.

Phil went on as if Oliver hadn't spoken. "If she starts talking, I refuse to be responsible for damage control, do you understand? And while you've been busy playing house, have you considered what will happen if one of your adversaries gets hold of her? How long do you think it will take before she spills every fucking detail—"

"Enough, goddamn it!" Oliver thundered, making me jump. "She's safe here."

It was then that Ted turned the corner and started toward me. Fixing a pleasant smile on my face, I acted as if I'd just left the dining room, but I figured he saw right through the charade. He'd warmed up to me a little in the weeks since I'd begun staying here, but I knew he was still wary of me. I certainly wouldn't prove my trustworthiness by getting caught eavesdropping on private discussions.

When Ted's stare met mine, his expression was grim but not accusatory. Maybe he thought Phil was a big asshole, too. I didn't linger in that hallway another second longer, and I was thankful not to run into anyone else on the way to my room.

As soon as I closed the door behind me, I slipped out onto the balcony, allowing the night air to cool my flushed face. In my mind, I kept replaying the conversation I'd just overheard. Whoever Phil was, he had enough clout to walk right into this house and tell Oliver he was out of his mind for trusting me.

Again and again, I recalled Oliver's words: she's safe here. I even silently repeated them to myself in an effort to banish my fears.

I could only pray that those words were true.