She shudders, "You won't." She curls her fingers into her fist.
I sigh, "Don't make this worse on yourself."
She hesitates, then lowers her hand into her lap.
"Good girl."
She flushes, then parts her lips for the next spoonful, and the sight of her tongue... That hunger in her eyes, fuck. I press my thumb into her mouth.
She sucks on it, and fuck, if I don't feel the tug all the way to the tip of my cock.
She lets go of my digit, then smacks her lips together, "Tastes good." She raises her chin.
"You upped the ante." I allow my lips to curve.
"You didn't think I'd simply allow you to take me for granted?"
"Trust me," I scoop up more of the soup, hold it out to her. "I much prefer a fight." I tip the spoon, the soup drips into the 'V' of her neckline.
"What the hell—?" She cries out, glances down at herself. "Did you just try to burn me?"
"If you can't stand the heat, then get out." I glare at her.
She pales.
"Well?" I replace the spoon in the bowl of soup. "What's it going to be?"
She glances from me to the door, then back at me, "What if I leave?"
My heart begins to race and sweat beads my palms. I wipe my fingers on the starched white napkin, put it aside. "You won't."
Her mouth opens and closes. She splutters, "Why you presumptuous, cocky—"
"Are you?" I frown. "Leaving?"
She purses her lips, twists her fingers together.
"Want me to take the choice out of your hands?"
She doesn't reply, peers into my face, then rubs her thighs together. My groin tightens. My muscles harden. I lean over, lick the trickle of broth that I spilled on her neck.
She freezes.
I follow the trail down to the valley between her breasts.
She shudders. "Oh, my god," she whispers.
"Want me to touch you?"
"What? No." She straightens, "Of course, not."
I rise to my feet, pivot and head for the door.
"Wait," she calls out.
I wipe the smile off of my face, turn.
She looks at me, then away.
I tap the toe of my boot against the floor.
"You're going to make me say it, aren't you?" she says bitterly.
I pull back my cuff, check the time on my watch. "My next appointment's waiting."
"Fine." She hunches her shoulders.
"Fine what?"
"Fine, I want you to touch me."
I cross the distance between us, fit my knuckles under her chin. She glances up at me, her green eyes shining with that inner turmoil I'm beginning to recognize.
"Not so hard now, is it?"
"This is not why I came," she whispers.
"Shh!" I press my thumb to her lips.
She gulps, opens her mouth again, and I shake my head. She subsides. All of the confusion and all of the emotions she's feeling are reflected in her eyes. So fucking vulnerable, this woman, yet so sassy.
"You're not as innocent as you seem," I say.
Her gaze widens.
"But that's okay." I frame her face with my hands. "I am going to enjoy unravelling your hidden agenda."
She sits up straighter. "Takes one to know one."
"Don't make the mistake of thinking you know me, Gigi."
"Don't flatter yourself," she mutters. "You're not so special. Just another spoiled billionaire a-hole, who thinks he can use his power and influence to get anything he wants."
"Gazillionaire." I grin, then slip my palm under the heavy curtain of her hair. "And you're sitting here, aren't you?"
Color flares on her cheeks. She tries to rise, but I wrap my fingers around her nape and hold her down.
Her shoulders jerk and the pulse at her neck flutters.
"Poor, Gigi. So confused. So out of your league."
"I'm more than a match for you, rich prick." She bares her teeth.
A shudder works its way down my spine. My balls throb. I haul her up by the scruff of her neck. She gasps and her breasts push up, the nipples beaded against the black cloth of her dress.
"Fucking hate that color," I grumble. I lower my head until I can make out the little creases between her eyebrows, the flecks of gold in those green irises beckoning me. Calling me. I rake my gaze down to her mouth. Her lips part. She flutters those thick eyelashes down. "Please," the whine bleeds from her lips.
"What do you need?"
"I... I don't know," she murmurs.
"You do."
I draw in a breath and her scent grows straight to my head. A hot sensation stabs in my chest. Fucking fuck. This woman, she is too potent. Weston was right, I am way too deep into this game already.
I release her so suddenly, her rear hits the couch with a thump. Turning, I stride to the door.
"You're a real piece of work you know that?" she yells after me.
I raise my hand in the air. "Rest up, Gigi. You have until I finish this next appointment to figure out why you came. After that, the choice is out of your hands."
6
I am often mistaken for being true. What am I?
Answer: A lie
Victoria
"Help me."
I snap my eyes open, jackknife up, heart racing, pulse pounding. I try to swallow and my throat hurts. Sweat slicks my palms, slides down my back. The blood thuds at my temples and my stomach twists.
After Adam's untimely death, I'd received another call. This time with instructions that I had to get close to Saint, and get hold of the evidence he has on the Mafia. The man on the phone had also played me a recording of Nina's voice crying for help. Then he'd warned me not to breathe a word about this to anyone else, before hanging up. I drag my fingers through my hair.
I've barely slept a wink the last few nights, nervous about this encounter with Saint.
Clearly, my subconscious associates that asshole with security. Enough that, for the first time in weeks, I'd fallen into a deep sleep in the middle of the day. On his couch, in his office, no less.
A
