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Fuck.
“So… can I ask why the fuck I’m handcuffed to a chair?”
It takes everything not to groan at the feminine voice that still manages to drive me fucking insane. My cock, on the other hand, enjoys twitching at the fierce boldness in our new company’s tone.
A side-glance her way gives me a moment to acknowledge the bitch face of a woman who’s driven me wild for years.Fucking years.Even now, sitting handcuffed on the oakwood chair that I enjoy using for integrations, she’s making everything in my body go up. Blood pressure, chest palpitations, my blood flow to my cock, and not to forget my brewing anger. Just a look and she entices all those things at once, making me wish she didn’t just jump back into my life the way she did.
Yet five years of not getting a glimpse of her was driving me straight into madness, if not for all the fucking distractions I involved myself in.
Turning my attention to her, thanks to my pause in pacing, I can’t stop myself from stomping up to her until I’m in her personal space.
“Can you shut the fuck up?!” I growl threateningly at her.
Gemini Ivanka Prescott.
My Iva… the nerdy orphan with her ugly baggy clothes and big glasses.
The bane of my fucking existence.
The rose that continues to blossom so brilliantly from afar, but the moment I get close, she thrives on piercing me with her poisonous thorns.
The woman I’ve envisioned fucking ever since she stopped coming to private school.
All she does is stare at me with those majestic eyes of hers. They’re such a mystery in color. A pool of silvers and blues with even a pinch of teal green. I doubt she realizes up close there are even tiny specs of gold that twinkle like hidden gems.
Not only are her eyes more enchanting than when they were always glassy with tears, but her body has changed dramatically.
Her breasts caught my eye from the very beginning. Not too big, not too small. The perfect set of perky with a bit of bounce when she walks. She doesn’t even wear a bra—like right now, wearing my fucking shirt—which is why those nipples of hers tease me tauntingly with their slight appearance, thanks to how my cotton shirt drapes her luscious body.
She’s fit. Extremely fit for a female.
With her arms behind her, thanks to the handcuffs that keep her attached to the chair, I can’t ignore how the dimly lit chandelier of our office accents the lines of her muscles along her arms and biceps.
When Kian was attending to the slice wound around her upper thigh, just above where she was previously shot, her muscular legs proved she not only runs a shit load with how slim they are but still balances her fitness regime with weight training.
She doesn’t skip leg day.
Her silver hair is no longer short. It’s long as fuck, almost down to her thick round ass. Her squat routine must be made for goddesses because it’s round, sexy, and extremely fuckable.
The thought makes me hard.
Her heart-shaped face with those high cheekbones and perfectly contoured face with minimal makeup has me secretly salivating to have her chin in my grasp so I can enjoy the sight of her flushed and teary-eyed.
Better yet, her mouth filled with my thick, veiny cock.
Distraction was the key to surviving when she was in the same vicinity as me, or else I’d lose my sanity.
I loved making her cry when we were younger.
Truthfully, I didn’t understand why she was the center of my fury. Why was it so easy to pile my frustrations on her like she was a garbage bin?
It didn’t make sense back then, and it certainly doesn’t make sense now, but having her here, five years later, in my space makes me think of far more sinful things I’d enjoy doing to her.
Things I wouldn’t have been able to do back then for multiple reasons.
The only difference now is those alluring eyes enjoy glaring back at me.
They no longer portray the heartbroken, weak girl with her huge ass glasses that frame her slim face. Instead, they’re on their own mission of revenge as she stares at me venomously.
