Jenna gulps and wrenches her mouth away from mine.
“Don’t.” I bite her lip, tugging it with my teeth.
“That’s your girlfriend at the door.”
“I can’t believe”—I jerk hard against her— “that you are willingly handing me over to this Sable St. James. Do you ever fight for what you want?” I nip her ear. “Ever fight to win?”
There are voices in the foyer. Truman starts barking like this is his fucking penthouse.
I see the little dachshund try to make the jump from the top of the fridge to the kitchen island and scoop him off before he can.
Leaving Jenna to fuss with her clothes in the corner of the kitchen, I fix my tie as a woman with a full face of makeup who’s trying to look like she doesn’t have any on and with her hair in a high ponytail struts into my penthouse.
The guards I’ve hired for Jenna cart in this woman’s things—dresses in garment bags, boxes of shoes on a cart.
I take one look at her… and smile.
Sableisan escort—a high-end one. Very high-end. I’ve been a billionaire for a while. I know how it works. She has that careful demeanor of someone who pretends like they’re unbothered by obvious wealth.
“Hi.” Jenna draws out the word, walking up to Sable, who’s wearing one of those skintight athleisure outfits that her boobs would fall out of if she actually did any moderately strenuous exercise.
“Great, you brought something to change into. You can use one of the upstairs bedrooms to get ready. Let me fetch your jewelry.”
Sable is cataloguing the penthouse, the expensive furnishings, the quality of my suit, the exclusivity of the watch on my wrist.
So that’s why you’re here.
Like I’m ever going to fall in love with her.
“I thought you vetted these women,” I hiss in Jenna’s ear. She’s in the library, fishing in her bag.
She slaps my hand away when I scoop it along the curve of her ass. I kiss her neck then slap her ass.
Jenna slaps the shit out of my face. “Behave.”
I grab her wrists and shove her on her back on the couch.
“Fuck yeah, I like it when you talk like that.”
She strains against me, flexing against the grip I have on her wrists.
“I want to come on your tits.”
“Shit,” she whimpers as I angle my thigh between her legs, rising above her on one knee.
I let her tear one hand away. Instead of hitting me, she tangles her fingers in my hair, kissing me back furiously before she can help herself.
“You want me. Spread your legs for me. Fall in love with me.”
Jenna’s fumbling around in the spilled bags on the floor.
I briefly, in a haze of desire for her, wonder if she’s going to brain me with that stupid mug. Instead, Jenna hands me a box.
“Jewelry.”
I sit up off of her.
“I don’t wear jewelry, Cupcake.”Except a wedding ring.
