“You begging me, Cupcake? You begging for my cock?”
“Uh-huh.” My hips jerk.
“Let me hear it.” He kisses me hard, his tongue forcing into my mouth. “Beg me for it. I told you the day you and those bucking heels and your needy fucking pussy stepped foot in my office that you’d beg me for it, didn’t I?”
I bite back the needy whimper, my fingers not enough. I hate myself for craving him.
“Stop fighting me.” The teeth at my earlobe are sharp.
My fingers work faster. If I just come, then I’ll stop craving him, stop the wanting, stop the avalanche of bad decisions, and no, McCarthy, it’s not you. It could be any man here talking to me filthy like this.
I’m finally close.
After this, I’m leaving. I’m going to the office, getting my things, and slinking home like a teenager debasing herself for some pimple-faced boy.
“Let me see you come,” McCarthy hisses in my ear. Then he literally stands back so he can watch me, mouth hanging open, hips jerking as I come all over my hand, performing some filthy private show just for him.
Panting, I blink my hair out of my eyes. I’m feeling a little more rational. Not completely, but enough to be embarrassed that I just got myself off with my client watching. I mean, new low, Jenna.
I push myself upright.
Large hands grab my wrists, forcing my hands to my face, spreading the wet pussy juices all over me. Then he leans in licks it off, mouths my jaw, flicks his tongue into my still-panting mouth.
“Fuck, you don’t know what you do to me.” The deep voice is rough. “I could chain you up, watch you finger fuck yourself for hours. I should have known someone who goes through fiancés like butter is a fucking slut.”
I slam my hand into his shoulder. It’s like hitting a brick wall.
I can’t even yell a curse at him because he’s kissing me.
“I knew the second you walked into my house you were the type of girl who’d do anything for cock, anything to get fucked, anything, anything for a man to tell her she’s the best goddam fuck he’s ever had.” His mouth crushes to mine.
“Asshole,” I try to spit around his tongue.
He releases me with a jerk of my head.
I’m trying to pull up my shorts as he presses heavy kisses under my jaw.
“What kind of filthy shit will you let me do to you, I wonder?”
I stand up on shaky knees.
“Nothing. I’m not that kind of girl.”
“Right. You want a guy to propose marriage to you before you spread your legs for him.”
“I’m so sick of you.”
He swipes at me.
I dart away, my thighs twinging.
For a second, I think I’ll try for the door, but McCarthy’s there, and the lizard part of my brain doesn’t want to go anywhere near him.
“That’s not what you said when I had my tongue on your clit,” he taunts. “I think it was something along the lines of ‘I want your cock.’”
He doesn’t chase me when I sprint to the stairs, my still-filthy hand sliding up the polished mahogany banister and the wet fabric still uncomfortable between my legs.
My face is hot. McCarthy is laughing below me. Laughing like he just won.
