“As long as no one else gets to fuck you. You do want me to fuck you, don’t you Amelia?”
That sounds so nasty. It shouldn’t make me feel good, and I shouldn’t agree with him, but I do.
“What was that, sweetheart? I don’t think I quite heard.”
“I said yes, I only want you to…” I turn my head so I’m facing away from any passing foot traffic, not that we get much on this floor, but it wouldn’t do to be caught dirty talking on the company dime. Even if it is to the boss. “I only want you.”
“Want me to what?” he whispers back.Asshole.
“I’m not saying it.” I shake my head in denial. “I’m seriously ruined.”
“Oh, not yet you’re not.”
“Ruined that I would allow you to sexually Svengali me during office hours.” There’s more than a hint of grievance in my tone.
“It might take me a minute to dissect that, meanwhile, you’re missing the point. I’m just looking out for you.”
“What, like you’re my dad?”
“No, darling, like your daddy. You want Daddy to fill your aching pussy, don’t you?”
“Stop,” I say without conviction.
“We’ll do this my way because Daddy knows best.”
“Again, that’s not how I remember the conversation going down.”
“I’m sure you remember me going down. The rest is probably a blur. Who is it you’re going out with? Not the idiot from Hinge, I hope.”
“Who?”
“The rose bloke, Garrett, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, that’s it.” My stomach plummets off a cliff. He is way more invested than I’ve given him credit for. “Garrett. That’s who I’m going for coffee with. I know you didn’t like his profile of his prompts but—”
“He probably isn’t that bad.”
“No?” Talk about a change of direction.
“Just don’t let him buy you any lemonade.”
“Okay. Wait, why?”
“Remember his profile. Surprise anal!”
31
WHIT
His name is Greg,not Garrett…
After ending the call, I quickly type out a text, deleting it before I hit send. Why is she doing this? That she can’t even remember the arsehole’s name means she’s not going out with him. She’s probably not going out with anyone. Or is that just wishful thinking?
“Fuck!” Slamming my phone down on the table, I spin away from it because I want to smash it off the wall, and I’m not that arsehole. I mean, I am. I can be bad tempered and surly, but I’m not the kind of prick who’d smash a perfectly good phone and then insist someone lower down the food chain pop to the Apple store to pick me up a new one.
Even if I really do want to.
I should’ve known it wasn’t going to be as cut and dried as I’d told myself. I would’ve been better off letting her run wild through London and learning for herself how fucking brutal it is out there. But then, that would’ve required some kind of mental fortitude, not to mention lots of keeping my hands to myself. And where Amelia Valente is concerned, it seems I just can’t help myself.
