Page 33 of Sexy

“Exactly. I don’t force women to come look at me take my clothes off. I don’t force women to hire me to find them a boyfriend. All I do is fill a niche. And you need filling, Tiffy. I can help you too.”

I scowl at him. “You don’t even know me. Or Cole.”

He turns me around, takes my hands, pins them behind my back and pushes me up again the wall. “I know all I need to know, Miss Preston.”

The switch from casual Tiffy to formal Miss Preston does a number on my heart. And when he pushes his hips into my ass, I have to draw in a tight breath.

“I know you want Cole to fuck you like I did this morning.” His hand slips down to my waist and then slides along the little dent under my hip bone. “You want him to touch you, Tiffy?” He gathers up my flirty pink dress in a bunch and then he’s underneath it, stroking my thigh. My pussy tightens and tingles with anticipation of what I know is coming. I should stop him. We cannot do this again. But everything about Fletcher Novak makes me want to say yes.

“You want him to make you come three times in a row? I can make him want to do that. I can change the way he sees you. I can deliver what you think you want.”

And then Fletcher is pushing my panties aside and stroking my pussy.

“Wait, what are you doing?” I gasp. We cannot do this again.

“He’s a big guy. He’s got big hands, doesn’t he?”

Oh my God, why does Fletcher have this effect on me? Why does he make me feel so good? “Mmmm,” I mew out, totally embarrassed that I’m letting him get me started again, and yet utterly helpless to stop him.

“I bet two of my fingers equal one of his.”

“Fletcher, we can’t,” I moan as he slips two fingers inside me.

“I bet you imagine he’ll stretch you like this, right?”

I’m not even capable of talking right now.

“I’m sure his cock is small and puny and will be a huge disappointment—”

“Fletcher!”

“Because my cock is the king and always delivers satisfaction.” Fletcher laughs, and I lean back into his chest a little. “But if you want him, I can deliver. I can. But I’m seriously not ready to leave this job. So princess, let me take care of things, OK? I’ll make it all right. And we’ll both end up happy.”

I know it’s wrong—not giving in to his plan, I’m all over that—it’s wrong to want him to keep going. But I do. So I fake my reluctance. Just a little, so he will try a little harder to convince me. “I don’t know…”

“Remember,” he breathes into my neck, just the way he told me to do it—and holy fuck, that shit works again—“how it felt to be with a man who pays attention? I can make him pay attention, Tiffy.” He continues to finger me, pushing in and out in a motion that is so slow, it’s killing me with anticipation. And then he withdraws his fingers and I whimper.

He laughs into my neck. “Turn around,” he says, making it more of a command than a request.

I turn slowly, my eyes on the floor. What am I doing? Didn’t I just get done convincing myself it was a mistake to fuck him? And now I’m caught in that web again.

But he lifts my chin up with one fingertip, and waits for me to drag my eyes up to his.

When I finally do, he smiles. Relaxing me. “Put your hands above your head.”

I blink at him again.

“Do it.”

I gulp some air and do as I’m told. My breasts lift up, my nipples perky and hard. The hem of my dress hits me mid-thigh now, and then Fletcher presses his knee between my legs, making the throbbing that started to abate when he withdrew his fingers start back up.

“I’m good,” he says.

I nod.

“Say it.”

“You’re good at this, Fletcher.”