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She’d struggled and squirmed, but the more she wriggled beneath him the more turned on he became. He’d grabbed her wrists and moved them above her head, holding them there with one hand, and roughly fondling her breasts with the other. Then he’d thrust and pumped and pummeled her pussy until his climax seized him. Grunting loudly, and with his body shuddering through the spasms, his essence exploded from his swollen cock.
The moment it happened, he realized he’d forgotten to wear a condom. Hastily pulling out and standing up, he stared down at the rumpled body in front of him. Then, to his horror, she’d started to sob.
“Why did you do that? How can you be so cruel?”
“Are you fucking crazy? You showed up here wearing that—that—painted on thing—no underwear—and—”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she’d cried, jumping from the bed and shimmying her dress over her hips. “You’re a monster.”
He’d suddenly felt a strange, prickling sensation ripple down his spine.
“You came over here—“
“To talk,” she snapped, cutting him off. “To make things right, and you even said, no sex, but you forced yourself on me.”
“Don’t pull that shit on me,” he’d snarled, moving threateningly towards her.
But grabbing her purse, she’d bolted from the room and out the front door, slamming it shut behind her.
He’d wanted to run after her, but his heart had been threatening to leap out of his chest, and he’d broken into a cold sweat. Pulling off his clothes and jumping into the shower, he’d leaned against the wall trying to make sense of what had just happened.
The answer landed like an electric shock.
He’d been set up.
But by who, why, what would happen next...and what was the end game?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
OPENING HIS EYES, JOHNtook another swallow of whiskey.
Reliving the experience in his head had been like watching a movie.
Except a movie was just a string of scenes played out by actors and put on film. The nightmare he’d lived—was still living—was real. Either Sue Jackson was a nutcase, or she was going to blackmail him again...or worse. It was entirely possible she was just the hired help, and someone else was pulling the strings. The house phone rang, startling him and causing him to spill his drink down the front of his Gucci suit.
“Dammit!” he shouted, jumping to his feet. Still clutching the glass, he hurried to his desk. “Hello?” he said sharply, picking up the receiver.
