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“Maybe you’d rather do this scene with Jimbob,” I snark, and Bennet’s eyebrows rise.
“With Jimbob? First, he would never.”
“I’m sure he would if you asked him. He made gaga eyes at you all night. He licked that corn on the cob like it was a dick!”
“He did not, that’s just how he eats corn.”
I huff, my hands on my hips. “Hesodid. You can’t fool me, Bennet. And the entire time you were whispering to him. What were you saying, huh? Was it important? State secrets? Do you work for the CIA now?”
Bennet eyes me like I’ve gone crazy, and I feel like I have. I’ve gone mad.
“He was telling me some…stuff.”
“Sex stuff?” I ask and then roll my eyes because I do. Not. Care. At all. I don’t give two shits about it.
“It doesn’t matter. Forget I said anything. We have a teaser to do,” I say and then point to the bed. Bennet doesn’t listen, just stands there defiantly while I set up the cameras. I don’t know what I’m gonna do, but I want to make him beg for it. I really want him to apologize for this dinner, for making it so damn painful.
I almost choked on my salad. And I love salad.
“Are you going to be a brat?” I ask him when I turn on the cameras, and Bennet stares at me.
“If anyone is a brat, it’s you.”
I huff in annoyance.
“I am not,” I say, and Bennet runs a hand through his hair.
“Honestly. You drive me crazy,” he murmurs, and I point at his shirt, not wanting to deal with this shit. We don’t need to talk about it. About any of it.
“Off,” I say, and Bennet bunches the hem in his hand and eyes me.
“Ask nicely.”
Oh hell, he did not.
I take a step toward him and poke a finger into his chest.
“Off, motherfucker,” I whisper, and Bennet has the goddamn nerve to smirk.
I want to wipe it off. I want those lips to bleed.
I lean forward, pulling his bottom lip between my teeth and biting down. Hard.
Bennet hisses at the pain and pulls back abruptly, his lip pulling from his mouth. Releasing it with a pop, I stare at him smugly.
And then Bennet moves. He’s on me, his hands grasping my hips, pushing me up against the wall. It groans under the weight of us pressing against it. I wouldn’t be surprised if it caved and we fell through, right onto the cold, brown grass outside.
His hips are pressed up against mine, his cock hard and unyielding. He arches up, and I feel the drag of his length against mine.
I am impossibly hard. So damn ready.
“You bit me,” he murmurs, and I let out a shaky breath as he grinds into me again. Oh gods. This is too good. Too damn good. Why is he like this? Why is it him?
“I did,” I reply, my voice uneven and raspy. “You deserved it.”
“You know what you deserve,” he says, his nose sliding up the side of my neck, and I tremble at the sensation. “You deserve a good spanking for that.”
“You will not,” I say, but my voice is not convincing. It just begs for it. I want his hands on me.
