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She couldn't stop him from forcing her legs apart. He slid his palm over her pussy, and she sagged against him, her eyes drifting half-closed, her fists balled against his chest.
He leaned down and licked the side of her throat, cupping her sex, holding her in his palm like she was just another possession of his. Still, her body melted, and wave after wave of excitement flooded her.
“And after you give me your sweet, delicate innocence, you're going to beg me to fuck you all the wrong ways I know how.”
“I will never,” she denied and hoped she sounded as vehement as she intended.
She didn’t.
She barely managed to whisper the words aloud. “I know what’s at stake. I won’t let you take down Everry Place.”
He stared her down and held her whimpering body against his for long, intense moments.
“You know, you could have just asked me.” His fingers brushed against her folds. She tried to push his hand away; the touch was just too distracting.
“What do you mean?” she asked, although her tummy started to knot. What had she done?
“If you asked me not to demolish your grandparents' home, I wouldn’t have.”
“But—you wouldn’t have?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Just like that?”
“If you had asked me, yes.”
“But you let me sign this ridiculous contract when you could have just stopped me.”
Why on earth didn’t she think she could just ask him, plead with him, to save her grandparents' home before she embarked on the most preposterous negotiation of her life?
Why had that not been the first thing she thought about before thinking,“Oh, he wants to pay me for my virginity, so I’ll just tell him to keep his money and work for my virginity, and if he fails to seduce me after thirty days, Everry Place stays.”
Why did she have to complicate things with such Brobdingnagian measures? Where had she gone wrong? The simplest solution was just to appeal to him. But no, she had to do it the hard way.
“Okay. I’m asking you now. Please—”
“Too late. We signed a contract, and you know how I feel about contracts.”
Oh, yes, she knew why she chose the most arduous path possible. It was him. Hunter McLeod made her do crazy things from the first moment she saw him. After he had eavesdropped on her conversation about her lack of sex life, things had just gotten crazier from there.
“Besides, it wouldn’t have changed anything between us. I would still have found a way to get you here, naked, wearing my shirt, my handprints on your ass, pinned against my wall, wet against my fingers. “He ran his knuckle down the slit of her pussy, and she quivered, clenching her belly tight to stop herself from getting wetter.
The crazy stopped here and now.
“You,” she seethed, madder than she had ever been. Using a titanic amount of strength, she pushed into his chest. Lucky for her, he seemed congenial and moved.
She searched around for her marker and yet again stalked back to him.
Too mad to care about his colossal junk, she continued to add “control freak” to “bigheaded” and “cocksure” after pulling down his snow-white boxer briefs just a little. She ground her teeth at the scent of his soap and the size of his hard cock. Now she needed to find real estate elsewhere on his body to write her new word because she wasn't so far gone that she was going to pull his boxer brief even farther down.
His arm.
Going vertical, she started to write the word “charlatan.”
“Are you done?” he asked, clearly amused.
“Yes,” she said, ending her new addition with two exclamation points.
