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I nearly spray my Macallan over her.
“I think you’ve got me confused with Russell from accounting.” I wonder if she’ll get my joke.
Jokes on me, apparently.
Jesus, the Dark Kings would be grinning their asses off right now. In the past hour, I’ve dressed this woman, boiled the jug and put marshmallows in her goddamn hot chocolate, and now I’m sitting here, listening to her house décor tips—pink fucking décor—instead of fucking her senseless.
Listening to her chat has been amusing, however. In the past twenty minutes, Mia has asked me a lot of questions—all of which I’ve avoided answering—and she’s told me nothing about herself.
It’s been the most non-sexual, real intimate moment I’ve spent with another human in a very long time.
Which is why she needs to leave.
I have no space in my life for any kind of relationship. Nothing that doesn’t contribute to my purpose.
Revenge.
Mia leans forward, her foot dropping to the floor, and puts her mug on the coffee table. Then she turns to me and places a hand on my thigh. I ignore how much I like her touch and resist telling her to move up higher. Only because her brows are bunched, and it looks like she’s about to say something serious.
“I’m sorry about earlier. I wish I could explain what happened, but I can’t. It’s too—”
I shake my head.
“Mia, I’m not a sensitive man. You don’t need to explain.” Although, I am curious, and something is nagging at me about it. “But I do want to fuck you. If you don’t, I can take you home.”
She tugs on her bottom, and my cock jumps to attention.
I’m strongly sensing a yes here.
My shirt drapes across her silky olive shoulder, exposing the curve of her breast. I run a finger across it, nudging the material and then taking her nipple between my fingers.
She leans into it, and her lids lower.
“Sign the document and submit to me, Mia. Then let me lick your cunt and listen to you scream.”
She gasps, and those crystal eyes sparkle as I pull her closer and take her mouth in mine.
