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My body writhed in pleasure, my hips thrusting into him, begging him to give me what I wanted, what my body needed.
He finally moved his fingers faster, and my begging turned into loud cries.
I was already shaking, quivering with need, my thighs soaked with my own arousal, when he brought his fingers—coated in my arousal—up and painted my lips with my come. His eyes locked with mine, filling my vision until my eyelids fluttered at the touch of his lips to mine in a kiss.
Pulling away just enough so he could lock eyes with me again, he said, “You are my property. My pawn in whatever game I choose to play. Don’t ever forget that.”
CHAPTER 7
LUC
“Mr. Manwarring, so good of you to receive me this morning.” Mary Quinn Astrid, my soon to be monster-in-law, offered her hand, wrist turned down, like I was supposed to kiss it or something ridiculous.
I ignored it.
“Well, after the way you harassed my concierge, I didn’t see how I had a choice.” I kept my tone pleasant enough, but the slight flaring of her nostrils told me my words hit home.
“We need to talk.” She stalked into my entryway, her beige Birkin bag awkwardly swinging in one hand as she wrapped her arms around her middle, pressing her breasts together.
It was nine a.m., and she was in my penthouse wearing clothes that would be inappropriate for a woman half her age, trying to make her over-filled, fake tits seem appealing.
If she made a pass at me, I was throwing her off the balcony.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked out of habit, I supposed. Though I wasn’t in the habit of letting women I wasn’t fucking into my home. Even then, few made it here.
“Yes, thank you.” She gave me a polite smile that never reached her eyes.
Would she even bother with the pretense of manners if she knew how I’d bent her daughter over that pool table last night?
Or how I’d made her come on my fingers just to prove I owned her body?
I spent a great deal of time last night thinking about how Amelia’s body responded to my touch. There definitely was more to my ice princess than I’d first assumed. She’d had the audacity to tell me no, like I had given her a choice. It didn’t matter. Her lips said one thing but her body another.
Amelia had enjoyed our little tiff as much as I had. Her pussy was soaked well before I started rubbing her clit, and she couldn’t suppress all her little moans of pleasure or the way her lips parted in a beautiful, silent scream when she came on my command.
And to make it even sweeter, all of that had happened after I spanked the generous curves of her ass.
She could glare daggers at me all she liked.
She could tell me she hated every minute.
She could call me a brute and a savage beast.
That was all fine.
She could lie to herself all she liked, but she couldn’t lie to me.
Not after I painted her lips with her own come then kissed them clean.
Would Mrs. Astrid be acting differently if she knew how close I’d been to fucking her precious little girl at one of the largest society events of the year?
Probably not. I very much doubted this shrew gave a fuck about her daughter’s welfare. If she did, she wouldn’t have been so amenable to giving her to me in the first place.
She pushed past me to enter further into my large penthouse as if she owned the place. “A cup of coffee would be wonderful.”
I hated having guests in my home.
I barely tolerated having my father here. This was my space, my sanctuary where I could work without my father looking over my shoulder, without people interrupting me. I shouldn’t have to host the overprivileged waste of plastic surgery that was Mrs. Astrid.
