“Because you’re a bastard if you don’t.” Her palms flatten against the wall as her head bends forward. Every muscle, every fiber of her being is tense.

I work my finger over her clit again, watching carefully as she tenses more, her back arching. I want to bring her to the edge, to the point where she’s about to fall over. “You already think I’m a bastard, so what does it matter? You think the worst of me, Lottie. If I let you come, you will still think the worst about me.”

“But at least I’ll know you can command my body. And isn’t that what you want? Control?”

She knows how to talk to me, she knows what I like to hear, and that’s scary. Because, yes, I do want control. I want her to lay her eyes on me and heat up. I want her to crave me when I walk into the room. And I know I shouldn’t, I know this is strictly business, but she unleashed something inside me tonight. And now I feel . . . desperate.

“Tell me.” I pinch her clit, evoking a loud moan from her. “When I walk into the room, does your body heat up?”

She doesn’t answer right away, but takes a second to catch her breath. “No,” she finally says.

Pressing my entire body against hers, I ask, “Why the hell not?”

“Because,” she gasps as I rub her clit between my fingers. “Fuck,” she mutters, her breath heavy. “Because I don’t know how . . . how hard you can make me come.”

“Is that a challenge?” I ask her, releasing her clit and causing her to nearly collapse against my chest. Her entire body shakes, and I know she’s right where I want her to be. She’s right where I need her.

“It’s a request,” she says, her voice so full of vulnerability that my idea of edging her to her orgasm and leaving her there to finish herself off slips from my mind. Although I’d love to see her beg, plead, and then storm off in anger—knowing she’ll use one of those vibrators to make herself come—I want her to know that she’s right, that I do command her body.

I move my hand back to her pussy, but I just cup her, making sure to keep my hand still despite the way she shakes beneath me.

“Listen to me, Lottie.” When she doesn’t acknowledge me, I grip her tighter. “Are you listening?”

“Yes,” she answers breathlessly.

“I wasn’t going to let you come, I was going to edge you out until you were crying, begging for more, but your lack of trust or even regard for me is disconcerting.” I press my lips right against her ear as I start to pulse my finger over her clit. “I’m a good man. You might not see it now, but you will.”

“This won’t change anything,” she says.

“That’s a boldfaced lie,” I say as her legs tighten around my hand and her body stiffens even more. “This will change everything. You might still hate me, you might still not want to look at me, but you’ll damn well know, you fucking crave me.”

I apply more pressure and move faster and faster until she clamps around me and moans against the wall as her pelvis rocks across my finger.

She comes.

And she comes hard. My hand is soaked by her arousal, and she grinds against me, her moans muffled by the wall. She rides out her orgasm and every spasm until there’s nothing left inside of her to give.

I pull my hand away and spin her back around, planting her back against the wall. I tilt her chin up so her eyes meet mine, and that’s when I drag my finger that was just teasing her pussy across my tongue. Her eyes turn heady as she watches me taste every last inch of my fingers.

“You’re fucking delicious.” I reach for the sash of her robe and tie the two ends together, closing off the view of her delectable body. “If Karla doesn’t set up another appointment with your sister, let me know. I’ll make sure her pitch is heard.” I cup her cheek, studying those mesmerizing eyes of hers. “Have a good night, Lottie.”

Still hungry—now for the fucking incredible taste of her—I release her and return to the dining room. I can smell her on my fingers. On my hand. I can taste her on my tongue. As if she’s still millimeters from my lips. And I want to taste her some more. I want to fuck her against that wall.

She’s. Not. For. You.

My mind races with what she might be thinking. Does she want me? Does she still hate me?

Do I still want her to hate me?

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Twelve

LOTTIE

Taking a deep breath, I knock on Kelsey’s door.

Coffee and donuts are in hand as I wait nervously outside.

I didn’t text her last night, I didn’t even bother contacting her, because I know how my sister works. When she gets mad, she needs time, and she needs space. I’m hoping a night away was all she needed, because, Jesus Christ, I need someone to talk to.

I need someone bad.

After what happened in the hallway with Huxley, I need to get it off my chest, and Kelsey is the only one who knows what’s actually going on in my life.

Last night, I felt . . . defeated. I felt as though I let down my entire family, and the last thing I wanted to do was have dinner with Huxley. I knew if I didn’t show up, he’d make a big deal about it, so I did the absolute minimum. And then I left. I didn’t think he’d chase after me, and I certainly didn’t think he’d attempt to take off my robe, let alone make me come all over his fingers. I’m not really sure if wearing the robe had been to tease him, if I’m honest.

I nibble on my bottom lip, still thinking about the way his strong, commanding voice felt right up against my ear, how his hand felt so large on my body, how desperately I wanted his lips to trail up my neck and across my jaw.

I truly do hate the man, there’s no question about that, but, oh my God, is he hot. He knows exactly how to use his voice, his body, in a way that will make anyone fall at his feet—me included.

And that orgasm . . . Christ. It was with just his fingers, and yet, it felt as though he attacked me in a way I can’t even describe. I felt as if I were under a spell and the only way to snap out of it was with an orgasm. And that orgasm delivered. It was so good, so satisfying, that I was still turned on when I went back into my room, and I had to ride it out on Thor one more time with the memory of Huxley’s dominant voice playing over and over in my head.

But what’s really rocking my world is not only what he said after, but the way he said it to me. Gently, holding my chin so I was forced to look him in the eyes, he made sure I understood that he’d take care of my sister. That he’d make sure she was heard.

When he left, I stood there, stunned.

There was no harsh tone, there was no sarcastic jab, it was as if I was back in Chipotle, talking to the man I first met. It was confusing. It’s why I need Kelsey to forgive me and open this door.

Impatiently I shift my feet until the door unlocks, and I hold my breath. Kelsey appears on the other side, but instead of wearing her usual boss-lady attire, she’s in a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top.

Oh God, what happened?

I swallow hard, smile, and hold up the coffee and donuts. “I’m sorry.”

She eyes the items in my hand and then opens the door more to let me in.

Step one complete: I’m inside the apartment. I go to the kitchen, grab plates, and set everything out on her dining table. She takes a seat across from me, pulling one of her legs against her chest, and watches as I carefully take out each donut, put it on a platter between us, set the bag on the ground, and then hand her the coffee I know she loves—a house blend with frothed milk and a splash of caramel. She takes a sip and I hold up the plate, which bears a giant bear claw, an apple fritter, a maple Long John, and of course, the classic Boston cream. As predicted, she picks up the apple fritter and I go for the Boston cream.