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I want to say what I’m thinking. I want to be blunt, to scare her.
“Or I’m going to have you on your knees in my bedroom with your hands tied behind your back and a riding crop turning that alabaster skin of your tempting little ass pink.”
I fully expect her face to turn red or for her lips to fall open, aghast at my blunt imagery, but she squares her shoulders, then shrugs.
“Sounds like a hollow threat,” she says defiantly, and it only makes my desires stronger.
I grab the edge of her stool and jerk it, her hands darting out to steady herself as I bring her body between my outstretched legs.
“Look at me,” I say as I grab her chin. “You can tease me all you want, Brontë, but if that’s all it’s going to be and you don’t plan on indulging me at some point, you better cut it out because I’ve told you once before, I’m not the kind of man you want to play with.”
Her eyes dart back and forth as she searches my expression. “I thought I had indulged you in Vegas.”
“And you think because of that you get a free pass to drive me absolutely wild?” I let my hand fall from her chin to her throat, my fingers wrapping around it delicately.
“Is that what I’m doing?” Gone is that timid woman who stumbled in my office a few weeks ago. “I thought this was forbidden, Beckham? I thought going behind daddy’s back was too much for you?”
I can’t hide my laugh. She’s pushing my buttons knowing full well what she’s doing. She wants me to break. She wants me to be so consumed with desire I throw the rules out the window and take her like I did yesterday at her birthday party.
“Are you topping from the bottom, young lady?” I squeeze my fingers tighter and I feel her throat constrict as she swallows nervously. “Or is that what this is for you? A chance to act out, rebel, and get back at your father by fucking his best friend?”
I lean in, running my tongue slowly up her bare neck, nipping at her earlobe.
“Does it turn you on to know that you have this kind of control over me? That no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to resist you? Is that what you’re trying to do to me? To get me to break and bend you over this countertop so I can bury my cock in your sweet, wet pussy?”
“Maybe,” she says calmly, her eyes growing heavy with lust. “I want you to beg for it.”
Chapter 13
Brontë
“Good night, Mr. Archer.”
I smile sweetly and wave as the elevator door closes between us. I won’t lie, getting him so turned on he was seconds from losing it was more fun than I expected, but walking away without allowing him to deliver on his threats will make for a long, lonely night.
I wanted to. I wanted to beg him to take me, but something about the delayed gratification of knowing that he’ll be thinking of nothing but me all night makes me feel powerful.
My Uber is already waiting for me when I exit his building. It’s only a ten-minute ride to my neighborhood but it’s a little too dark and late for me to be walking home alone in the city.
“Thank you. Have a good night.”
I shut the car door and dig through my pocket for my key ring, finding them and letting myself into my building. I check my mail, then walk through the lobby toward the elevator as I sort through a few mailers and my bank statement.
“Brontë?”
I snap my head up when I hear my name and spin around to see Chantelle over by the front desk in the lobby.
“Hey, Chantelle, what are you doing here? Is everything okay?” I panic, suddenly worried something has happened to my father or my brothers.
“No, no, everything is okay.” She smiles and walks over to me, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “Do you have a few minutes?”
“Yeah, absolutely.” I punch the elevator call button and the doors open immediately, taking us up to my floor.
“Do you want some tea or wine?” I shut the door behind us and place my folder on the counter, pointing toward my small kitchen.
My apartment isn’t large. It’s a small one-bedroom, one-bath, but it’s plenty of space for just me. I even lucked out and got an in-unit washer and dryer.
“No, I won’t keep you long. In fact, I’ll just get straight to the point.”
