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She’s a fucking psychopath.
On the brink, I let out a heavy, protracted exhale. “You’re fucking with my head.”
“You make it easy,” she states, not denying it. Even while drunk, she has a devilish grin that puts all others to shame.
Clenching my jaw, I force myself to narrow my eyes. “I loathe you.”
“And yet you still want me so bad, you’re a second away from destroying your couch cushion.” She raises her chin at my hand, which I’ve failed to realize is gripping the edge of a cushion with so much force, my knuckles are turning white.
A haughty look passes over her face. “I thought you were a man who takes what he wants,” she comments slowly, testing out which of her goading words will rattle me the most. “Not to mention, a man who told me to take off my dress the first time he met me. I’m right here, giving you everything you want, and you’re losing your nerve? Oh, August. What a letdown.”
“Don’t provoke me, Julia,” I warn, steadily losing my patience. “I’m not capable of playing nice.”
“No shit,” she replies, snickering. “Nobody thinks you’re nice. Nobody.” She tosses her long hair over her shoulder again. “So don’t be a nice man. Be a bad one. Fuck me.”
She has too much leverage, I realize. No matter what I do, she’s going to keep trying to make me give in—to admit she’s in control of the situation.
This is a takeover.
Not for long.
“Come here,” I instruct, making a matching gesture with my hand. “Now.”
“What?” she questions, blinking hard, trying to ascertain if I’m giving in—if I’m going to fuck her after all. The look of surprise on her face is a brief window of hope: I can still win this round.
“Fucking come here,” I order her, using my harshest tone when she doesn’t move from her spot. “You want to get off so badly, then get off on me.”
As my directive floats in the air between us, Julia shifts in place like she doesn’t comprehend what I’m saying.
“Jesus, woman.” I reach for her hand to tug her towards me. “Get in my lap,” I demand as she stumbles to the space in front of me, “and ride me until you come. Surely you know how to make yourself come.”
Julia continues to watch me in silence while I settle her atop my legs once again. Her brow is knotted tightly, and the look she gives me is the unholy mix of uncertainty and suspicion—and yet it still looks pretty on her.
“You’re not going to fuck me?” she inquires softly. “All you want me to do is come in your lap—that’s it?”
It takes me a moment to realize she’s asking if this is the deal now—if this is how Davenport-Ridgeway acquires FundRight.
“And if it is?” I inquire, surveying her for cues of disappointment while I take up an absentminded caress on her bare back. “Would it be a letdown?”
“Hell no,” she answers, but it’s an obvious lie. She’s leaning into my touch, and once she finishes speaking, she folds her lips over her teeth and stares into my eyes, waiting for me to dispel any notions at play here.
“We’ll fuck another time,” I assure her, eager to move us along now that she’s practically naked in my lap. “For now, you can make your drunk ass come right here in my lap.”
“Meaning…”
“Meaning, I want you to make yourself come.” I place my hands on her bare arms, surprised by how soft she feels. It’s a wonder that any part of Julia Ridgeway could be soft, yet her arms feel unexpectedly delicate against my palms—so damn delicate.
“And if I don’t feel like it?” she returns, raising both shoulders.
I force a shrug, telling her that her satisfaction means nothing to me, even though I would break necks to see her come right now. “If you don’t feel like it, then you should stop whining about me fucking you.”
“Asshole,” she mutters, but she still lowers her hand between us.
Quickly, she picks up a rhythm with her lower body. She starts to undulate her hips, and I worry I haven’t been clear. I don’t want her thrumming her clit with her hand; I want her to grind against me—to use my body. To ride me like a toy. But as I learn more about Julia, I realize she would never take the easy way out. No, her hand is just there to notch my cock right against her thong-clad pussy.
Insatiable. Fucking insatiable.
“There,” she murmurs, pressing against my hardness, groaning on the word. “Happy?”
