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She also doesn’t know that I’m unfazed by how many men she fucked before me—that I lost my mind the moment I first saw her because it was readily apparent that she had fucked her fair share of men. Practice makes perfect, after all.
And because she doesn’t know all these things about me, it’s abundantly clear she believes she can beat me at my own game. Her hubris—more than anything else, even above her dry-humping a stranger to taunt me—is her greatest affront.
Game on, Julia.
I force myself to take my time walking downstairs to meet her, making her wait. Still, our gazes remain locked on each other, growing hotter with each passing second.
When I’m close, the man dancing on her sees me—and sees the challenge on my face while I look him up and down, unimpressed. Briefly, he draws his head back like he’s considering standing his ground. Once I’m in his vicinity, however, it’s glaringly obvious I could pulverize him into a fine powder if it came to it.
Stoic, I cock my head to the side, the universal signal for get lost. The punk bitch actually does it.
Now alone amid the sway of dancing bodies, Julia takes me in. Haughty, she cants her head to the side. “Took you long enough.”
I sweep in, putting my face near hers. “Don’t say a fucking word,” I warn, our faces nearly touching. “You’ll ruin this.”
Roughly, I pull her against me, making our bodies collide in a soft pileup of skin and sweat. If she’s surprised, she doesn’t show it. Her hands immediately press against my pectorals, feigning a desire for distance and control when it’s obvious I’m ticking all the screwed-up checkboxes on her sordid list of wants.
Torn between annoyance, anger, and abject delight, I tighten my grip on her thigh, my fingers pressing into her supple skin with abandon. She can take it.
And Julia, good girl that she is, does take it. In fact, she even moves her own palm and jams it onto the back of my hand in a tacit order for me to clutch her thigh even harder.
My other hand traces her spine, exploring the soft lines of her bare back. Her dress leaves nothing to the imagination. Part of me is tempted to punish her for dressing like this for anybody but me when our contract is unfulfilled—and yet another part of me is so goddamn glad she did. Right now, I’m the only man in this club permitted to touch her. The less she wears, the more everyone else can envy me.
Envy is my fucking lifeblood.
When my hand reaches the back of her neck, the ends of her long, high ponytail tickle my skin. I clench my fist around it and give it a firm yank. Nothing to hurt her—only enough to make her inhale sharply. But the more I get to know her, the more I suspect she would be fine if it stung a little. If it stung a lot, actually.
She gasps when my tongue and lips make contact with her exposed neck, and she leans into the kiss. Teasing me. Hips grinding against me. Arms draped over my shoulders. I’m not dancing back, but my refusal somehow adds to the moment. She’s mine tonight. She’s here to entertain me—and I’m more than satisfied with her performance.
“Take me to your hotel,” she whispers into my ear with a tinge of a moan. At the same time, she thrusts the apex of her pussy against my growing erection. That touch skyrockets my pulse and temptation swells through me—yes, yes, fucking yes.
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” I keep my tone hard. Naturally, I don’t tell her I don’t have a room yet. That confession would force me to admit I went straight from the airport to a car—like a desperate man.
She smiles deviously before she gives me another thrust to the beat of the music. “Let’s fulfill our obligations,” she goes on, still letting that tinge of a moan coat her voice. “Show me how you fuck a fifty-billion-dollar pussy.”
Such a brat. The words are hot, but they’re meant to draw me in like bait on a hook. From any other pair of lips, I wouldn’t take this kind of taunting—no, mindfuckery.
“Tease,” I grit out, giving her ponytail another harsh tug. “You’ll back out again.”
Julia gives me her word by kissing me, soft lips dipping over mine to offer me a hit of her taste. She’s still sweet, even with a hint of vodka on her tongue. Groaning, I lean into her.
Do I make out with carefree twenty-eight-year-olds in public? Never. A picture of the two of us could net a tipster a healthy sum if they sold it to a tabloid. But when it comes to Julia, I forget about who I am and how I usually act. I forget that I’m forty-three—a grown ass man with a reputation for reclusion and steeliness. A mystery. A terrifying bastard. One of the richest men in the fintech world.
I’d readily throw all my mystique away for this—for the moment when I finally get to call in the debt I’m owed.
I release her hair at the same moment I kiss a trail down her neck, distracting her while I shoot off a text to Francis, telling him to get me some privacy right now. It then takes less than a minute for a gigantic, stern looking guy in a black suit to shove his way over to us.
He leads us out of the packed crowd and to the far side of the club, where we find ourselves in a long hallway lit up with neon pink lights. The stretch is sickly and too trendy for its own good, bordering on porny. This is the shit I’ve avoided my whole life, even when I was young enough for it to be fitting. Until now. Until her.
Julia—still holding my hand—seems neither impressed nor unimpressed. In fact, she’s too fixated on trying to pull me back into her grasp to kiss me.
She succeeds when we finally reach a door at the end of the hall, where the tank in the suit stops. He’s rifling through a key ring when Julia tugs me against her and leans against the wall adjacent to the door. Her kiss is ravenous beyond measure, and her willingness—her desperation—to touch me while another man is standing right next to us does ridiculous shit to my heart rate.
He finally gets the door open right when Julia takes my hand and places it on her breast over her skimpy dress.
She doesn’t give a fuck that he’s here, and frankly, I don’t either.
The tank hesitates briefly, like he’s not sure what to do now. I imagine he planned on telling us about the room or bidding us goodnight, but it’s patently obvious that Julia and I want to screw each other’s brains out in his place of work. Smart man, he gets his bearings and gestures at the now-open door before making himself scarce.
