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“I won’t be able to eat either,” she quips.
“Touché.” I smile and kiss her again. “Now, shut up and eat so you have strength for me later.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CORA
Samuel sure has me fucking figured out.
I’m a sick, depraved fuck.
Maybe all this asphyxiation is causing brain damage, but I can’t fucking get enough of him. I glance over my shoulder at him, sitting a few tables behind me at the coffee shop, only to find him staring back at me with an unwavering hunger in his eyes.
Be strong, Cora.
“You are not fucking me in the bathroom of this coffee shop,” I mouth the words before turning back to the counter to wait for our coffee order.
My phone immediately buzzes in my pocket, and I know it’s him before I pull it from my jeans.
Samuel
I’ll fuck you when and where I want.
If I wanted to bend you over the fucking counter, you’d take every fucking inch of me as everyone in here watched what a slut you are for me.
You’d fight me, but you’d love every fucking second of it.
I’m about to put it back into my pocket when it buzzes again.
Maybe I’ll get one of these women to eat that perfect cunt of yours while I take your ass.
You seemed to enjoy that yesterday.
Fuck, he isn’t wrong…what an afternoon.
Tell me you aren’t wet…
Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I turn to find a devilish grin spread clear across his face.
Fucking bastard.
It took him no time at all to figure out exactly what makes me tick—being completely at his mercy. The rest of this relationship thing, we’re kind of figuring that out as we go.
“Cora,” the barista calls my name and slides two paper cups in my direction.
“Thank you.” I nod as I lift them both from the counter. Turning, I immediately notice that the fun, playful look has completely dissipated from Samuel’s face. In its place is a dark scowl. Pure, unadulterated anger.
Murderous rage.
It isn’t until the woman in front of me moves that I realize a middle-aged gentleman has helped himself to my seat across the table from Samuel. The man has a folder splayed open and is aggressively pointing at the contents as though he’s goading Samuel to look at whatever is laid on the table before him.
The man quickly closes the folder and pulls it back to his side of the table when he sees me approaching. Placing the coffee order before Samuel, I tentatively question, “Everything okay here?”
“Perfect, love.” Samuel’s response oozes with tension as he stands from his seat.
“I don’t think we’ve met.” The gentleman stands as he extends a hand toward me.
“Cora Durant.” I hesitantly slip my hand into his.
