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“Let go,” I say. “Please.”
Malone’s gaze shifts to my lips, but then he lets me go.
What I should do is run.
But I can’t.
I need him, but right now, I’m shaking. I find the strength to pull up my panties and pull down my skirt and stand straight up to look him directly in the eye.
“Thank you,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my words. Disgust burns hot in my veins, almost as hot as the hate and lust that bubbles up for this man.
A nasty grin hits his mouth. “That ‘thank you’ must taste like shit on your tongue, yeah? Since you liked fucking me against your moral code?”
“There must be others I can hire.” I stiffen. I need him and yet… Christ, how the hell can I do this? With this man? I just whored myself out to him. I disgust myself.
He just raises his brow and sips his drink, nodding toward the door. “Go find them. You’re fun to fuck, but you’re starting to bore me.”
“So just help me, then.”
“I thought you were going to find someone else.”
“You said?—”
“The deal is fucking you in exchange for my protection.” He sighs and refills his glass.
“I don’t want to have sex with you.”
“That’s a lie,” he says, lifting his glass and taking a swallow. “You moaned and raised your ass for me and came from it all. Once with my cock buried up your formally virginal ass, and the next when you rode my face. The sex is non-negotiable, princess.”
“But—”
“You’re tasty, sex with you is fun,” he says, “and I’m not about to go on a diet. I’m not that kind of man.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“And yet you got off on me. Literally.”
My phone buzzes in the quiet of the office. He slants me a look, walks over to my bag, and pulls it out. With a quick glance at the screen, he hands it to me.
Uncle Grant. My stomach plummets into my shoes.
“Answer it.”
I cut my eyes at him and press Answer. “Uncle Grant, is everything all right?”
“Have you made that deal with him yet?” my uncle asks. His tone’s clipped, distracted, and I try to focus on that and not his hurtful words.
Hurtful because they’re from a man who doesn’t care what he’s asking his niece to do.
But clipped and distracted isn’t him when he’s after something, and my heart beats hard like it’s trying to escape the case of my ribs.
“Is everything all right?—?”
“You know I wouldn’t ask,” he says, “but it’s desperate times, Scarlett.”
Shame floods my cheeks because something’s wrong… oh God… Amelia. “Is?—”
“It’s not real, just a sham. Just pretend. We’re counting on you, Scarlett.”
