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He could just buy his way into society—something I’ll never understand—by not touching me, but no doubt it makes him extra hard.
The fake thing should be enough.
I let out a breath, my eyes traveling over his body, his blond hair a little damp. I sweep my tongue over my lips as my gaze traces the way the jeans cup his ass. My God, it’s beyond perfection and into the realm of wicked sin. The denim’s old, faded, and I’m a little shocked he’s not covered in ink. He’s the type who should be.
It’s fake, dammit. All of this. Don’t get caught up. Don’t?—
Malone’s cock strains against his jeans. When he looks at me, I don’t know if it’s the command in his eyes or that thing I can’t quite grasp in the depths of his stare, but I drop to my knees and reach for him, ignoring the thoughts looping through my mind.
His expression becomes a canvas of dark, unfettered lust and his mouth curls up. “You want this?” He cups his cock in the jeans.
“Yes.” I don’t know where the word comes from, but it’s there, because any self-respect fled the moment I fell to my knees. Like it does every time he looks at me with that command, all those unspoken words.
“You’re going to have to work for it.”
“It’s early,” I say, my brain desperately scrambling for a foothold on sanity. “I have work.”
“Bullshit. Today’s when you usually go to your father’s. You’re going to still do that, and you’ll poke around. But I’ll tell you when.” He looks down at me and walks to the door. “Crawl.”
“But—”
“Crawl. You’re going to suck my cock, and then if you’re lucky, I’ll let you sit on my face.”
My mouth starts to water. Take what I can get, that’s my plan. I’m a jumble of need, of wild thoughts that tangle and change, except at the very core.
Hate him, loathe him, or mildly dislike this man and all he stands for, the fact is I want him. I like the sex.
Like is way too mild a word for what I actually feel, but I keep it, because it feels safer, gives me the illusion of land, or safety in these wild and turbulent seas.
“I’ll sweeten the pot, I’ll even give you money to go shopping.”
“That’s insulting on all kinds of levels.”
“Maybe when you sit on my face you can try and smother me.”
“That’s the dream,” I say.
And he laughs. “Crawl.”
I do. When it comes to him and what he has that I want, dignity doesn’t exist. I move across the floor, and he keeps moving back, beckoning me. It doesn’t matter that my hands and knees hurt from last night and the hard cement of the warehouse floor, because right now I’m focused on him.
If I’m focused on him, then I don’t feel it as much, and there’s something in me, pushing me, through the humiliating fact I’m crawling, through the bites of pain.
Once he’s in the living room, he finally stops, standing there looking like a blond god, and he watches me, his gaze hungry and feral.
“Come on, Red,” he says, undoing the top button of his jeans. “Shake that ass for me. Give me a show.”
Malone waits until I’m almost at his feet and he turns, goes to the couch, and picks something up. Handcuffs.
Something in me lurches with need at the sight of them.
“On your knees and turn.”
I glare at him, He keeps pushing things to different levels that I’m never ready for, like he is right now. “You just made me?—”
“I’m aware of what I made you do. If you want the orgasm you know I can give you, you’ll get on your fucking knees and put your hands behind your back and turn.”
“I hate you.”
