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When I made it back to my room, I tore the shower door open and got in, fisting my cock roughly as I pictured her on her knees before me, drinking down my cum instead of my whisky. Guilt flooded me as I came with her name on my lips.
Worst of all, I was still bloody starving.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
VALENTINA
I stared at Logan from my seat in the hallway, watching as he laughed with the other diners at the mammoth mahogany dining table. Waiters served them up a mouth-watering meal as they drank wine and talked business.
Some playthings sat next to their playmates’ feet, being fed titbits directly from their fingers. A furious jealousy swept through me as I watched them. As I wished that I was knelt with my cheek against Logan’s thigh as he fed me cubes of steak. I’d lick the juices off of his fingers until he couldn’t handle it anymore and pulled me under the table to suck his fat cock until he filled my mouth in front of everyone.
But no.
He’d done nothing but ignore me for two solid days since spitting his whisky into my mouth. His resolve had wavered, only briefly, but enough that it had made him vulnerable. Then he’d battened down the hatches and shut me out completely.
I’d barely seen him in the public spaces in the house, and whenever I had, he’d simply turned the other way and pretended I didn’t exist.
I was sick of it.
It was time to make him see me.
The waiter had just finished serving him up a plate of delicious looking tiramisu, which looked as heavenly as it smelled. Logan scooped up a spoonful and put it in his mouth, his eyes closing momentarily as he savoured it. There I was, jealous of a fucking dessert.
I stormed into the room before anyone could intercept me, standing beside him. Eyes settled on me. All but his.
‘Logan, stop ignoring me.’
He simply took another spoonful and continued to pretend I didn’t exist.
‘Logan. Please?’
He turned to the man on his left and smiled at him before continuing whatever conversation they’d been having.
Fire surged in my veins as I took a sharp breath.
Fine. Let’s play.
I placed one foot on the edge of his chair, pulling my linens to the side, and pivoted myself up onto the table. Gasps sounded from around the table as I sat my arse down fully on his plate of dessert.
‘Ignore this,’ I challenged, squirming at the cold, creaminess invading my nether regions. God, I hoped I didn’t get a yeast infection.
For a moment, I thought he’d continue to look away from me, until he deliberately put his spoon down on the table.
Within a breath, his hand was on my throat as he pulled me forward, the dessert squelching between my thighs.
‘You are such a fucking brat,’ he said, his breath hot against my cheek as I winced at his tight grip restricting my air. ‘Why won’t you let this go? There are dozens of men here who would fuck you the way you want. You should indulge yourself in them instead of following me like a lost fucking puppy.’
‘I want you.’ The words were barely a whisper with his fingers digging into the side of my neck, but I saw the way his pupils dilated and smiled. ‘You want me too.’
We stayed there for a few moments; him eyeing my face while holding me still by the throat, while around us people went back to eating their desserts like it was all perfectly normal. Would he send me out of the room? Would he throw me over his shoulder and take me somewhere to ravish me? Would he bend me over the table and claim me right there?
‘You have been nothing but trouble since the moment you walked into my life. An entitled little brat. And brats need to know when their behaviour isn’t okay.’
He lifted me off the table, cream and coffee soaked biscuit stuck to my naked arse, and with one swift movement bent me over his lap, with my face toward the other diners. Snatching up my hands, he gathered them against the small of my back with one large hand and held me tight.
‘Are you sorry, sweet Cherry?’ he said, his voice tight as I squirmed against his lap.
‘No.’
