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“I really want you to fuck me.”
Chapter 23
Are You Drunk?
MEGAN
Iusually stay away from champagne, but this entire day has been like something out of a dreamy Netflix special, and I want to indulge. Suddenly, my boss is no longer this fearsome entity. He seems almost human with flesh and bones and... feelings.
I’ve never seen this side of him, not that I’ve known him for that long. But this past month, every time I have interacted with him, I’ve never felt that I can ever stand on the same footing as him.
However, right now, as the bubbly champagne flows through my bloodstream and straight to my sensory zones, I feel light.
Hunter Middleton isn’t that bad.
I mean, he’s violent, and he shoots people without considering the gravity of his deeds, but then I come from a household where violence against me was commonplace. He’s been arrogant, bossy, and maybe even a bit nasty at times, but then he’s also protected me. But at least he doesn’t hurt me.
During the candlelight dinner that he’s arranged, I wonder if all of this was just a plan to get me into bed. Something inside me stirs in warning at the thought, but I push it away, feeling pleasantly inebriated because I’m not going to lie–it’s nice to be wanted by someone like him. Hell, it’s nice to be wanted, period.
When was the last time I had sex?
I don’t even remember.
But the more I look at Mr. Middleton, the more I wonder if it would be such a bad idea. How many men am I going to meet who are going to whisk me away for a trip to Paris just because?
Being here in this city is like a dream come true, and even if he walks away from me after one magical night in bed, I could treat it like another part of the Paris experience. As long as I remain professional afterward, he wouldn’t have any reason to throw me away. This is why when I fall into his lap, I decide to make myself comfortable. My head feels loopy, and I’m not completely drunk, just tipsy enough to misplace my filter.
Mr. Middleton is watching me with a wary gaze as if he doesn’t quite know what to make of me. It’s a different look on him. He’s always so confident and so sure of himself that seeing him like this is interesting.
I don’t care if he throws me away after this. I’m a survivor. I’ve survived worse things than being tossed aside after a one-night stand. And I make no qualms about letting him know this.
His large hands are around my waist, holding me, and his grip is firm, and all I can think about is how good his hands would feel on my bare skin. I bet those hands aren’t just good at pulling a trigger; I bet those big ole’ hands are magic hands. I wonder how fast he can make me come with them?
I giggle to myself.
French champagne is a hell of a beverage.
I can tell that Mr. Middleton is being cautious with me right now, but it’s his reluctance and my growing desire for him that makes me want to see how far I can push him.
“I really want you to fuck me.”
I whisper the champagne-laced words into his ear, and my eyes close in wicked satisfaction when his hands tighten around my waist, a low growl leaving his chest,
“Megan.”
“What?” I ask innocently, pulling away and looking at him.
However, I feel my smile slipping when I glimpse the heat in those smoldering eyes of his. I’m treading dangerous waters.
“You’re pushing it,” he says harshly, but even as he says it, I can feel his fingers digging into the side of my waist.
I shrug, leaning forward. “I want what I want.”
“And what about the consequences?” he asks thickly.
This time, I brush my lips against his.
“What happens in Paris stays in Paris,” I whisper, ignoring the warning bells ringing in the back of my head. “Right?”
