Page 49 of Mr. Wicked

“Don’t get fucking smart with me.” I took a breath, attempting to tame the hardness in my pants. “Tell me what you want so we can get this over with.”

She raked her fingers through a few sections of long curls, unfazed by the rage that was boiling through me. “I want you to grovel.”

Grovel?

And this was exactly why I didn’t date or go at it with a woman for more than one round.

I didn’t want the demands. The control. The emotions.

This wasn’t going to work.

“Fuck that.”

“Then there’s nothing to discuss here. I’m just going to go home.” A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Is that what you want?”

Every exhale got louder, my nostrils flaring each time.

She knew I didn’t have a choice. That I was cornered.

That my hands were clenched because the domination was shifting, and I couldn’t stand it.

“I didn’t think so.” She stood from her chair and took a seat on the sturdy table. “It’ll pack a harder punch if we’re a little more eye level.” She gripped the edge of the wood on either side of her. “Go on, I’m waiting.”

“You’re something else.”

“Just wait, Grayson. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

I took a step forward, and then another, and I was instantly sucked into her scent.

The lavender, the vanilla—they came out of nowhere, even though they’d been here the whole time.

Aromas that were typically calming, but they were doing the opposite.

And I didn’t just feel that sensation in my cock; I felt it in my chest.

My hands.

My fucking mouth.

“I need you, is that what you want to hear?” I halted, waiting for a response. I didn’t get one. I just saw a satisfaction building in her eyes. “I can’t do this without you.” I drew in a breath, knowing the next sentence was going to fucking sting. “I’m willing to do anything to make you want to marry me.”

What the hell has gotten into me?

Why am I doing this?

How is it possible that I’m even saying these words?

Fuck.

“Tell me what you want, Jovana.” I took one more step, realizing how close we now were. My hands came out of their pockets and landed on her cheeks. Cupping them. Aiming her face up at me. “You want me to touch you softly instead of holding you with all my strength?” I gazed at her lips. “You want a man who’s going to lick your pussy every night?” That wasn’t part of the deal, it certainly wasn’t in the contract, but I wouldn’t be opposed. She had the best fucking pussy I’d ever eaten. “You want me to promise you the entire world?” I leaned my face toward hers.

Her eyes stayed open and scanned mine as my face continued to get closer.

I couldn’t stop it. Not the movement nor the momentum.

The desire to taste her was far too strong.

If she was going to get something out of me, then I wanted something for myself.

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