Page 75 of Mr. Wicked

I couldn’t get her taste off my fingers.

I couldn’t get myself to forget the sight of her coming.

And the moment I’d gotten home, I’d used all three of those while I’d jerked myself off.

First in the shower.

When that wasn’t enough, when I couldn’t kill my fucking hard-on, I did another round while I lay in bed.

I would have thought the two orgasms were enough to knock me out for the night. But I continued to be restless for a few more hours until I gave up on sleep and went into my home office, where I worked until I arrived here just minutes ago.

What the hell is she doing to me?

And how can I get it to stop?

I dropped my hands onto my desk, the smack they made louder than I intended. “No.” I pounded them again on the hard surface. “Fuck no.” Every time I filled my lungs, the air burned on its way in.

“You can’t say no,” Easton said. “You don’t have a choice about this.”

“You realize how ridiculous that is, don’t you? What you’re asking of me—no, better yet, telling me to do. It’s not like you’re telling me to give a speech in front of a thousand people or take your grandmother to a goddamn doctor’s appointment or go out with your virgin cousin because she’s never been laid.” I felt the anger boil in my throat. “This is marriage. A legal commitment. A fucking binding contract that isn’t just going to go away. I’ll be dealing with the ramifications of this for the rest of my life.”

I wasn’t just talking financials and the payout, the bills that I would be covering for her.

None of that meant anything to me.

I was talking about a much larger picture, and these assholes knew that.

They knew where I came from.

They knew the damage that had been done when I was just a kid.

They knew how I felt about all this.

“And what you’re asking from me is bigger than probably either of you even realize.”

While they looked at each other, thinking about what the hell they were going to say that would make this even a small percent better, I got up from my desk and went to the back of my office, where I’d had a wet bar installed.

I grabbed a bottle of vodka from the shelf and poured a few fingers’ worth into a glass.

“It’s eight fifteen in the morning, Grayson.”

I turned toward Holden after I took my first sip. “I give zero fucks.”

“So, your plan is to stay in your office and get completely shit-faced? And ignore the”—Easton pulled out his phone, tapped the screen, and looked up at me—“four meetings we have today?”

I sat back at my desk and kicked my legs up, resting them on top of a stack of papers that needed attention but were going to get completely ignored. “Yes.”

“You’re special, you know that?” Easton snapped.

I took another long sip. “What if I had told you that you couldn’t date Drake?” I gripped one of the armrests, squeezing the cushion and fabric that wrapped around it, trying to hand off some of the rage I was feeling. “You know, when you came to us after the biggest scandal our company has ever experienced—and we’re still experiencing, for that matter—and you said you were in a relationship with our director. I could have given you an ultimatum. I could have said it’s either you or her, but you can’t both work here. Or, in order for her to stay, the two of you have to separate.”

“You’re not comparing apples to apples,” Easton said, in a tone far too relaxed for my liking.

“But it would put you in a situation you wouldn’t like. That would make you question—”

“I’m going to stop you before you go on a tirade,” Holden said. “You seem to have forgotten that you’re in this position because of the situation you put yourself in. If that Celebrity Alert hadn’t been released, then you could have continued having six-somes all over the world. But it happened and we’re dealing with the fallout.”

“No, I’m dealing with the fallout,” I roared.

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