Page 14 of Iron Blade

Her eyes were filled with fire, and her glare, designed to wither a lesser man, made me want to get on my knees and rest her thigh on my shoulder. I’d let my tongue beg for forgiveness.

“Ah, I understand,” I chuckled. “You don’t believe me?”

“Of course I don’t believe you, you insane bastard!” She wiped the loose hair from her face back into place, trying to compose herself. It was like she was trying to put a mask back on.

I appreciated the view, as her black dress hugged her rounded breasts, and clung to her form.

“I didn’t think you’d be the kind of woman that would wait to fuck until marriage, but if that’s what…”

“I’m not! What are you talking about?”

“I’m willing to do anything to get between your legs. It doesn’t have to be tonight, or tomorrow. But give me some hope, Miss Kekoa. Give me an inkling that I have a chance, and I will make it happen.”

My sweet Goddess had never met a man like me. I knew that. Because there were no men like me.

There were a dozen women in this gallery who would fall on their faces to hear me make them the same offer. There were hundreds across the city of New York who would line up for a fraction of what I offered her.

Her rejection made the prospect of having her even more delicious. The harder the fight, the sweeter the victory. She was getting sweeter with every word.

“Why me? What did I do?” She was collapsing into herself, her shoulders hunched. “What have I done to make you do this?”

That made me pause. “What do you mean?”

“Is it because I’m… because I don’t look like you? Is it because I don’t look like these other women? Do you think that makes me insecure and more willing to…? Do you think it makes me easier to…?”

A tear slid down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. She straightened to her full glory, her shoulders back, her face that mask of strength I had seen the first time she led millionaires by the nose.

“I’m not the kind of woman who will fuck her boss because of a few paintings and a bribe.”

She took one hesitant step back, her ankle wobbling in her high heels.

I lunged to catch her. She flinched away like my hands burned her skin.

“I’m not your boss, Miss Kekoa.” I let her name roll off my tongue.

I loved the rhythm of it, and the melody of the diphthong at the end. It suited her.

“No,” she shook her head, and I wanted to grab the tendrils around her face and wrap them in my fingers. What would she look like with her hair loose about her shoulders? Would it be down to her waist, like I imagined? Like a real Venus? “You just own the gallery that employs me.”

Spite looked good on her. It gave a fire to her cheeks and eyes that I wanted to capture in a painting.

I stepped toward her. She lifted her hand, palm towards me. I froze and stared at her perfect, un-scarred palm. I wanted to sink my teeth into it. To draw blood and steal a vow of eternity.

“I don’t sleep my way to the top, Mr. Green. Nor do I tolerate being treated this way.” She turned away and my nostrils flared, the instinct to chase so strong, it was almost blinding. “I’ll tender my resignation tomorrow. Have a good evening, Mr. Green.”

I couldn’t fucking stand it.

I grabbed her arm and made her face me again.

She tried to pull away, but I was through being gentle. I planted my kiss on her lips, my tongue delving into her mouth.

And she moaned, as she kissed me back. That was unmistakable.

Whatever I felt, she felt it too. I deepened our kiss until her teeth scraped my lips, and even further still, because I wouldn’t be done until I was inside her. My tongue in her mouth, my cock in her cunt, my name on her soul.

I grabbed her face in my scarred hand.

I needed more… I needed…

---