Page 32 of Once Upon A Sale

And now I’m talking to myself in the third person. Great, this just keeps getting better and better.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” When he does turn around, I take a step back from the blinding beauty of him. Also, there’s a sun ray catching the simple chain around his neck and literally blinding me. “I don’t drink coffee.”

Bringing my hand to shield my eyes, I frown. Surely I heard wrong.

“Who doesn’t like coffee?” My gaze falls to his lips as he takes a step to the side and grins like a fucking predator. At least now I’m not facing the sun, so small mercies.

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

Bringing my coffee to my lips, I wonder if I can double fist these cups and drink two in one go. That would be weird, right? Yeah, it would be too weird.

“No. I’m genuinely curious about what kind of person on this planet who has a job or life or responsibilities could survive an entire fucking day without caffeine.” I’m sure I’d die.

Rhett takes a step closer and I can smell the body wash on him with a hint of sweat and morning sun.

“Tea has caffeine, sweetheart. Gets the job done.” But…no. Just…no.

“Tea is flavored water, it doesn’t satisfy the palette like coffee.” It’s all herbal and shit.

Now he’s right here, in front of me, close enough that I can see the mirth dancing in his hazel eyes. They remind me of a forest. As green as the leaves on the trees when he’s focused and light-hearted but turning a deep shade of earthy brown, like bark, when he’s ready to fuck.

And right now, he’s all trunk and no leaves.

“You’re not wearing knickers.” Not a question. Does he have some kind of x-ray vision? “We leave at ten thirty tonight, plenty of time for me to fuck your insults away.” I hate that I don’t hate him. In fact, I’m a little annoyed at myself that one sentence from him makes me forget my coffee and instead of drinkingit, I’m drinkinghimin.

I bet I get it from my mother, bless her soul. There’s a reason she lasted as long as she did with my father. Being his submissive—no, that’s not right. Being his slave had become her entire identity and she didn’t know how to live beyond that. Beyond him. Not even for me.

“My vagina needs to rest, you heathen.” Although I could probably go another round or three.

Reaching out, he takes both of my coffee cups from me and places them on the railing of the pier. When he faces me again, I swear to fuck my entire body tenses with fear. Not the kind that says if he catches you, it’s going to be deadly. The kind that warns that if he catches you, it might be the worst yet most amazing experience of your life.

Because the way he’s looking at me is predatory, and I’m the lamb about to get caught in the wolf’s teeth. I know, I’m usually him in this scenario, so being on the other side is fucking exhilarating.

“Your cunt will rest when you’re dead.” I know he’s just using the popular idiom about sleeping when you’re dead, but my spine erupts in chills nonetheless. The way he says it, the curl of his lip as the last word is put out there into the universe; it’s scary as fuck.

It’s a good thing there’s a fucking contract that specifically says that both parties must return safely from this weekend or else I’d throat punch him. With a knife.

This time, I’m the one getting in his space and making sure he knows I won’t be intimidated. Not by him or any man, for that matter.

“Well, that’ll be a shame, London, because we both know that once this weekend is over, your dick won’t ever settle for any other pussy. That’s gonna suck for you.”

One more step from him and we’re practically touching, our mouths so close we’re speaking with the same breath.

“Oh, Kitten, in twelve hours this will all be behind us but your ass will still feel me every time you try to sit.” Then he buries his fingers in my blonde hair and squeezes until I gasp, allowing his tongue to plunder inside my mouth.

The kiss is desperate, almost trying to catch up on lost time, and when we pull apart, we’re both panting messes just staring at one another.

Still, he doesn’t release me, and oddly enough, it does things to my belly that I don’t completely hate. Maybe it’s indigestion, or maybe it’s the fact that I’m truly attracted to this man. I mean, what straight woman wouldn’t be, right? I just need to make sure it stays this way. An attraction, nothing more.

“Now listen.” I don’t answer, just narrow my eyes at him. “I’m going to step away then count to twenty. That’s how much time you have.”

What?

“Time for what?” My brain is reeling trying to follow this guy’s train of thought.

“Time…” He pauses, brings his lips to mine and whispers right against my mouth, “To run.” As promised, he releases me so fast I almost lose my footing and it takes my mind a second to understand what the fuck he’s talking about. But as soon as he starts counting, my body goes into fight or flight and I take off running like my life depends on it.

I don’t know why I’m running. I don’t know what he’ll do to me when he catches me. I don’t know if maybe I want to be caught. The only thing Idoknow is that I’m crazy competitive and, if anything, I’m going to run like a fucking Olympian just so I can win.

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