Page 52 of Once Upon A Sale

Oh so slowly, I step away and begin unbuttoning my bloody shirt, then my trousers, and I slide them down my legs. I move closer to her again, stepping between her legs and taking her lips once more. Ophelia raises her arms and uses her delicate hands to bring my shirt down my arms so it falls to the floor with my trousers. She doesn’t stop there. With my arms now bare, she digs her fingernails into my flesh, making me hiss into her mouth with pleasure.

I love that she’s marking me again. Staking her claim.

It’s impossible to not be inside her for a moment longer and I line myself up with her pussy, wasting no time thrusting deeply inside her, balls deep…

Fuck, yeah.

She feels fucking amazing as I pound into her, needing to make her come before I do because that’s just good manners.

With one hand gripping her hip, holding her in place, I use the other to pinch her nipple, then I bring it between us and do the same to her clit, making her squeal out in pain right before it becomes a guttural sound.

“Fuck, yes! Harder!”

“As. You. Wish.” I move my hand back to her nipple, tweaking and twisting, all while thrusting, hard, just like she’s begging me to.

The scream that rips from her throat, combined with the way she throws her head back and the gush of her cream over my cock, confirms the orgasm she’s having is fucking phenomenal.It also means it’s now my turn. My movements become jerkier and when the walls of her pussy squeeze my cock tightly, my own orgasm explodes through me and I shoot my load inside her, excited about the fact that we could have just made a baby.

Okay, so maybe not, considering she signed a waiver to confirm she’s on birth control…but that was a couple of weeks ago…

I’m sure I can persuade her to stop taking it. We’re not confined to our contracts anymore.

With my cock still inside her, I palm her cheeks and search her eyes for I don’t even fucking know what, but I find what I need and kiss her. Softly this time.

“I don’t care how, what, where, or why we’re together now, but I fucking love you, Ophelia Warren.”

“You’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever known, Jarrett whatever your last fucking name is.” She smirks, and I lift her by the arse cheeks, holding her close as her legs wrap around my waist.

“Oh, Kitten. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Ophelia

“Do you have Cheetos?” I raise my arms so he can see my fingers wiggling from behind the couch. I don’t particularly like the orange snacks but my new favorite hobby is to make Jarrett crazy. I may be getting a fuckload of orgasms from him but I haven’t given up on driving him crazy. Besides, on some level, he’s still the enemy until he proves me differently.

“Fuck off.”

He can’t see my smirk but I’m sure he can feel it.

“Well, that’s not nice.” It’s just so easy to get him fired up.

“What’s not nice is orange powder sticking to my white sofa.” Yet, here he is, drinking proper English tea—whatever the fuck that means—all fucking day long.

“A little color wouldn’t hurt you.” This time I mumble my words because I’m not kidding. This place doesn’t even look lived in. It’s like a museum piece where all that’s missing is the plastic covering his furniture, rugs, and seats. Easy bet, hedidn’t decorate his place. Probably hired an expensive private decorator and gave her carte blanche. Fucking literally.

“Again, fuck off.” The boiling noise of the kettle—which has become as familiar as his orgasms—sounds behind me, making me smile because…of course he’s making tea. Again.

“I hear a lot of ‘fucking’ but no delivering.” Fuck, my smart mouth will get me in trouble. No doubts about that.

“Tea time is sacred, my bratty little Kitten, and you’re not getting any rewards until I’m done.” Just as he finishes his phrase, I get a message on a secure server from Opie and thoughts of Jarrett and his magical dick fly out the window.

0p13:Got it.

I don’t respond, I never do, but this information is crucial and I feel the immediate need to share it with Jarrett.

“We have the number for that guy you were talking about this morning.” I’m calling out to Jarrett just as he rounds the couch and sits on a raggedy chair that looks like it’s half a century old. Definitely seen better days, too. What I don’t understand is…why? The entire space is pristine white with gray accents and this piece of furniture seems to be the only one that has a story. And I don’t miss the fact that of all the other places he could sit and peacefully drink his tea, he chooses the one that’s out of place.

Interesting.

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