Page 24 of Square Deal

“You can see yourself out,” I snapped, pointing to the door.

“I’m surprised,” he clipped, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “You didn’t strike me as one to back down from a fight. Pity too—we were just getting to the part where I was going to bend you over my knee and give your ass a reminder of who wins these arguments.”

The ego on this man…

“Put your money where your mouth is,” I challenged him. “You talk a big game, Lawson, but you and I both know you’re not going to touch me again.”

Something flashed through his blue eyes. Irritation, maybe.Good—that made two of us.

It transformed into trepidation and, before I knew it, Isaac was setting the popcorn bowl on the nightstand and looking at me with cerulean flames in his eyes.

I wasn’t done running my mouth. “You think you’re hot shit, don’t you? Getting me to sleep with you after Maddie’s wedding. Newsflash: you got me drunk on good champagne and I was horny. It had absolutely nothing to do with you.”

His movements were calm and measured. He didn’t acknowledge a damn thing coming out of my mouth, and it made me as nervous as a cat walking around a swimming pool.

“And you think you’re gonna spank me for not bending to your whims?” I scoffed. “What was that you said earlier? Not my kink.”

“You know what I think?” he finally said after a long stretch of silence. “I think you push me just as much as I push you because you like dealing with someone who doesn’t go running off with his tail between his legs. I think you like being around someone who can push your buttons. You say you want some small-town love with a schmuck who tucks his polo into his khakis to go off to his nine-to-five, but let’s be honest—you’d eat that man for breakfast. He can’t handle you.”

“You don’t even know me,” I hissed.

“I know that if I slid my hand up your slip, you’d be wet for me. Is that what you want to hear? Or maybe I should tell you that I know the only reason you put that damn thing on was to see if I’d give you the time of day.”

I opened my mouth to tell him I wear nice things to bed because it makes me feel good, but he beat me to the punch.

“And I know the next thing you’re going to say is that you wore that for you, isn’t it? Cut the bullshit—you wanted me to notice you.”

“How dare you,” I spat. I was charged with hatred, and the electricity had nowhere to go.

We were playing with fire, and he was holding a can of gasoline.

I clenched my thighs together, thankful for the pressure against my pussy as I willed my body to calm the hell down.

Why the absolute fuck did fighting with him turn me into a flighty horn ball, dying to impale myself on the equipment between his legs?

He fingered the hem of my nightie, teasing the middle of my thighs. “You’re much less annoying when you’re mid-orgasm. Maybe I should get you off again just so you’ll shut the hell up.”

I rolled my eyes. “Like I need you to help me get off.”

“Fine then,” he snapped. “Show me. Get yourself off.”

“You’re a pig.”

“And you’re a pussy.”

My mouth gaped open. He was so brash. He was brazen and utterly infuriating. He was—kissing me?

Everything went hazy when Isaac grabbed my waist and manhandled me into his lap, holding my jaw in place with a punishing grip and kissing me hard.

“You don’t need love, Princess,” he said between punishing kisses. “You need to get fucked.” He ripped my négligée over my head and threw it across the room.

Isaac had me sitting in his lap, facing away from him as he leaned against the headboard. I could see the TV, but I couldn’t see his reaction when he brought his hands up and squeezed my breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers.

I squirmed and gasped, “Fuck you,” as my body betrayed me and begged for release.

His chuckle was villainous. “Spread your legs, Princess.”

Muscle memory was a bitch. My legs obeyed, even though the logical, non-horny region of my brain told them to stay closed.

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