Page 28 of Pucking Fake

I drop her file on the table, sauntering toward her. "First question," I growl, my eyes locked on her face. "What are you wearing under that skirt, baby?"

"Logan!" she hisses.

"Answer the question, Peyton. Is it lace? Leather?"

"A chastity belt. It's made of titanium and has ten locks on it," she snaps. "And a troll has the keys."

"You going to let me see it later?"

"Sure," she says sweetly. "Just as soon as hell freezes over and demons rule earth." She glances around the room pointedly. "I don't see demons yet, Mr. Moreno."

"Next question," I say, my dick throbbing. "You going to call me Mr. Moreno next time you're playing with yourself while we're on the phone? Because I can work with that."

If looks could kill, I'd be in a woodchipper right about now.

Fuck. Why is it so goddamn sexy to me when she's pissed? The fire in her eyes and the flush of her cheeks shouldn't turn me on this much, but they do. So does the way she holds herself with her chin up and her shoulders back, like she's perfectly willing to battle dragons and wage war. When she's mad, she knows her worth. Confidence blazes from her like the fucking sun. There is nothing unattractive about that.

I step up beside her, pressing so close I smell her vanilla shampoo. "How many fingers did you take last night?"

"Logan."

"How many, Peyton?" I growl.

"T-two."

I press my lips up against her ear. "You know you need more than that stretching that pretty little hole open for me, angel. I've been inside you."

She whimpers softly, swaying on her feet.

"You ready for another question, baby?"

"Stop calling me that," she whispers, the pulse in her throat beating like the wings of a hummingbird. "Stop flirting with me. Just stop, Logan."

"Never," I growl. "Not until you thaw and give me what I want."

"I thought this was supposed to be an interview," she mutters. "If it's just going to be an hour of you being like this, I'm opting out."

"I'll behave if you kiss me."

"You can't manipulate me into getting your way, Logan."

"It's not manipulation. It's using the tools at my disposal to remind you that you feel the same thing I do." I run my hand down her arm, watching the way her skin pebbles in response to my touch. "You can't tell me you don't feel that."

"Maybe I do," she says softly. "But it doesn't matter. You still lied to me. That doesn't just go away because you've decided it's inconvenient."

"Would you have gone home with me had you known the truth?"

She bites her lip, refusing to answer.

"Tell me," I command, stroking her arm again.

"No," she groans, turning to glare up at me. "I wouldn't have gone home with you, okay? I would have run out of the bar, mortified that…"

"Mortified why?"

"Because it wasn't supposed to be you!" she cries, grinding her palms against her eyes. "My boss was supposed to be someone safe like Micah. Someone with a wife and kid at home. Not someone…"

"Not someone you wanted to sleep with," I finish for her.

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