Page 37 of Pucking Fake

"You cannot pay me one hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year, Logan," I mutter, not even turning around. "That's highway robbery."

"How much is your time worth, angel?"

"What?"

"How much is your time worth to you?" he asks, striding around the side of the sectional. "Fifty thousand? Sixty?"

"I don't know."

"Contrary to what you may think, I actually did look at your resume. I saw your references. Your previous employers all loved you, said you were highly organized, efficient, and instrumental in keeping their companies running." He kneels in front of me. "Don't undervalue yourself, especially not to me. If you can keep me functioning, you're worth every goddamn penny."

"I need a nap," I mutter, grinding my palms against my eyes. "And alcohol. Probably something else too but I don't even know what. There's no way I can deal with this right now. I'm too something to deal with this."

"Too something?" he asks, a smirk in his voice.

I shoot him a death glare.

"You know what else is worth it?" His eyes tangle with mine. "Knowing that you're being taken care of the way you should be. Knowing that, even when you're pissed at me, you're eating well,sleeping well, and not worrying about whether you'll be able to pay your bills."

"You cannot pay me one hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year just because you like me, Logan!" I cry.

"I'm not. I'm paying you a hundred and fifty grand because you're worth every penny. And it just so happens to come with a few perks for me." His lips kick up into a proud little boy grin. "It's a win-win."

"Yeah, until Montaque finds out that you're paying me," I retort. "And then the story changes. Guess what they say about me then?"

His expression turns black. "He isn't the only one who can ruin careers, Peyton. I'll fucking destroy anyone who even suggests that I'm paying you to sleep with me."

I open my mouth to respond and then snap it closed when I realize that he's deadly serious. Good Lord. Serena was not joking when she warned me that he was trouble. I'm just not entirely sure what kind of trouble he is yet. But more and more, I find it harder to deny that he isn't precisely the kind I like. A little too much.

He's turning my whole life upside down and inside out. Hell, he's turningmeupside down and inside out. And some crazy, irrational, wild part of me loves it. I feel like someone brand new with him, someone completely free. I've never felt that way before, like I can say whatever I want, do whatever I want, and be perfectly accepted. He doesn't judge me. He doesn't laugh at me. He just…freaking grins like he fucking loves it.

I swallow hard, dangerously close to crossing a line that there won't be any coming back from. If I unbend now, he's going to ruin me. I'll give him every single piece of myself. And then what? What happens when he gets bored? What happens when he decides to walk away?

What happens if he doesn't?that damn little voice whispers. And maybe that's the most terrifying question of all. Because it's the one I don't know how to answer. My whole life, no one has ever stayed. Not my father. Not the foster families I was placed with. Hell, not even my mom. And maybe that wasn't her fault or her choice, but she still left me alone.

So…what happens if that doesn't happen? What happens if he stays?

I have no idea. And that's terrifying.

Logan leans forward, reaching for my hands. I don't know why I do it, maybe because I'm desperate to stop thinking, but I practically launch myself at him. He growls, hauling me up against his chest.

"You done being mad at me now?" he asks, his lips inches from mine.

"You give me a new reason to be angry every five minutes."

His hands sink into my hips, yanking me flush against him. "Yeah? Then maybe I should spend the time in between giving you reasons to forget, angel. Think I can make you come before I piss you off again?"

"No." I pull his hair, which makes him growl. And that sound? I feel it scraping against my clit. "I'm not sleeping with you, remember?"

"Who said anything about sleeping? You'll be too fucking busy screaming my name to rest." He attacks my mouth, grunting as he flicks his tongue against the seam of my lips, silently demanding entry.

When I deny him, he plunges his hand into my hair, snapping the band holding the bun in place. I whimper as he cranes my head back, not being gentle about it. Lava flows through my veins, setting my system on fire.

"Fucking open, Peyton. Now," he snarls.

"Make me," I gasp.

His hand tightens in my hair. He shoves the other one down the back of my skirt, gripping one ass cheek hard. God, I shouldn't love the way he touches me like I'm his. His rough possession is going to annihilate me, and I do absolutely nothing to stop or dissuade him. I egg him on, unable to resist when the pleasure feels this damn good.

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