Page 32 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth

“Oh, but you will,” he says, his voice as cold as the air around us. “Because if I go to the cops, your life is over. You’ll be the girl in prison because she killed someone. And trust me, that’s not a reputation you want to carry.”

Tears sting at my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “You’re a monster,” I choke out, my voice trembling.

Thatcher’s face softens for a moment, and I think I see a flicker of regret. But then he smirks wickedly, shaking his head.

“Maybe,” he murmurs. “But I’m the monster who can keep your life from falling apart. All you have to do is say yes to me.”

I stand there, trembling, trapped between fear and fury. The weight of his proposal presses down on me, suffocating me. I want to scream, to run, to hit him. But all I can do is stand here, trembling under his gaze as he waits for my inevitable answer.

“You’re sick,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

Thatcher’s smirk faded, his eyes hardening again. “No, Dove. I’m just a guy who knows how to play the game.”

We exchange stares for a long moment, the silence between us thick with tension. Then almost dismissively, he looks down at the phone in his hand.

“I’ve got to go, Dove.” His voice is cold, detached, like this whole twisted proposal was just business to him.

With a causal flick of his wrist, he unlocks his car, sliding into the driver seat in one smooth motion. He leans back, eyes flicking up to meet mine one last time.

“Think about it,” he adds, his voice chillingly calm. “Don’t think I won’t send you to jail because you’re pretty.”

He flashes me a shallow, emotionless smile through the window before starting the car. The roar of the engine broke the silence, and with a screech of tires, he speeds out of the parking lot, leaving me standing there—stunned, breathless, and utterly lost.

The cold air wraps around me, but it’s nothing compared to the icy realization sinking into my bones. If I say no to his twisted proposal, he’ll turn me in.

Chapter 7

The maid didn’t do my laundry again.

Sighing, I stare at the mound of clothes piling up in the corner of my room, a chaotic mix of crumpled shirts, jeans, workout gear and jerseys.

It’s not like I don’t pay her well enough, but lately it seems like she’s either slacking off, or ignoring the things I need done. I run a hand through my hair in frustration, mentally adding this to the growing list of annoyances.

Laundry was the last thing I wanted to deal with after today’s mess. Shaking my head, I make a note to have a word with her later.

For now, I strip off my sweater and shirt and toss it onto the pile, my jeans joining soon after. I ignore my continuously buzzing phone on my nightstand and head straight for the shower.

Turning on the water, I stand under the warm spray, letting it wash the tension off my body. The heat loosens my muscles, but my mind remains restless, racing…

Rhea…

Everything about her draws me in, her defiance, her stubbornness… It irritated and intrigued me at the same time, triggering a need to control, to dominate, protect and nurture–something I’d never wanted with a woman before.

As the water cascades over me, I close my eyes, trying to make sense of it all. There’s something raw about her, something untamed, and there’s no fucking way on God’s green earth she is going to say no to me. No fucking way.

Control and dominance come naturally to me, but with her, it’s more than that. I want to protect her, even if she doesn’t want it. I want her to need me, to submit but still fight back. I run a hand through my hair, the heat of the shower doing nothing to calm the storm inside.

I take my dick in my hand and start stroking, the base of my spine tingling as I think about her lips and her pretty rejection. I grin, knowing soon enough I’ll be fucking that beautiful face. I can picture it. Her on her knees before me in this exact tub. The water spraying her eyes as she stares up at me, taking my dick like a good fucking girl. I don’t know if I want to come down her throat or all over her face.

I groan as my fingers trace over my tip with the conditioner, imagining it’s her smooth lips. She has no idea the hold she had over me, how she could have me on my knees, just for a taste of her.

She can’t know.

I picture Rhea on her knees, her wild gaze melting into a soft, needy look as she sticks her tongue out, waiting for my cum. I work my dick harder as the hot water pours over my body.

What I would give to have her…right now.

I try to push out the creeping thoughts, the Reaper’s veiled threats–the consequences looming over my head–and try to focus on her. She is going to be mine.

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