Page 124 of Wild Love
I’ll wear the dress. But you can pry my socks and sandals from my cold, dead hands.
All my best,
Rosalie Belmont
Dick Manager at Rose Hill Records
Ms. Belmont,
I’m heading to the office from school drop-off. I expect you to be down on all fours sanding that paint stain when I arrive.
Have a miserable day!
Ford Grant
Overlord at Rose Hill Records
When Ford walks in, I am, in fact,notsanding the floor. Since yesterday, I’ve cleaned up the tray and drop sheet as best I can, but I’m not doing manual labor in my lace skirt and silky blouse.
He can go fuck himself if he thinks that.
My expression must be a dead giveaway because he takes one look at me, scowling at him from behind my desk, and smirks.
“Figures,” he says as he strides toward his desk and drops his bag on the chair. He proceeds to the mess of blue paint on the floor and props his hands on his hips, staring down at the stain on what were perfectly polished floors. “You ruined my floor, Rosie Posie.”
“Sorry, obedience isn’t my strong suit,” I needle him from my desk as I lean back to watch him.
His head tilts, and he gives me a dry glare. But the way he moves with such fluid grace is disarming. A simple headtilt exudes power and I feel myself shiver as his eyes trace my body.
“If I wanted someone obedient, I wouldn’t be chasing after you.”
I flush, not accustomed to comments likethat. Comments where he speaks so freely about wanting me. It’s a thrill. An addiction.
It makes my stomach flip and my head flustered. So, I change the subject.
“What time are we hitting the road tomorrow? My car or yours?”
Now he’s back to smirking. “We’re not driving, Rosie.”
I hold a finger up as he prowls toward me. I left his bed mere hours ago, but I’m not sated. I already want to go back. Feel his weight on top of me. His teeth on my skin. His cock stretching me.
I lick my lips and swallow before crossing my legs and wondering how I went so damn long being oblivious to the way he looks at me. Ten years of living, ten years of perspective, and now it feels like the most obvious thing in the world.
I went from a man who barely glanced up at me from the cat videos on his phone to one who can’t look at anythingbutme.
“Oh.” I try to recover. “Are we going to ride there on the Death Star?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The Death Star is a space station, not a ship. But we are going to fly.”
My brows furrow. “There’s no airport here.”
“Not a public one.”
I pause as I work it through, my eyes widening as I realize what he’s saying. “Oh my god, you really did jack off while thinking about a private jet.”
“Maybe to thoughts of you on my private jet. And now you will too.” He smiles, striding closer, all confident swagger until he towers above me and bends at the waist. His lips are dangerously close to mine when he says, “Wait until you see my yacht.”
And then he kisses me breathless with a whispered, “Good morning, Ms. Belmont. I knew you’d be wearing a skirt.”
