Page 36 of Undeniably Corrupt
Except it backfires on me. In a flash, I’m somehow pushed up against a wall, and Vander Moore is right in front of me. Our eyes are inches apart. Our lips, too. And I can feel the heat and size of his body like a blanket in winter you never want to crawl out from under.
One hand plants into the wall on the side of my head. The other meets my hip in a firm grip. “You think that’s what this is? You think that’s why I’m doing all of this? Because I haven’t had decent pussy since yours when we were teenagers?”
He’s mocking me now, and it pisses me off. I shrug despite the fact that my heart is pounding so loudly I’d be shocked if he couldn’t hear it. “I can’t think of another explanation for your obsession.”
“Hmm. And what would you call your reaction to me?” His hand comes up to my throat, cupping it, collaring it, but two fingers press in just to the right of my trachea. My pulse. Dammit.
“Fear.”
He tsks. “Oh, no, Angel. This isn’t fear.”
His tongue juts out, and before I know what’s happening, he licks a trail up from my collarbone to my pulse, where his lips close and he sucks right over it. A stupid, stupid moan escapes, and I’m not proud of it. Even worse, the bastard grins triumphantly against my skin when he hears it. I just proved his freaking point. Dammit!
“I think it’s more a case of no one has fucked you as good as I did. When was the last time a man touched you and you wanted it this much?” he purrs, pressing me deeper into the wall and kissing up the column of my neck. “I’m not talking about one of those sloppy fuckers at the club. We both know they don’t make your pussy wet. I bet your ex didn’t even make you this hot.”
His hand slides down my body, over the curve of my hip, and past the hem of my skirt to the side of my thigh. “Vander.”
His hand curls around to my inner thigh and starts to trail up just as his lips meet the shell of my ear.
“You still smell the same. Did you know that? Still the fucking same. And you taste” —He licks around my ear and back down my neck— “just as sweet.”
His fingers meet the lacy edge of my thong, gliding up and down over my slit. I’m wet, and I’m positive he can feel it through my scrap of underwear. It’s funny, with what I do for work at the club, I hate thongs. I hate sexy underwear. Yet, I never wear anything else, and I don’t know why, but right now I’m wishing I were wearing granny panties with a hell of a barrier between my pussy and the outside world.
I whimper, my eyes closing. I need to stop him. Holy shit, I have to stop him. This is Vander, and I hate him. He got me fired and manipulated me into accepting a job, and now he’s my boss. And while this is clearly a game to him, my life isn’t one to me.
“You’re not allowed to touch me. I still hate you.”
He smiles as he nibbles on my jaw. The tip of one finger swirls around my clit, and fuck. Just fuck, does that feel good. Inadvertently, I rock into his hand, completely going against what I just said to him.
“How much do you hate me?”
A moan flees my lips when he pulls my thong to the sideand pushes two fingers into me. My head falls back against the wall, and my eyes scrunch tight. “So much.”
“What if I make you come and that’s all I get?”
My eyes flash open as his fingers pump in and out of me.
“What do you mean?”
“I make you come, and then you get on the back of my bike like nothing happened and continue to be a pain in my ass. I make you come, and I’m left with another round of blue balls at your beautiful hands as more penance.”
Is he kidding me with that?
“You’re going to make me come, and then we’ll pretend like it never happened?”
His eyes, those green, seriously, disastrously gorgeous eyes, stare intently into mine. “Yes.”
“And this won’t affect?—”
“Anything,” he cuts me off. “Like I said, you’ll get on my bike, and it’ll be like it never happened.”
Jesus. How does a girl who’s gone through the worst of the worst say no to that kind of offer? Especially when he’s already finger fucking me halfway to an orgasm and my body is screaming at me to say yes.
“Fine. You can make me come. But it’s just this one time and never again. And I still get to hate you for what you did, orgasm or not.” I yank on his collar and pull him back to me when he tries to get away. “You can’t jerk off. Not even later, when you’re alone and miserable and aching for relief. You have to suffer through your blue balls. Or do one of those techniques I previously mentioned.”
His lips twitch. “Am I allowed to jerk off tomorrow morning?”
“Fine,” I relent, feeling magnanimous since I’m allowing him to make me come and all. “But not tonight.”
