Page 60 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife
20
Sin
She is exactly fifteen seconds late. I pace the floor in front of my desk. Glance at the watch on my wrist.
Twenty seconds now.
How dare she keep me waiting? I drag my fingers through my hair. And she threw my entire morning off course. I’d missed the second meeting of the day, because I’d been sidetracked. At 9 am in the morning, which was arguably the time of day I was at my sharpest, I hadn’t been able to function because I had taken one look at her and all thoughts had drained from my head… leaving me with a part of me that throbbed and ached, and was very alive.
My dick twitches again. My fingertips tingle. I bring my digits to my face and sniff. The scent of her arousal clouds my senses. My cock lengthens immediately. Damn it, why didn’t I wash her off of my skin?
I’d wanted to hold onto some evidence of how I had made her writhe and throb under me, had her begging for more, if that call hadn’t interrupted me—fucking Saint.
Remind me to take him on the next time we meet— Yeah, if he hadn’t phoned with some negotiation detail or the other... We won, by the way, and will be expanding our presence in South East Asia. Another market, another day.
World domination is what I live for, right? We had been negotiating this acquisition for the last six months, and things had gone our way. Another billion in the bank by the end of this financial quarter; we’ll be richer. Have resources to go after the bastard who caused us so much grief. And I have the biggest pawn in this move right where I want. In my grasp. At my mercy. I roll my shoulders. So why am I not satisfied? I rub the faint sensations that stab at my chest.
There is nothing personal about what I am doing. She is a means to an end. It isn’t her fault that she is the personification of my worst nightmares. I just need to use her to break my enemy. So why am I pacing back and forth, wearing a line in the wooden flooring? Everything in the space is muted—wooden paneling, plush leather sofas, floor to ceiling books.
This is one corner of my domain which I haven’t hesitated to furnish to my taste, given the amount of time I spend in it. The armchair is made to order, and opposite it, a wide settee, big enough to double up as a bed on the occasions I’ve had to sleep here.
The dark leather would highlight her creamy skin beautifully; set off the freckles on her arms, lend a sheen to those glossy pink curls on her head… unlike her pussy where she is as bare as the day she was born.
My dick lengthens, stretching the crotch of my pants. Fuck the woman for worming her way into my thoughts. I pivot toward the door, walk toward it, just as there’s a knock.
I pause, roll my shoulders. "Come in."
Silence stretches for a beat, another.
So, she is gathering herself too, huh? Game on, little Bird. I pivot toward the table… Nah, best to put a barrier between us. I round the expanse of the desk and drop into my chair.
She steps through, pauses inside the doorway.
I lower my eyes to the chair opposite, then back to her face.
Her lips tighten. Fire burns in those eyes. My dick instantly stretches my pants. Damn, the spirit of this girl. She is a fighter through and through. Good. She’ll need every bit of that strength to hold up to what I have in store for her.
She stomps to the desk, plops her bag on the floor, then drops into the chair.
"Ms. West."
"Mr. Sterling." She pulls out a brick-like device from her bag and places it on the desk.
"What the fuck is that?"
She flips open the cover, presses down on a button. "It’s a time machine." There’s a grinding noise as the machine boots up. "What do you think?" She frowns down at the screen.
"It certainly seems to be something that’s teleported forward from the eighteen-hundreds."
There’s a whirring sound and she frowns.
"No, strike that." I rub my chin. "It’s from way earlier."
"Ha, ha," she deadpans.
The laptop makes crackling noises; she rolls her shoulders, "Come on, come on," she mutters under her breath. There’s a wheezing sound and she stiffens her spine. "Not now." She slaps down the cover, turns the brick over and proceeds to punch it.
"What are you doing?" A headache begins to pound at my temples.
