Page 9 of The Rich One

“You look surprised.” I yelp as his free hand latches onto the back of my head, fingers curling around the short strands—tightening to the point of pain. “I know how to make a woman come, Rose.” His two fingers curl deep inside me, pulling an unsolicited groan from me. When I open my eyes, the self-satisfied grin on his face makes me chuckle.

“Happy?” My voice sounds strange to my ears, like gravel has taken temporary residence in my throat.

Pressing his palm against the opening of my pussy, he rubs his fingers against my g-spot while his palm rubs my clit with laser-like precision.

“I’ll be happy when you come so loudly that my ex-wife regrets spreading her treacherous legs for another man.” His words are a cold shower. A stark reminder of why I’m here. Of what I do. Of why he’s paying me.

I don’t skip a beat, I raise my hips and push into his hand, grunting at all the right times, making him feel like the powerful man he is.

And he will make me come loud enough to be heard next door. I’ll make sure of it.

Men like Tyler thrive on their self-control, on their dominance. They need to feel the power of their decisions, to know their life choices are justified.

A cheating wife was like a kick to the balls, and from what I hear, they hurt like a fucking cunt on a power trip.

I belt out a moan that could make the most popular of porn stars feel insignificant.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Rose. You moan because I make you fucking moan. You don’t moan because I pay you to do it.”

Fuck.

We both still, gazes locked in a battle of wills as he dares me to disobey him. This can’t be good for business.

“Tyler—”

“Let’s make a deal.” He must see the confusion written all over my face. We’re both naked, two of his fingers are up my pussy, another hand controlling the angle of my head, and he wants to negotiate?

“Forget I’m paying you. For the next twenty minutes, let me bring you pleasure. Look at it as a bonus for the incredible job you do for me and for putting up with my fucked up moods.” I stare at him for a minute—which is a really fucking long time with two unmoving fingers inside me.

“You want to make me come? Again?” I arch a brow, a challenge in my features.

“Yes.” Simple and to the point.

“And if you can’t? I mean, twenty minutes isn’t nearly enough time for me to get myself off, so…” I trail off, hoping he can fill in the blanks.

He pulls my head closer to his mouth, a power play if I’ve ever seen one. Instead of leaning into me, he brings me to him.

“Fifteen, then.” His words are murmured against my lips, the challenge in them an aphrodisiac. It’s been so long since sex was actually fun and unpredictable that I grin up at him and shrug like it makes absolutely no difference to me either way.

It’s a fucking lie.

I’m intrigued.

Orgasms are a tricky thing. Not necessarily impossible, I’ve already had two tonight, but not snap-your-fingers available, either, and the mention of his ex-wife kind of put a fire out in my libido.

“If I lose, I’ll double your pay for this weekend.” I draw in a sharp breath. Double? Jesus, I could put a major dent in Everest’s student loans, as well as the mortgage on his house.

My face must show my answer because a slow, almost-demonic grin rises at the corners of his mouth, and suddenly he’s not Tyler Walker anymore. He’s something else entirely. A demi-god in all his power and an animal in all its savagery.

His fingers are gone from both my pussy and my hair as he sits back on his haunches and delivers his first words so low I barely hear them.

“Get on all fours.” I’m so surprised by his change in demeanor that my body reacts instinctively and my curiosity is begging to speed this all up.

“Spread your legs wide and show me your wet little cunt.” Here’s the thing. Dirty talk is my weakness. The assertive way a man tells me what to do, how to do it, and when to do it has always had a direct link to my clit.

I do as he asks. After all, we have a deal and I always keep my promises.

With one hand splayed across the space between my shoulder blades, he pushes down until my cheek presses against the sheets. I’ve never been happier to have a high thread count. I need my skin to be in an impeccable state to charge the rates I do.

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