Page 4 of Bossy Trouble

That was until Georgia came in.

She stood at the door in a brown sundress, eyes darting like a rabbit that wandered into the wrong rose bush. I smiled. Anyone who saw Georgia would initially assume she was a timid mouse…and in a lot of ways, she could be a little shy.

But that was only because she was hiding an absolute tiger underneath.

I’d never met a woman quite as feisty as Georgia Peyton, and her ability to balance it out with that sweet, midwestern image was adorable.

And it got me hard as all get out.

The good thing about Georgia was that, despite how she looked, she was usually down for a good time, with no feelings involved and no strings attached. And that was precisely what I needed right now.

“Are you going to stand there all afternoon, or are you going to come in?”

She hesitated at the door for a few more moments, then took one step and then another inside. Now I got the full image of her sundress billowing around her curvy frame and felt my cock thicken even more.God, she looked delectable.Good enough to bite into.

“Are you busy?” she asked in that soft voice of hers, reminding me of the sound of it moaning in my ears. Georgia had surprisingly been a very vocal lover, agile and lascivious in her pleasure. Despite her good-girl image, she fucked with abandon and an appetite that matched only mine. And she had no problem telling me how much she loved it—loved my dick inside her—and wanted more of whatever I was giving her.

And her taste…

I closed my eyes for a brief second, remembering the flavor of it on my tongue. Her taste was the sweetest ambrosia I’d ever had.

Let’s get this show on the road.

Urgency beat at me, but I took my time admiring her. I was always one to play with my food.

“Busy is relative,” I responded to her question. “Sit.”

She’d still been standing by the chair, looking at it like it was going to spring legs and walk away from her. And then, when she finally slipped into the seat, she continued to observe the room, actively looking at everything else but me. The pulse in her throat told me she was nervous. Looking back, she usually was around me. At least, at first.

It never stopped her from telling me whatever she felt anyway.

“So.” I leaned forward. “What brings you here after…what has it been…three years?”

“Five years and six months,” she responded automatically, then blushed. “Not that I’m counting.”

“Of course not,” I said with a smirk. “How have you been?”

“Good. Great, in fact.” Her words dropped a little too quickly to have been entirely honest. “I started a business.”

“I heard.”

Her eyes finally met mine briefly, wide with surprise, before drifting down to my chin. “You did?”

“Yeah. Garrett told me.” While her brother and I weren’t as close as we once were, we occasionally talked every once in a while to catch up. Garrett could never have a conversation without bringing up his sister, and last I’d heard, she was doing pretty well for herself. “What was it? A fashion line?”

“Um, yeah, something like that. We make small leather purses for the everyday woman.”

“A competitive industry.” Fashion was one business I’d never really gotten into, given how flighty and subjective everything seemed. “How’s that treating you?”

“Good.” She sighed. “Well, it was good until recently.”

I heard it then in her tone. That little inflection usually told me that someone was going to ask me for something. I heard it all the time when people came to me with business proposals, wanting me to save their business or help them out with some personal emergency. I didn’t know what about me led them to believe I gave a damn about their tragedy or was the type to help them, but they always asked.

And the answer was always the same.

I wasn’t a good Samaritan. I wasn’t a helper, and I didn’t take on projects that didn’t personally benefit me.

And if Georgia expected me to, then she was going to be disappointed.

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