Page 24 of Coldhearted King

“Right,” she mutters. “Well, lucky me to be one of the many, then.” She pivots as if she’s about to leave.

“More memorable than most,” I say, and she jolts to a stop, looking at me over her shoulder. I don’t know why I’m poking her. Or why I enjoy seeing her cheeks turn pink with either embarrassment or anger—both options being equally appealing. I’m not interested in her as anything more than an employee and a very pleasant memory. Not to mention she’s another man’s girlfriend. So why can’t I leave this—her—alone?

Her nose wrinkles. “Should I be flattered that if you line up all the women you’ve slept with, I’ll be one of the few you can pick out?”

“Most women would.”

She puts her hand on her hip and angles her head to the side so her dark hair tumbles over one shoulder. “I doubt that. But if that’s what you need to tell yourself to sleep at night, then you just go ahead. While those women are chasing you around, begging for a night in your bed, I’ll be with my very attractive, very intelligent boyfriend, having some very enjoyable emotional intimacy.”

I casually cross my arms over my chest. “Not long ago, you were the one begging for a night in my bed. You were more than happy to have a one-night stand so I could give you what you needed.” Baiting her like this is crazy. If I’m not careful, I could end up with a sexual harassment suit. And yet, I can’t seem to stop.

The urge isn’t helped when she curls her lip and says, “I should have waited. If I’d known who I was spending the night with, I would have realized what a big mistake I was making. Now at least I’ve got a man who takes care of my needs and has an interest in me as a person.”

Her eyes spit fire, and I find myself standing way too close to her, taking in her wildflower scent and basking in her anger.

Even though I brought up Paul in the first place, I don’t particularly like her thinking about him while I’m standing in front of her. Though she says she should have waited, she’d loved every second of the hours we’d spent together. The scratch marks down my back had proved it. That needling irritation is what makes me keep going. “Does Paul know? Did you tell him about that night, or did you keep your little indiscretion to yourself?”

Her chin rises. “I was honest about what happened.”

“Exactly how honest? Does he know it was me? Have you shared that truth with him?”

Her delicate jaw clenches, but her gaze darts away—proof she hasn’t. “There’s no point,” she says. “It would only make the working relationship between the two of you uncomfortable.”

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.” I throw her words back at her.

Her nostrils flare and those bright green eyes flash. “Surely you can’t believe it’s a good idea for him to know?”

“You don’t think he deserves to know that the man sitting across the table from him is the man who took his girlfriend’s virginity?” Her lips part on a gasp, but I keep going. “That a month ago, you were screaming my name as you came on my cock? Tell me, Delilah, when you look at me, do you remember my mouth between your legs? Do you touch yourself and think about how you did it for me that night?”

Her breaths are fast and choppy. “No.”

“No what? No, you don’t think he deserves to know? No, you don’t remember? Or no, you don’t play with yourself and think of me? How honest are you, kitten?”

Her eyes narrow. “You seem to remember an awful lot about that night for someone who’s probably screwed any number of women since then. How often have you touched yourself thinking about me?”

She’s not trying to be seductive. She’s angry. And sick bastard that I am, I like it just as much.

“Too many times to count,” I admit, savoring her sharp inhale. “So next time you and your boyfriend are sitting across the table from me, you’ll know I’m remembering your sweet pussy wrapped around my dick and I’ll know you’re remembering my fingers and tongue in you, and how hard I made you scream. You might be with Paul, but I have no doubt you’ll be thinking about me the next time you fuck yourself with your fingers.”

Hectic patches of red bloom on the arches of her cheekbones. My eyes dip to the jut of her stiff nipples through her thin blouse. I would give anything to bend my head and suck one of those hard tips into my mouth.

But I can’t.

I wouldn’t, even if she didn’t have a boyfriend.

“Vibrator,” she says shakily.

I raise my brows. When she speaks again, her voice has strengthened, and she meets my gaze head-on.

“I’ll be using a vibrator. And when I come, I’ll be thinking about whatever the hell Iwantto think about. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she says, and pushes me away from her.

I let her, stepping back so she can slip past me. Without another glance in my direction, she leaves, not even giving me the satisfaction of attempting to slam the door behind her.

A few seconds later, I’m unzipping my pants in the bathroom. Exhilaration pings through me, and I’m so fucking hard it hurts. I enjoy it far too much when she talks back to me. Seeing the anger snapping in her eyes makes me desperate to bend her over the nearest desk and remind her how much she’d loved having my dick in her.

I bare my teeth in a smile as I stroke myself. Because sheishonest, and she was very careful not to say what—orwho—she’d be thinking about. Which tells me everything I need to know.

The mental image of Delilah playing with her tight little pussy while she thinks about me is the only thing running through my head as I groan out my release a few hard strokes later.

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