Page 3 of Hitched

“Then why aren’t you laughing at me, telling me I haven’t got a chance?”

Her brows knit together. “Oh, Caleb, I didn’t take you for a fool. I thought we were on the same page here.”

“Are you saying that I haven’t got a chance?”

“I told you so, if you were listening.”

“I was listening. You’re fucking drunk, lass.”

“I’m not drunk enough to skip over the fact that your cock is awake, Caleb. And I’m not interested in humoring it, now or any time.”

I laugh without a trace of mirth. “You are something else. You’re the one that came to me. If you knew that I was here for you and you had no intention of making any sort of exchange, then why did you come over here, unless you just wanted to play your little cock tease game, Laney McFucking Adams, hm? What, do you get off on this twisted shit?”

Eyes pinned on me, she drains my beer, sets it on the bar, coming close enough to me that I could kiss her lips. I have half a mind to grab her and kiss her like a madman, but somehow, I think that will spur her on. I picture her the type to bite my lip until it bleeds, tie my hands above my head and torture me with her physical play, and it irks me to no end that I don’t know if that turns me on further, or turns my stomach. It seems like equal parts of both.

“I came over, because I’ve always wanted to meet the man that all the weak women pine over, the man that’s played like a pawn in his heartless father’s fucking game. And I’m glad that I did, because now I know that you are every bit a little pawn, a victim of your own family, of your hormones, of yourself. And that, Caleb Harris, is why I would never sink so low as to even touch you. So, you can go back to your da and tell him that he’s got a better chance of donating every cent of his billions to the fucking Salvation Army, than he’s got of us getting together. And I can go back to my da and tell him that his estimations were true. That Dougall Harris, in fact, wanted to marry us, and likely to get his tentacles into our business.”

Her face is so close to mine I can smell the beer on her breath. As much as I’m hating every word that she’s uttering, my cock stands fully up, and I hate her for it. This woman is a seductress, a manipulative, cock teasing bitch, and as much as I want to slap the sultry, ‘I’ll eat you for breakfast’ look on her face off it, I also want to press her up against the wall and fuck her brains out, stuff my cock into that filthy mouth of hers, and shove my seed down her throat until her eyes bulge, but my chest heaves with rage, as much as my cock throbs, and suddenly I’m almost scared.

“Get your fucking face out of mine, you bitch.” I seethe. “You ever speak to me like that again, and I’ll paste on every goddamn social media outlet how much of a cock teasing whore you are. You’ll notice that you are the one invading my personal space, drinking my fucking beer, and harassing me, Laney McAdams. I’d use the expression ‘lady’, but somehow, I think, for you, that term would have to be used loosely.”

She smiles sweetly. “Oh, Caleb, I was wrong about you. You are such a fool.”

“I suppose I am, but I’d be even more of a fool if I let you drool all over me for another second, you horny fucking bitch. You don’t think I recognize you coming on to me?”

Laney laughs out loud. “And you’re telling me it’s not working? Why, I bet your little cock is peeking out of the top of your britches, isn’t it.”

“Swine.” I seethe. I want to push her away so badly, but we seem to have an audience. “I bet you’re just as wet, lass. I bet your panties are dripping down your fucking leg right now.”

Another laugh. “Wouldn’t you like to think so.”

“It’s true. Otherwise you wouldn’t have your face pressed up against mine, and you wouldn’t be wasting your time talking to me, unless you were truly a fucking horny little wench.”

She puts her hand over her mouth and laughs into it, truly humored, but there is still something in her eyes. What, I don’t know. Maybe it’s just that she really is that drunk. I have no idea how much she’s had, but judging by her swagger here, I’d say a lot. Plus, she literally just downed my entire beer, in less than five minutes. “Do you want to go back there and I’ll prove it? I am no more turned on than I am sober.”

Bruce hands her another beer, stupidly. We exchange a look. Not sure what he’s trying to convey. It’s half a ‘stop talking to her, you moron’, and half, ‘you go, buddy, use the back room’. Nonetheless, he gives her another beer, and replaces mine that she drank, as she continues her charade.

“Then all you are is one of them lasses that comes on to men when you’ve got a few in you, or in your case, a lot in you, because it’s safe, and you can be vulnerable all you like, and claim you were too drunk to know what you were doing. Twenty bucks says that if we go in that back room, you’d cower away, like the little fucking virgin that daddy likes you to be.”

That hit a nerve. “Fuck you, Caleb.” She growls, takes her beer, and I know that she wants to spit in my face so badly, but she refrains, punctuating the fact that she’s not drunk enough that she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing.

“Fuck you, too, Laney.” I chuckle, taking a sip of beer, feeling like my mission is accomplished.

That’s when one of my spies messages me with another shocking bit of news, this one way more interesting than Laney showing up in a local bar, tanked to the gills.

…and then I make that phone call that I’d been meaning to make before I set my eyes on the biggest bitch on the planet…my potential future fucking bride.

Chapter 2

Laney

“Don’t you dare go talk to him, Laney!” Brandy, my best friend, dares. She’s the type that says the opposite of what she means, while her eyes dance with mirth. Sarcasm is her strongest suit. And I know that she wants so badly for me to go talk to him, so I can come back with dirt, which she lives for. That’s one of the reasons why I knew that her marriage to Kurt wouldn’t work. He’s a very by-the-book type, and she’s so not. Plus, it didn’t help that he couldn’t handle the fact that she’s stinking bloody rich, and he’s, well, not.

“I’ll give you my T-Bird.” Wendy, Brandy’s sister, taunts. Wendy is also a billionaire, but she’s an entrepreneur, who travels the world, designing mansions for the rich, based off their wishes from inspiring pieces in lush countries. Wendy knows that I’m also a billionaire, so bribing me with money will be for naught. But I’m completely head over heels in love with her red, 1957 Thunderbird convertible. I’d give her my first born for that beautiful car.

“You’re full of shit.” I call her on her bluff. There’s no way she’d give that up on account of a stupid conversation with some billionaire guy who probably still has his mama cut the crusts off his sandwiches.

“You’re right. I am.” She admits. “But you have to admit, with the liquid courage you’ve got going on there, and the looks he’s giving you, it’s tempting to go tease the little boy.”

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