Page 105 of Wreck Me

‘What kind of game?’ he purrs, exposing straight, white teeth.

‘Pretend we’re strangers. I’ll dance for you. And you have to try to persuade me to have sex with you. Call it role play, if you like.’

James’s eyes glint with approval. ‘I warn you, Scarlett, it won’t be much of a game. I can be very persuasive.’

‘And I quite believe it.’ My lips quirk. ‘But I haven't danced in weeks and I’m going to revel in having your undivided attention for as long as I can physically hold out.’

‘I have a secret weapon,’ he warns.

‘I’m pretty sure it’s not that secret. I, and copious amounts of other women, have seen it before.’ Desire curls in my core as I tear my eyes from James’s crotch to scan the vicinity. Tiny, subtly positioned speakers dot the room.There’s a small bar to the left stocked with James’s own whiskey.

‘I wasn't referring to my cock, but now you’ve brought it up, excuse the pun,’ he eyes the bulge in his suit trousers with a wicked grin, ‘you’re the only woman who will ever see it again.’

‘I’d better be. Now, get a drink and put on some music while I get ready.’

‘If you insist.’ He slaps my ass before striding towards the bar. Within seconds, a low sensual beat echoes through the air. ‘You know, I thought I was teaching you, Scarlett, but you’re teaching me more than I ever could have dreamt of.’

‘Like what?’ I inch myself onto the stage, eternally grateful for the stockings and heels I selected earlier.

‘That no matter how many times I think I’m getting to know you, there’s always another layer to peel back.’ His head whips up as my dress slides to the floor. ‘Case in point.’ Enormous pupils rake over my lingerie, a transparent, lace balconette bra and matching thong, which is so sheer it leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.

James’s mouth drops open and I grin. This is going to be so fucking hot.

He finally manages to drag his jaw from the floor to pour two neat whiskeys as I kick my dress off the stage.

James settles into the only armchair in the room– centre stage. Lounging against the black leather, swirling his crystal tumbler in his right hand, he looks every bit the billionaire playboy he was the night we met.

But I am far from the same woman. My confidence has grown in leaps and bounds. Thanks to him. And it’s time he reaped the rewards of it.

The air crackles with the promise of pure hedonistic pleasure. I throw a leg around the cool, chrome pole and hoist myself up. My biceps burn, but in the most life-affirming way.I drag my pelvis against the pole as I climb higher and higher until I’m two-thirds of the way up.

James’s pupils blaze as I slowly part my legs in the splits. He hisses his approval and satisfaction sizzles in my stomach and lower. I propel myself around the pole several times, revelling in the sensation of flying through the air before gliding down in slow seductive increments, until both heels are on the floor.

James stands, takes a swig of his whiskey, and places it on the edge of the stage. Reaching into his pocket, he plucks out a wedge of hundred euro notes and throws them at the stage. ‘Take your lingerie off,’ his voice is weighted with a want that mirrors my own.

I pause for a second, wetting my lips. ‘Yes, sir.’

His answering grin implies he thinks he has this in the bag. He seems to have temporarily forgotten I’m a survivor.

Though truthfully, there’s no surviving those dark, decadent eyes for long.

It’s my turn to grin. ‘You can look, sir, but you can’t touch. It’s forbidden.’ I glance at the door, as if I had a boss who might care.

James clenches his jaw but I don’t miss the way his pupils gleam. He’s enjoying this game every bit as much as I am.

I reach around and unhook my bra, keeping my eyes latched onto his, revelling in every micro twitch of his face as he battles to remain composed.

When it falls to the floor with a soft thud, a low moan rumbles from James’s throat. ‘Fucking beautiful,’ he murmurs. ‘Now show me that pretty pussy,’ he urges, taking a step closer to the stage.

Chapter Forty-Seven

SCARLETT

His face is inches away from my stomach.

He pulls out another wad of notes from the inside of his suit pocket and tosses them onto the stage. My fingers dip beneath my waistband and push the lace down over my thighs, inch by inch. His lips roll, like he’s biting something back.

When I finally step out of the thong, he grabs it and pulls it to his face, inhaling deeply.

---