Page 67 of Beautifully Deranged

“Not when it’s me.”

She smirks and turns back to the racks, fingers trailing over velvet and leather like she’s choosing what to skin next. She’s having fun, and I’d let her spend every dime I have if it meant she’d forgive me for the bullshit that came out of my mouth.

In Dior, she makes me hold ten bags while she tries on a dress with feathers. It’s ugly, but I don’t tell her that.

“You’re lucky I don’t make you carry these to the car shirtless,” she calls from the fitting room.

“Please do,” I say. “You’d be doing them all a favor.”

She doesn’t say much on the drive back, just scrolls on her phone while her Prada heels rest on the dash. Her bags are piled so high in the backseat they threaten to block the rearview, but I don’t care. I don’t need to look behind me. I’ve got her next to me. And I’ll be damned if she ever leaves again.

When we pull up to the building, I open her door, but she doesn’t move until she finishes her text. That alone has me irrationally hard. She walks toward her own apartment across the hall.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask, keys still in hand.

She doesn’t even glance over her shoulder. “Home.”

I block her door with my body. “Wrong. Our home is to the left.”

“Since when?”

“Since you started spending my money like a wife. Get in the apartment, Lola.”

She crosses her arms, smile slow and dangerous. “Beg me.”

I glance around the empty hallway. Cameras off. Good.

“Lola, baby,” I murmur, lowering to my knees, “I’ll kiss the floor you walk on. But don’t test me unless you want me to fuck you against this door.”

“Tempting.” She leans in, her mouth grazing my ear. “But still not begging.”

I press my forehead to hers. “Come inside. Stay the night. Or I swear I’ll burn your apartment to the ground just to make sure you sleep beside me.”

She laughs. “You’re insane.”

“For you? I’m fucking feral.”

She sighs. “Fine. But only because you look hot carrying my entire haul like my broke little assistant.”

I smirk, grab the rest of the bags, which could fund a minor government, and push the door to my place open with my back. Inside, she kicks off her heels and surveys the space like a queen returning to her throne. She beams when she sees how carefully I hung every painting I bought of hers in my space.I drop the bags near the bed.

“Sit,” she orders, pointing to the armchair in the corner of the room while digging through the bags. I obey. She pulls out a red lace set, and my mouth goes dry.

“You’re going to try that on?”

She hums. “You bought it. Might as well show you what you paid for.”

She strips in front of me. Fuck, her body is perfect. Curvy. Soft. The shirt slides off her shoulders. The pants come next, and she’s bare underneath. My fists clench around the arms of the chair. She wears the lingerie like she’s doing it for herself, not for me, which makes it ten times hotter. She straddles my lap without warning.

I hiss. “Lola—”

She rolls her hips once—just once—and I nearly come in my pants.

“You like your purchase?” she asks sweetly, dragging her nails down my chest.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“Oh, I do.” She grinds again, slower this time. “Consider this part of your punishment.”

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