Page 62 of Mexico Can Choke On It
Did Bryce Sterling—Mr. Fortune 500, King of Composure, Goldenboy by-the-book Billionaire—just imply he wants to… dominate me? In the biblical sense?
My brain is a toaster short-circuiting in a bathtub.
What the hell do I say to that?
CHAPTER EIGHT
PETRA
Ohfuck.I’mtoast.Burnt to a crisp.
Mr. Suit-and-Tie is a hair’s breadth away from me, smirking—deliciously dangerous. The air between us crackles with so much tension, I could slice it with one of these dainty forks. That voice of his? Straight out of the world’s dirtiest audiobook, and my brain is begging me to misbehave.
“If I clipped a collar on you… you’d be purring.”
My core ignites at the image—me in nothing but that ruby ring and a collar, on my knees, eyes yearning for only him.
My skin flushes hot, then cold—a rollercoaster of arousal crashing into suspicion.
What. The. Actual. Hell.
This isn’t the Bryce I know. Moneybags maintains a ten-foot radius of professionalism at all times. He says things like “portfolio diversification” and “appropriate decorum.”
Is this some twisted new tactic to control me?Flirt with the chaotic little sister to keep her in line for his best friend’s wedding? Seduce the problem child into submission? Because if so, that’s… that’s…
Genius. And infuriating. And embarrassingly effective.
Except…The joke’s on you, B. I figured out your petty game. Think you can tame me with a few dirty words? That because you’ve released your inner Christian Grey, you can put me on a leash?
HMPFH! Think again!
If Mr. Billionaire wants to be the etiquette police and my personal Dom-for-dinner, bring it on.
You’ve met your match, B.
I yank my chair to sit, but his grip stops me. This time, on my forearm.
“Wait,” he says. “No one’s seated yet.”
“Hands to yourself. Unless you’re prepared to use them properly.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” he says, like it’s a promise.
“I didn’t take you for the kinky type, Moneybags. Always assumed you’d be missionary-with-the-lights-off boring. The kind who says ‘pardon me’ when you come.”
His pupils dilate.Victory!
Bryce’s palm moves to my wrist, the pad of his thumb finding my pulse point and circling slowly. “Do you want to test that theory, Pip?”
For a heart-stopping moment, he looks prepared to pull me against him, consequences be damned. His attention lingers on my red lips, hungry and intent.
Words hover on my tongue—I dare you to take what you want—
“OHMYGODHI!”
Before I can register what’s happening, I’m engulfed in a hug of exotic perfume and designer silk and being treated like I’m someone’s long-lost bestie.
“I’m Hana! Hana Choi! Maid of honor.” She pulls back, grinning at me with the blinding intensity of a sunbeam who’s never had a bad day in her life.
