Page 20 of Filthy Mouth
“Dinner’s ready in the dining room,” I said, glancing back at her in the doorway.
She nodded, pushing her handbag strap higher on her shoulder. The navy suit was conservative and professional—exactly why I wanted to strip it from her. My gaze dipped to her lips. Watching her eat would be its own kind of torture, but the meal was just a step toward the real prize.
??????
Course after course, I was transfixed by the way she put everything in her mouth—the slow drag of the fork between her lips. The faint shimmer of moisture left behind. The delicate flex of her slender neck as she swallowed. I’d seen erotic films that stirred less. If food porn were a category, she would be the star. My cock had never been harder.
I dabbed my mouth with the napkin, though my appetite wasn’t for the food in front of me, while she lingered over dessert—tongue flicking against the spoon as if she had any idea what it did to me.
My architects were paid well, but my interior designers? Better still. They didn’t just fill a space—they created the atmosphere that sold the dream.
“I want to offer your company the contract for a new building. Forty apartments and two penthouses,” I said, my voice even as her fork froze halfway to her lips.
Her mouth stayed parted, and I stared at it—at the exact fit it would make around me. I could almost feel the heat of her tongue. My cock pulsed hard enough to hurt. Her eyes were wide when she set the fork carefully back on the plate.
Yes. This was the perfect hook.
“I’d like something in return,” I murmured.“I want to be your Daddy for six months. Just us. Exclusive.”
Her lips closed slowly, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. The faintest tremor passed through her fingers before she set the fork down.
“I have a father. Why would I need a Daddy?”
Their relationship was strained. The PI had given me everything I needed and more. I knew why she wasn’t a spoiled socialite—she’d clawed her way through life. She was a survivor.
“You know why,” I said, voice low.“Ever had a cock stretch your throat the way mine will? Don’t you want to find out what Daddy’s cock feels like pounding that tight little cunt?”
She reached for her wine, fingers tight around the delicate stem, and drained the last drop without breaking eye contact.
“I’ll bet you a thousand pounds your pussy was dripping when you ran from me that night.”
The glass hit the table, soft but deliberate, before I landed the killer blow.
“I’ll see to your every need for six months, Poppy. Every. Single. One.”
I wanted to own her. To sit in her head. To haunt her the same way she’d haunted me ever since I saw her lips wrapped around my cock.
Her tongue slipped out, licking her lips, and I remembered exactly how good it had felt when she’d used it on me—slippery, wet, soft.
“Your company will gain a significant amount of new clientele if we link our names together.”
She cleared her throat.“I’m aware.”
“If the upstairs is completed, you could be the first to break in the new furniture—with me,” I said, smiling slow and deliberate.
“Six months and you want me to call you Daddy?”
“Yes,” I murmured.“We’ll put the terms in writing. I’ve seen your work. The quality is not in question.”
She sat back in her chair, placing both hands on the table. Her nails weren’t red tonight, but a glossy pink to match her lips. The speculation was plain in her eyes—but so was the heat.
“Be warned,” I said, my voice low.“I like it messy. Some might call it… nasty.”
Shit. My words were like a battle cry, and she took the field.
Her back straightened, chin tilting, eyes locked on mine like she was already testing her limits.
“Fine,” she said, lips curling.“Count me in.”
