Page 27 of Devilish Bully
“There are plenty of other seats on this plane,” she says quietly, not looking up. “You don’t have to sit across from me.”
“I want to.”
That makes her cheeks flush, a pretty pink she tries to hide by fussing with her papers.
“If you’re not feeling any better,” I murmur, glancing at my watch, “we could do round two before we land. We’ve got hours.”
Her head snaps up, eyes wide. “Actually, I would like you to—no, I need you to, um, tell me that you’re sorry.”
My brow lifts. “For what?”
“For crossing the line with me.”
“We crossed that line weeks ago when I made you ride my hand in my office.” I smile. “And for the record, I’mnotsorry.”
Her throat works as if she’s trying to ignore the heat in my words. “I would also like you to know…” She speaks over me, too fast, like if she slows down she won’t say it at all. “Even though things seem to be escalating between us, I’ve never slept with someone who didn’t have feelings for me. So…”
Finally, she looks at me—vulnerable and defiant at once.
“…so, the kissing, and what happened earlier—it can be repeated. But it can’t go further than that.”
I tilt my head, studying her. “So you’re telling me I can have your mouth whenever I want, eat your pussy until you’re screaming my name, but we won’t be sleeping together?”
Her blush deepens. “You don’t have to be so crass about it.”
“I like things in black and white.” I smile slow, deliberate. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, Kendall.” I set my pen down, pretending to concede. “That’s fine.”
Relief flickers across her face, but I don’t let her hold it for long.
“I know it sounds strange and—” she begins.
“Stop talking.”
Her breath catches as I grab her by the waist and pull her closer, closing the space between us. My voice drops, low and filthy.
“Lean back and wrap your legs around my shoulders,” I say. “Then let me show you exactly how many times I can make you come before we even think about touching a bed.”
THE ACCOUNTANT
KENDALL
The return to New York is marked by a blur of endless work, blurred with stolen moments of Lucian devouring me on his desk.
And I finally force myself to admit just how much his world demands of him. The phone never stops buzzing, emails pour in by the hundreds, contracts appear in stacks that regenerate like hydra heads. Every minute of his schedule is spoken for, and he moves through it with a precision that’s almost frightening.
I’ve never envied a billionaire less. And I’ve never understood him more.
No one could keep up with this and still be kind. Not really. His brusqueness, his short temper, the way he slices conversations into orders—it all makes a kind of sense when you see the mountain of responsibility he carries alone.
Almost.
I remind myself that no workload justifies being a bully.
Whether he has an amazing mouth or not…
