Page 52 of The Billionaire's Baby
"Be thankful I am allowing you to keep your clothes on," I drawl.
"What’s that supposed to mean?" She throws up her hands, "Jesus, Arpad. Can you stop with the riddle-like answers and tell me what the hell your game is?"
"Game?" I turn, then lean a hip against the work top. "No game, babe. We ran into a storm. I made sure we got to shelter before it caught us."
"Somehow, I don’t believe you."
"Somehow, I don’t care."
"Somehow…" she shuffles her feet, "I can’t get past the idea that you orchestrated all this."
"So you’ve said before."
"I mean, if you wanted to shag me, all you had to do is ask."
"And you’d have agreed?"
She shakes her head.
"I rest my case." I tilt my head, "I suggest you better get that shower in before it’s time."
"Time?" She frowns. "Time for what?"
"Time for me to fuck you, of course."
"What the—?" she blinks. "You didn’t just—" She shakes her head. "You can’t just throw those words out like that."
"You mean, I can’t declare my intent? After all, isn’t that what you want? For me to fill you with my cum?"
Her cheeks redden. "You’re being filthy just to upset me."
"You have it all wrong."
"I do?"
I nod, "I am being filthy because I know it turns you on."
"Oh, bugger off." She twirls a strand of her hair around her finger, a sure sign that she’s nervous. Funny, how I know her gestures so well.
"Are you denying you like my talking dirty to you?"
"That’s exactly what I am saying," she states.
"So, if I come over there and pull off your pants, and stuff my fingers inside your cunt, you won't be wet?"
She shudders, her pupils dilate and she twists her fingers together in front of her. "You wouldn’t dare."
I tilt my head.
"Shit, I didn’t mean it that way."
I take a step forward and she backs away. "I mean, yeah, I am turned on, but it doesn't have anything to do with you."
"No?" I prowl toward her and she stumbles back, until her hip brushes against the settee.
"No," she mumbles, "it’s my hormones. It’s, uh, what I have been taking to amp up my egg production. It makes me more sensitive, you know, and moody and edgy and—" I reach her, and she flinches.
I bend my knees, peer into her flushed features. "It’s not good for you, whatever drugs you are on to stimulate egg production."
