Page 141 of Sassy Love
“You can hate me while I fuck you, I promise.”
“I—”
“Or we can stop.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
I chuckle, and she huffs an annoyed breath.
Christ, I love her this way.
“You want to hate fuck, baby?”
“I do hate you, for fucking with my emotions. My heart. What is wrong with you, why are you so nice?” She’s in my face.
I grip her throat, and her eyes light with surprise that fades to a heated desire on a level I’ve not yet seen from her.
“Making you come while the people in the room next door prove me right is going to be worth every sassy word that leaves those pouty damn lips.”
Taking a step back, I release my aching, rock-hard cock, and she moves. Standing with her back to me, she leans over the table a little and slides the silky dress up and over her ass. Her long legs ending in high heels, her perfect ass canted up to me, she scowls over her shoulder. “Fuck me like you hate me. Oh, that’s right; you did before.”
“I never hated you, but I can still make you scream, Princess.”
I don’t give her any warning or go easy.
I slam into her, and the whole fucking table moves with a groan. I slap a hand over her mouth as a stunned cry flies through her lips.
She bites down on my hand, and I thunder into her.
Her legs tremble and my own release threatens to take us both down as I slide a hand beneath her, swirling my fingertips over her clit.
She unravels, bucking against the table.
I can’t help the roar that leaves my throat as I shoot hot ropes into her.
If this is makeup sex, I’ll take it.
Hell, I might even be the one to pick the fight next time.
Chapter 35
CARLIE
With the last eligible bachelor auctioned off, we get to my portion of tonight’s entertainment. I hate public speaking. Love public relations and building connections, but speaking in front of a crowd of this caliber... that’s another torture entirely.
“Hello everyone.” I hold the microphone too close, and it squeals before I can put distance between me and it.
The room is silent.
Great, why is it my job to deliver the serious portion of the night? How are you supposed to follow the hottest auction in New York with these sobering facts and stories? Determined, I set my shoulders back, remembering the impact we have had on women and children. On someone’s mother, someone’s daughter. Aunt. Niece.
“Now is the part where I have you squirming in your seats for an entirely different reason.” I clear my throat. As if feeling the vibe plummet, others do, too.
I point the clicker toward the backdrop behind me that’s been set up for our presentation tonight. Serenity House’s logo and mission statement flash onto the screen.
“Every year, more and more women are in need of shelter. It takes on average twenty-one days to apply to a non-emergency shelter and be placed. However, three women are killed by domestic violence every single day in the United States...” My speech covers the statistics highlighting the need for more beds, more services, and extended hours. And I finish with a tear-jerking story of a woman named Alysandra. “...as fingers dig into my windpipe, I realized I had to leave. My home, my sanctuary was tainted, I wasn’t safe. I hadn’t been for a long, long time. I had been praying for things to just get better. For him to do better. It was after he lost his fourth job in three months, that the—” I swallow back the emotion and suck in an inadequate breath. “The bruises came. The hurtful words and punishing physical altercations. And I remember thinking, my mother’s heart would be shattered if she saw us like this. With nowhere to go, I stayed. For another month. It wasn’t until I started finding unexplained bruises on my six-year-old daughter that I finally found the strength to leave. I had failed her, and in the worst way possible. But I would not fail her again. We left in the middle of the night, and by the time I fought my way free of the house and his rage, we ended up in the alleyway by the Serenity building. That was the first day in years I’d been able to finally take a breath.”
I pause and scan the room. Hankies and tissues are shoved in women’s faces at every damn table.
