Page 26 of I'm sorry, Princess
He doesn’t respond, just stares, his eyes fixed on me like he’s sizing me up.
“I hope we’ll get along well,” I continue, forcing some enthusiasm into my voice. “I’ll do my best to help you.”
It feels good to finally be working, even if I wasn’t expecting this. I thought my first client would be an old, lecherous senator, not this gorgeous, overwhelming man who’s throwing off every professional boundary I’m trying to set.
But he still doesn’t say anything.
His silence isn’t neutral, it’s heavy, charged.
I can feel his gaze tracing every inch of me, lingering on my lips, my neck, my chest, like he’s undressing me with his eyes.
I force myself to hold his stare, refusing to let him intimidate me, even though my heart is pounding.
“So, if you have any questions, I would gladly resp—”
“Are you wearing any underwear?”
His words hit me like a freight train, and for a moment, I freeze, my brain struggling to process what I just heard.
Stay calm. Stay professional.
“Excuse me?” I manage to say, but the warmth creeping up my cheeks betrays me.
He doesn’t flinch. His gaze intensifies, those piercing blue eyes scanning me slowly, deliberately, as though he’s peeling away every layer of my composure.
“Are you wearing any underwear, darling?”
He repeats the question without a hint of hesitation, his tone smooth, almost casual, but laced with audacity.
Darling. Are you wearing underwear, darling?
Oh Gosh, please let the floor open up and swallow me whole.
The blush burns hotter now, and my mind screams at me to hold it together, but all my rehearsed professionalism feels like it’s slipping through my fingers.
I hate him.
I hate the way he looks at me, the way his words strip away my resolve, making me feel small, unprepared, and far too young for this.
I promised myself I wouldn’t let him get under my skin. But here I am, blushing like a fool under the scrutiny of a narcissistic asshole who clearly enjoys watching me squirm.
And yet, I can’t bring myself to back down.
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, unfiltered and raw, as my pride and annoyance override my better judgment.
I hate him, I think again, more forcefully this time.
"Underwear? No. But even if I did, you’d never get to see it, because handcuffed and caged isn’t my type." The lie tastes bitter. He is every forbidden thing I crave, and I didn’t even know I had a type, until he showed me exactly what mine is. The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, but I don’t regret it. Not one bit.
His eyes lock onto mine, and there it is, that mocking little smirk curling the corner of his lips.
Perfect teeth. Sinful mouth.
Damn him.
Damn his face. Damn his freaking presence.
Before I can move, he closes the distance between us. Inches now. Barely air between our lips. His breath is hot against my skin, and I hate the way my stomach tightens. My pulse is a wild animal inside my chest, but I keep my face straight, pretending he’s not getting to me.
