of it out, and hold it up to his mouth. "Open," I command.
"Lick or suck, Princess?" he growls.
"Whatever you please," I breathe. A bead of sweat runs down his temple. Moisture beads my upper lip. Hell, is the heating on in here, or what? He lowers his head, closes his mouth around my fingertips. I feel the tug all the way down to my cunt. A moan spills from my lips. His mouth curves, he licks his tongue about my fingertips, swallows, then nips on my fingers. Moisture oozes between my legs. Oh, shit. I’m as turned on as he is. This was supposed to be his punishment... Ha! How stupid of me. The only person who will come out at the losing end of this bargain is me. I turn, place the bowl of Jell-o on the island, then grab my panties and pull them on.
"What are you doing?"
I don't reply, shrug into my jeans, find my bra and pull it on.
"Princess?"
"Shut up," I mutter, "I know what you're doing."
"Oh?"
I nod. "You're trying to lure me into staying."
"Am I?" he growls.
I snatch up my blouse, shrug into it. "Yes, you are." Tears knock at the back of my eyes, and honestly... I don't why. I mean, why the hell should I feel like the entire world is ending? I could stay; he wants me to stay... But that would be empty, wouldn't it? I’d still be only a possession to him, something he had bought.
"Amelie, talk to me." He frowns. "What the hell is going on in that pretty head of yours?"
"Nothing, asshole." I toss my hair over my shoulders. "You can take your...your penthouse and fancy kitchen and oven, and all your privileged-as-hell shit, and stuff it where the sun don’t shine."
"Princess..." he takes a step forward; I hold up my hand.
"Don't you dare," I snarl. "Don't you fucking say anything. Don't try to stop me. At least this once, would you stick to your word, and stay right there, until I am gone? This once, can you allow me to leave with a modicum of self-respect?"
He stares at me, his features wearing an expression of frustration. "Amelie, please."
I flip him my middle finger, then grab my phone, snatch up my chef's satchel and my hand bag from where I had placed them on the kitchen island and march out.
57
Weston
I squeeze my eyes shut. The woman I love walked out. I hadn't had the balls to tell her how into much I cared for her; all I’d been worried about was emptying said balls into her. I lower my arms to my sides.
I should have stopped her; should have hauled her over my shoulder and marched into the bedroom, where I'd have thrown her on her back and thrust into her, kept her pinned down until she forgot all about leaving me... About the money, and her business and my bloody ego, which, as per usual, stood in the way. Jesus, couldn't I have said something...anything to stop her from leaving?
Woulda. Coulda. Shoulda. Since when had I begun to over-analyze my reactions, huh? Gone are the days when I’d forge ahead, not caring who I offended. Hell, I had never cared about how my actions affected those around me.
Apparently, she affects me in more ways than I care to admit. Not the least of which is how my groin knots, my cock thickening as I yearn to be inside of her. I grab my shaft and squeeze, swipe it from root to head with practiced skill. Only, it’s not doing it for me at all. I need something more, something warmer, moister, something that would clasp me the way her cunt had when I had thrust into her and taken her.
I glance around, take in the empty milk bottle, the bowl of Jell-o—my cock jerks, bombarded by images of how she'd scooped up the gelatin and offered it to me, her lips parted, tongue caught in concentration between her teeth.
The princess had challenged me. Me. The alphahole who has never allowed any woman to take the lead... I'd handed it to her, and she had left me. I hunch my shoulders, reach for the Jell-o, scoop up some from the center. Hmm, this has possibilities, huh? Except... I tilt my head. The damn Jell-o is too bouncy and it's bound to fall apart. No, I need something else. I plop the Jell-o back, glance around, and spot the basket of fruits in the center of the island... Hmm...