Shameless - Sybil Bartel Page 0,6
giving a single fuck about boundaries, this assignment or the girl-woman in front of me, I grabbed a handful of her hair. “I think you want my hands on you.” I could smell her wet cunt from here. “I think you want it so bad, you’re already feeling it between those sexy thighs of yours.”
Short enough for me to dominate, but not so fucking small I was bending in half to get in her face, she didn’t do what I expected.
She didn’t retreat.
Balls of steel for a goddamn nineteen-year-old, she stood her ground. “You done fantasizing?”
“No.” This close, smelling her needy cunt, I stupidly thought about all the ways I could fuck her. “You ever been with a man?”
“You ever pretend to be professional?” she threw back like a pro.
I smiled. “You gave that pretense up the second you asked me about lube.”
“You said it first,” she dished out coolly.
“Don’t show your age now, princess,” I warned, wrapping her soft-as-fuck hair around my hand because I could. “A woman finishes what she starts.”
Momentary shock crossed her pretty face, and her voice went an octave higher, but she didn’t do shit to step out of my grip. “I didn’t start anything.”
Right. “Did you know who was picking you up today?”
“No,” she scoffed.
“Did you think your stepmother was coming?”
“No,” she said quieter, a look of hurt crossing her features.
Ruthless, I kept going. “Amherst?”
“No.” Crossing her arms, she tried to pull out of my grasp. “And what’s with the twenty questions? Are you seriously this hard up for attention?”
Ignoring her bullshit question, gripping her hair tighter, liking her in my hold too damn much, I got to the fucking point. “Then who did you think was picking you up?”
“I don’t know.” Bitching like a teen, she showed her age. “My dad’s driver or one of you.”
“One of me?” I knew what the fuck she meant, but I wanted to hear her say it.
Looking me dead in the eye, she gave me all the disdain I was worthy of. “A bodyguard.”
There it was.
“Bodyguard,” I repeated in a low murmur as I dragged the back of my hand across the cool skin of her exposed stomach.
She shivered, and her eyes fluttered, but she tried to hide it. “Yeah.”
Leaning closer, I dropped my voice for only her to hear. “Who were you really dressing up for, Rehab?”
OH MY FUCKING GOD.
What a tool.
But when he touched me?
Ohmigod.
Full-on shivers. From one touch.
How was that even possible?
Then he called me Rehab.
Needing to not fuck what little dignity I had left, I pulled out of his grasp.
Letting me go with that damn smirk on his face that said he knew exactly the effect he had on my body, he shoved his cell in his pocket. “That’s what I thought.”
“Shocking you think at all,” I threw out, aiming to insult him even though I suspected he fed off that kind of shit.
Confirming my suspicion, he laughed.
Brazen and shameless, everything about his laugh made the same shiver he’d gotten out of me when he’d touched my stomach come rushing back, and I wanted to simultaneously jump him and hit him.
“I hate you,” I blurted.
“Good.” He grinned.
Fucking bastard. I fought a smile. “You would say that.”
He shrugged without apology, then he scanned the parking lot and the front of the restaurant. “You can get takeout. We’re not eating in.”
“It’s Japanese,” I protested.
“So?” He opened the door behind the driver seat, pulled out an article of clothing and tossed it at me. “Put that on.”
Forced to catch it or let it drop to the ground, I grabbed it. “I’m not eating sushi on my lap in the damn car.” It was a black zip-up sweatshirt with the Luna and Associates logo on it, and it smelled like him, but I couldn’t imagine him wearing it. Or maybe I just didn’t want to. It’d seemed sacrilegious to cover all that ink on his arms. “Is this yours?”
Ignoring my question, he took a leather jacket from the back seat and put it on. “Then order something else.” Giving me a warning look, he snatched the sweatshirt from me and fed one of my arms into it. “Takeout or nothing.” Unceremoniously shoving my other arm through, he zipped it to the top. Then, as if it were as natural as breathing, he pulled his gun out of his holster, dropped the magazine, glanced at the bullets, slammed it back home and shoved the gun back were he’d taken it from. The whole routine was over in seconds