while she’s shopping at Harrods. She doesn’t know that I know exactly where she is, but she doesn’t need to. It’s all part of the fun.
Who says I have any on?
I know Clara Bishop is wearing knickers, but I get hard anyway. She’s not the type to wander around London with a bare cunt. It’s one of the reasons I’m going to enjoy teaching her to do just that. Because Clara Bishop is a very good girl, and I’m going to teach her how to be wicked.
I wait until I receive word she’s at lunch before I unleash the next barrage of texts:
I need to have my mouth on you. I need to make you come.
I need to hear you crying my name as I fuck you.
She’s had enough time with her mother. It’s my turn now, and I won’t wait much longer. I know exactly what table she’s been seated at in Hillgrove’s, and if she doesn’t dine quickly, I might walk in and carry her out myself.
I’m especially tempted after her next text arrives:
But how can I scream your name with my mouth busy sucking you off?
Fuck. I need her. Now.
You won’t know until you’ve tried.
Christ, I’m so fucking hard for you.
Finish eating and get your pretty ass over to me.
I won’t wait much longer for her. She’s won this game, and her prize is the rock-hard dick she’ll be riding all afternoon. It’s time for her to collect her winnings.
I need to see you now. The Westminster Royal.
There’s no response, but I know she’s on her way. I can already feel her coming.
Chapter Nine
When the lift opens, I don’t think. I’m on her, my hands and lips vying to see which can cover more of her. Lifting her into my arms, she doesn’t resist. She’s so pliable, responding to me as I cradle her neck—as I crush her against the wall. I nearly take her right there. It’s all I can do not to. I don’t think she’ll stop me—protection or no. I don’t think I can stop myself, and the tiny voice in my head reminding me to care about such things is drowned out by the rush of blood pounding through me.
And then I taste salt on my lips.
It takes a moment to realize she’s crying, and now that I do, I feel like a wanker. Had she been crying when she arrived? This is why I don’t do relationships. I don’t notice things like that.
Or care about them, I tell myself. Except I do.
“Clara.” I tilt her chin up so that she has to meet my eyes. “What’s wrong?”
She turns away, pushing against me like she wants to be freed. I can’t understand why.
“What’s going on?” Something is wrong, and I appear to be the cause of it.
“This, Mr. X!” She holds up her phone, and I catch sight of a news article.
“I’m not sure I understand what’s happening here.” That’s a lie. What’s happening is the inevitable result of pretending I can have my cake and eat it, too.
“What’s happening is that you’re an asshole!” She’s finally caught on to that. It took her longer than most. I’d almost allowed myself to believe it might be different between us—that she might see me for who I am.
Not that I even know who that is.
But I’ve fucked it up. Moving to the bar, I lift a bottle of bourbon. “Drink?”
She shakes her head, her shoulders set. Clara’s determined to stand her ground. I pour myself a drink.
“So TMI is reporting that I was seen with Pepper last night?” I ask.
This is true. I was, but she doesn’t know the circumstances. Annoyance ticks inside me, but I can’t decide if it’s the results of Clara’s assumptions or Pepper’s fame-mongering.
“Weren’t you the one that said tabloids report rumors as facts?” I continue. “Because I rather appreciated the truth of that statement. Sit down, Clara.”
She folds her arms over her chest but otherwise remains still. “I’d prefer to stand.”
It’s such an adorable little stand-off that I’m already imagining it ending with her over my knee.
“Suit yourself.” I don’t bother to participate in this stand-off. Instead, I take a chair and focus on my drink, knowing it will rile her up. She needs to get this out of her system—or allow herself to get so worked up that she gives in to what she really wants from me.
“So you know her?” Clara presses.
“Of course I know her. I’ve known Pepper for years.” If only she knew how much