Debt Inheritance (Indebted #1)(14)

Sitting taller, I said, “So…the thing I wanted to ask you…”

What are you doing? He’s not a nice person. And he’s got the patience of a Doberman.

Jethro clenched his jaw, swirling his coffee. “I won’t answer, do, or respond to any more requests. Drink your coffee. We’re running late.”

I ignored that. I adopted a ‘don’t ask about the future and why the almighty rush approach.’ Working on another approach, I tried to break the ice between us. “You seem to know my father. What obligations—”

“No questions.” Jethro tossed his head back, swallowing the double shot in one go. Licking his lips, he carefully placed his cup on the table, eyeing my untouched one.

The unease of why my father had permitted me to go out with such an insensitive bastard came back. I feared there was a lot I wasn’t aware of, drifting around like a hapless child while adults battled over my future.

Running a hand through his greying hair, Jethro suddenly shoved my overflowing skirts off the couch and slid closer. So close his body heat seared my naked arms, prickling me with intensity.

I gulped, curling my hands in my lap.

Jethro bristled. “Whatever you think you’re doing, it won’t work. I will neither make small talk nor enter into meaningful conversation. You request to visit a coffee shop, yet don’t touch what I bought you.” He sighed, tension tightening his eyes. “I’m done playing silly games. Tell me what I need to do to make you come without making a fuss, and I’ll do it.”

My heart stopped. Anxiety roared back into existence. Why had I thought I could seduce this man? I had no hope, especially when he was obviously pissed off rather than intrigued. Linking my fingers together, I said quietly, “Why would I make a fuss? Where exactly do you want to take me?”

Please say a hotel and admit your attitude is all an act. Please say my brother hired you to play the horrible arsehole only to sweep me off my feet in a night of escorted bliss.

I should’ve known better than to wish for such things.

Jethro frowned. “What did I just say? No questions.” Grabbing my wrist, he tugged me closer, crushing my dress between us. “I don’t have time for games. Tell me what you want.” His mouth was so close, his brooding temper filling a bubble around us.

My eyes dropped to his lips. All I could picture was one kiss. One beautifully gentle, romantic kiss that turned my insides molten and my mind to stars.

I breathed shallowly, unable to raise my gaze to his.

He half-smiled. “That’s what you want?”

I blinked, dispelling the haze of intoxication he’d placed me under. “I didn’t say anything.”

Letting my wrist go, he trailed his fingertips up my arm. I shivered, loving and hating his masterful touch. “You didn’t have to. I should’ve known this would happen.”

My eyes flared. “Known?” Embarrassment came swift and hot. Was I so obvious? So needy?

“No questions,” he snapped. Sighing heavily, he added, “You forget your life is rather public, Ms. Weaver. And I happen to know you’re not…experienced.” Cupping my chin, he ran the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip.

I froze.

Jethro’s face didn’t soften or beguile, but his voice dropped to a murmur. His masculine scent threaded around me transporting me from the coffee shop and into his control. “What is it you want? A kiss? A caress?” His voice echoed like a deep baritone until I felt his question in my bones rather than heard.

Leaning closer, his mouth hovered over mine. He smelled decadently of coffee. “Do you ache for something? Do you lie in bed at night and crave a man’s touch?” His breath feathered over my lips, drugging me. “How wet do you get? Answer my questions, Ms. Weaver. Tell me how you pleasure yourself while fantasising about a man f*cking you.”

I couldn’t feel any part of my body apart from the firm hold he had on my chin and the tingling of my lips. I couldn’t think apart from the dark visions he coaxed in my head of nakedness and fingers and stolen caresses.

“Tell me. Convince me,” Jethro tormented, bringing his mouth closer. Only a feather breadth away—a phantom kiss, but it made every inch throb.

“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I fantasise. Yes, I ache.” Wishing I could pull away and hide my vulnerability, I added, “That’s what I wanted. From you.”

Everything you painted and more.

“When you imagine a nameless male taking you, do you picture champagne, massages, and soul-shattering sex?” His nose nudged mine.

I nodded, eyelids drooping, begging him to kiss me.

His head tilted, grazing the corner of my mouth with his. A tease. A half-kiss. A promise. His mouth trailed to my ear. “You na?ve little girl. If I took you, you wouldn’t be adored or worshipped. You’d be used and f*cked. I have no patience for sweet.”

I opened my eyes, fighting against the thick lust in my blood.

Jethro sneered. “Pity you didn’t say you fantasised about a man using you, abusing you. Pity you didn’t admit to darker desires such as bondage and pain. Then perhaps I might’ve granted your wish.” He trailed his lips over my cheekbone. His touch was condescending rather than erotic. “Now tell me, Ms. Weaver. Knowing my certain appetites, are you still wet for me? Is that what you’re asking for? My tongue. My attention? My…” He nuzzled away my hair, biting painfully on the shell of my ear. “…cock.”