Raw (RAW Family #1)(21)
What she says next makes my smile melt off my face.
“B-but I thought you were homeless,” she mumbles.
My blood boils.
Nope.
My pride…it doesn’t like that.
I’ve been homeless. Best years of my life. Not even a joke. When I was eight-years-old, I decided that being homeless was better than being a punching bag for some overweight, disgusting slob that deserved the death he got…eventually. And it was better. I found there were a lot of kids like me out there. Running from home. Running from certain death. Most people think of home as a safe place. A haven. Not me. My home was…horrifying. A f*cking nightmare.
Taking two steps backwards, I slowly move my hand up to flick over the sign on the door. This room is now In Use. Taking my time shutting the door, when the latch clicks loudly, Lexi jumps in…fright? In anticipation? In want and need? I’m not sure. Women are complicated creatures.
Looking back, I reach for the string hanging by my side, unwind it, and watch the open blinds drop to the floor, leaving us in complete privacy.
Lexi’s face shows fear. But I know better. She isn’t scared of me. Oh no. She’s scared of herself. Of her own reaction to me.
I warned her. And I meant what I said. She will never want anyone else after I’m through with her.
And after I’m through with her. I’ll leave. And never look back.
Getting back to the matter at hand, my fingers move to my right cuff, popping out the cufflink. My voice hoarse, I say slowly, “As you can see, I’m most definitely not homeless.”
Not anymore. And I never will be again.
Stalking towards her, she backs up until the backs of her legs hit her desk with a soft thud. The fingers of my right hand work on the opposite cuff, and once it’s free, I remove my suit jacket, throwing it onto her desk, and roll up the sleeves of my shirt to the elbows. My mind – ever calculating – suggests that I play with my newest toy. Who am I to refuse myself simple pleasures? I can’t say no. She looks so flushed and meek right now. And I’m fully hard.
When in Rome…
My feet stop directly in front of hers; I reach up to cup her cheek, and when my hand brushes the skin at her jaw, her body jolts, as if shocked. My cock jumps. We like that. Leaning my head down to hers, I brush the tip of my nose against hers. “I’m willing to give a lot of money to your cause, Ms. Ballentine.” Her breath warms my lips. Subconsciously, she inches towards my mouth. Pulling back, I add, “What are you willing to do for me?”
Lexi’s eyes meet mine. So many emotions flash through them.
Anger. Excitement. Shame.
My hooded gaze stays on her, never giving anything away. She finally lowers her face, and I smirk in victory. She quietly asks, “Are you saying you won’t donate if I don’t…” she swallows hard and stumbles on her words, “…if we don’t…I mean, if I don’t let you—”
Saving her from herself, I loosen my tie and sniff, “Sure. If that’s what you need to hear. If you need a reason to justify you sucking my cock in your office at 9am on a Monday.” Tilting my head to the side in thought, I say absently, “Sucking cock for contracts…” I fade out and watch in pleasure as fury flashes in her eyes.
I’m stunned when her arms come out and push at my shoulders, hard. I’m forced a step back and half-smile at succeeding in getting her feathers ruffled. Lexi spits, “I’m not a goddamn prostitute, Twitch. I won’t do it. You were going to donate anyways, so just do it already and leave.”
Would you look at that?
I like this angry side. There’s a fierceness in her I never knew existed. This discovery pleases me. It’s going to be fun. Breaking her, that is.
Taking my distance as an opportunity to escape, she moves behind her desk, pulls out her chair, and motions for me to sit in the guest chair before seating her sweet ass down. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself.
You know that thing people have that tells them they’re doing something wrong or pushing too far?
Yeah. I don’t have one of those.
Walking around the desk to her, I pull her chair out using little force. Lifting her head, she scowls at me. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Taking her hands in mine, I pull her to stand and take a seat in her chair. Grasping her hips, I push her back gently until her bottom hits the edge of the desk.
Her expression shows defeat. She looks defeated. So very defeated.
I like it.
I’m making progress with her that I hadn’t anticipated making so quickly. I had plans to wine her, dine her, and slowly build up her trust and affection before I socked it to her. The real me. And more importantly, why I am the way I am.
She’s making this too easy on me. I feel she needs to be rewarded for her good behavior. After all, when a dog does a trick or behaves, he gets a treat. And so Lexi shall get her treat.
Reclining in the chair, I place my arms behind my head, and her gaze drifts up to my exposed forearms. She likes the tattoos. A stupid part of my brain is pleased that she likes the tattoos. Snapping my fingers, her eyes come back to me.
Good puppy.
“Lift your skirt.”
Leaning back away from me, she watches me through narrowed eyes. She looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. All I know is that she hasn’t moved a muscle. And I want her skirt lifted. So I repeat, “Lift it.” Her eyes dart from side to side, and I know she’s weighing up the pros and cons in her mind. Sweetening the deal, I tell her on a whisper, “If you lift your skirt, I’ll make it so good, it’ll be worth getting caught over.”