Rebel Heir (Rush Series Duet #1)(31)

The gravel beneath my feet crunched like it was as pissed off as I was while I made my way through the parking lot to find Mom’s car. Grabbing her paints, canvas, easel, and brushes, I slammed the trunk to her Kia and leaned against the car with my eyes shut.

The sound of gravel-chomping footsteps interrupted my attempt at calming myself. Gia was headed right toward me again and looked as pissed as I felt. I looked up at the sky and grumbled, “Not again.”

Her tiny hands flew to her hips. “This is bullshit.”

“You walking out of the restaurant when you should be inside working? I couldn’t fucking agree more.”

She squinted at me. “You know what I’m talking about.”

I pushed off the car and took a step forward. “I’m not in the mood for your psycho-analysis bullshit, Gia. Go back inside and get to work.”

“I thought you were different than all the other Hamptonite jerk guys. But the truth is, you just wear different armor on the outside. On the inside you’re the same self-absorbed, narcissistic bastard they all are.”

“I’m self-absorbed? Because I want you to do your job and not stick your tits in the face of my staff and customers.”

If I’d thought she was pissed off before, her face contorted to a whole new level of angry. Her lips twisted into a scowl, her forehead pinched, and the color in her face turned a lovely shade of crimson. At that moment, it became clear that I was losing my fucking mind, because while I’d been pissed off and wanting to lash out at the world since I’d first saw that skinny bartender pass my office earlier today, suddenly Gia’s seething changed my mood.

I bet angry fucking her would be great.

She stood in front of me practically foaming at the mouth, and all I saw was me, holding a fistful of her hair, yanking hard as I plowed into her from behind, smacking her ass over and over.

Fuck.

“You’re an egomaniac. You don’t want me, but you don’t want me to show anyone else any attention, either.”

I stared at her, her words blurring as more visions became clear: Wrists tied to my headboard while she writhed under my tongue. I’d suck her pussy until she was on edge, just about to let go, then I’d lift her legs up into the air and onto my shoulders. Spreading her wetness from clit to crack, I’d lube up her tight little virgin ass. And then finger fuck the shit out of it until she was begging all over again.

“Blah. Blah Blah.” At least that’s what I heard. Gia’s voice was going again, but I couldn’t make out a damn word if I tried.

“Are you even listening to me?” she barked.

Not a fucking word. But turn around, bend over the hood of Mom’s car, and I’ll hear every scream I can wring out of you.

God, I really hoped her ass had never been touched. Would she punch me if I asked right now? Do I give a flying fuck if she does?

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she continued to stare at me like I had two heads.

A dark smirk tugged at the corners of my mouth. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“What?” Her patience ran thin.

My eyes dropped to the heavy heave of her chest, her nipples angrily protruding. God, she was sexy as fuck pissed off. Asking the status of her asshole would certainly elevate that...

I took a step forward and leaned down so our faces were aligned. She stood her ground with a swallow. “Anyone ever enter through your back door, Gia?”

Her pissed-off face morphed into confusion. “What? I came out the front door. Didn’t you just see me walk out?”

“I was talking about your ass, Gia.”

It took a minute for her to figure out what the hell I meant. But I knew the minute she did. A storm swept the calm sea blue of her eyes into dark churning waters. She took a step back, and I thought she was turning to walk away. That is, until I realized she was only winding up to smack me straight across the face.





He had some balls.

Giant ones. The kind that I wouldn’t miss if my foot happened to attempt a swift kick. Which I definitely hadn’t ruled out.

I seated an older couple at a table and watched from a distance as the asshole flirted with a woman at the bar. He’d been standing there since he walked back inside with my handprint etched into his face. Obviously the sting in my heart hurt more than what my hand had done to him, since he was already laughing and flirting, enjoying himself while I continued to stew.

The woman got up, and Rush’s hand went to her back. There was a familiarity in his touch and in their interaction. She was probably one of his summer fucks. He guided her to the stairs that led up to the roof while I gaped from a distance.

She was definitely older than him. I’d guess late thirties or even early forties. Unlike the other woman I’d seen hanging around the bar drooling over him, this one wasn’t dressed like a whore. She had on a pair of jeans, rolled at the ankle, and a baggy, oversized T-shirt that hung almost to her knees. A pair of flip-flops with a big daisy flower on each donned her feet, rather than the usual stilettos his casual fucks seemed to like to wear.

Are you shitting me?

He had the audacity to speak to me the way he had outside, and now he just casually moved on to some May-December hookup right under my nose?

No.

Just no.

Weaving through patrons, I made my way to the stairwell. Running up to the rooftop, I could feel my pulse racing.