His Sugar Baby(44)

The flame of resentment suddenly flared bright. She knew that the furnace of emotion was illogical. It wasn’t Michael’s fault that her car was dead. But the rational part of her mind wasn’t prevailing against what she was feeling.

As they approached their destination, she slowed, parking the vehicle in the driveway. When she got out of the new vehicle, she almost slammed the door. She walked around the front of the Lexus where Michael was waiting for her and held out the keys to him. But he didn’t reach for them. Instead, he nodded at the keys dangling from her fingers. “The Lexus is yours, Winter. It’s leased for two years, prepaid.”

Cathy gaped at him. She knew that she must look foolish with her mouth hanging open, but he didn’t laugh at her. His face remained expressionless behind the dark aviators. The Lexus is mine to drive. She felt relief swamp her. “Michael, I can’t tell you how much I—”

“I don’t want any repeats to inconvenience me, Winter.” The cold, flat statement made her flinch. He walked away to unlock the door of the house and went inside.

She watched him, rooted to the spot where he had left her. She was shaking. She felt as though she had been slapped. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw the keys or viciously key the side of the Lexus. But she did nothing and hated herself for it. She needed the vehicle too much. She was so angry she fumbled with the zipper of her purse, the clumsiness of her trembling fingers making hard work of it. Finally, she managed to yank it open and drop the Lexus keys inside of it.

Michael had left the front door standing open, obviously confident that, just like an obedient bitch dog, she would follow her master inside. She understood with crystal clarity precisely what it was all about. Oh yes, she understood all too well. He was her employer. He wanted her to be able to meet her obligations so he provided her with new wheels. Well, then, I suppose it’s time to earn my generous salary, Cathy thought bitterly.

Her heels beat an angry tattoo on the stone walkway and, when she swept into the entry, again on the granite tiles. She banged the front door shut. She swept a glance around the living area and found it empty. Cathy started quickly up the carpeted stairs, the adrenaline pounding through her veins. She found him waiting for her in the bedroom. He had shed only his sunglasses and shoes. He leaned against the bedpost, his arms crossed over his muscular chest, and watched her enter. His look was assessing and very cool.

Fresh rage ripped through her. Cathy felt her face tighten, her cheekbones heating. She tossed aside her purse, hearing it clunk against the wall, and kicked off her heels. Reaching down for the hem, she peeled off her T-shirt, taking her bra with it, and tossed the garments away. With every discard, her angry momentum carried her across the carpet until she was standing almost toe to toe with him. Her bare breasts rose and fell with her trembling anger. She ripped down the zipper of her jeans. “Is this what you want?” she ground out, grasping the waist of her jeans.

He caught her wrists, stopping her furious strip. His ice-blue eyes narrowed on her. “I want you to undress me.”

“What?”

He let go of her wrists. There was a hard look on his face. His voice was low, almost menacing. “Undress me.”

Cathy glared up at him. She was too ticked off to be intimidated by his attitude. She wrenched his black T-shirt out of the tight waistband of his low-riding jeans. She stepped back, panting. “There, *.”

“Well, that’s a start. But I have to tell you, darlin’, your technique leaves something to be desired.” His voice was at its most sarcastic.

Cathy pulled up his T-shirt with such violence that she rocked against the hard planes of his chest, her breasts pressed for an instant against hot, bare skin before she leaped back. He obliged her by dipping forward, raising his arms, so that the T-shirt peeled free of his head and muscular arms. Cathy threw it aside without taking her searing gaze off of the man standing in front of her.

Michael straightened. He looked at her, his face still hard. “The belt.”

She reached down to free the tongue, pulled it taut to slip the metal tang, and unlatched the buckle. Without being told, she unsnapped and unzipped his jeans before she bent and knelt to pull the denim down from his lean hips. His thick erection sprang free, jutting level with her eyes. He’s commando. Bastard! The truth burst in her brain. He had cold-bloodedly planned this little scenario for her, for his whore.

A red haze of fury dropped before her eyes. Tumbled memories of her ex—what he had demanded—forcing her down on him. He had liked to f*ck her face. Oh, yes, she knew to a nicety how to service a man. She circled her fingers around the base of his shaft. Leaning forward, she opened her lips and took him deep into her mouth. When he was seated, she grasped the backs of his hard thighs to hold him close and began to work his straining cock. Through the pulse pounding in her ears, she dimly heard his deep groan.

“God, woman!” His taut fingers threaded through her hair, exerting tension against her scalp. “Show a little mercy!”


Inside her head, Cathy laughed. Her teeth raked his length and nipped. She could feel his hard thighs quivering. She sucked harder, faster. He bucked in her mouth. His hands twisted tighter in her hair, pulling her backward, making tears spring to her eyes. His cock popped free of her tight suctioning mouth. Snarling, she jerked forward and bit the engorged glans. Michael howled, and she laughed out loud.

“Damn you, Winter!” Michael was breathing harshly. His hands were still twisted in her hair. She looked up at him, at the wild look around his eyes and his distended nostrils. “This isn’t the way I wanted it!”