Fire. That’s all I feel between my legs when we kiss.
Butterflies. They take flight in my belly with a force so fierce they scare me.
But I don’t stop.
No, I want this month off, and he isn’t bad to kiss. No, I lied, he’s magnificent to kiss.
Whiskey hardly touches me, apart from his hand on my back, but that’s enough to send me into overdrive. Soon I’m pushing my pelvis down farther, until I can feel him between my legs. He’s hard for me, and ready. If only there weren’t a sheet and our clothes between us.
Pulling back, his lips are even redder this time, and his face is smiling.
“Now that’s the kiss.” He smirks. “I’ll have the contract amended in the morning,” he says, as I climb off of him. When I do, the blanket comes with me by accident, and in its wake is a naked Whiskey, dick hard and all.
He eyes it then back to me. “If you want to bargain some more…” He winks.
I throw a pillow at him and turn around, forcing myself to sleep and trying to forget all about him.
But that kiss haunts me instead.
19
Whiskey
I’m not going to be able to get any sleep for a good year. Well, now eleven months. I swear she wakes the dead when she snores.
How is that even possible?
Where does that sound come from?
And when can I get that kiss again?
She was meant to be a means to an end, but I’m almost ready to bargain all eleven months away to have some more of her. It’s probably best to avoid her as much as possible until the wedding, afraid of what I might say or do in the meantime is hard.
When she had those legs wrapped around my waist and my cock between her thighs, it was hard to not move that sheet and slide right in. I know what to expect. And I want more of it. Always have. I want her, plain and simple.
“Why are you smirking?” Barry asks, as I’m being fitted for my wedding suit.
“She kissed me last night.” I smile, telling him.
“Oh fuck, no, Corton. What are you thinking?” He shakes his head. “You don’t fall for women, they fall for you. It’s the way you’ve always played the game.” The tailor looks up to me, most likely confused as to why I’m being fitted for my own wedding.
“She likes to play. She’s fun to play with.”
“What if she beats you at your own game?” he asks.
“She won’t.”
“You can’t be too sure of that. She was raised with sharks, remember that.”
My smile falls. “I remember exactly who she comes from,” I snap back at him.
Barry stands, pushing me away as the tailor starts his suit measurements.
“Okay, just so you know, she isn’t worth it, not at all,” he says, and a part of me knows and agrees with everything he’s saying. But there’s one part that isn’t sure. She’s different from those who she was raised by. I see it, especially when she’s around them.
“But her friend, Emma, on the other hand, is for sure worth it.” He chuckles.
“Don’t fuck her friend.” I shake my head, checking my phone.
My personal assistant sent me a message. In it, it contains a link which has my name as well as Carla’s.
Bachelor set to marry the Senator’s daughter.
Then followed by that is a picture of myself and Carla from the engagement party. How the fuck did they get this? Maybe avoiding her will be harder than I thought.
“Rich girl.”
“Don’t you rich girl me. Did you see that article? Did you tell the press?”
“No,” I answer truthfully. I don’t need this to be a big thing. Just enough that her parents believe it’s true.
“Fuck! Hold on.” She goes, and Barry turns around to face me, raising an eyebrow. “Okay, looks like Daddy dearest did. Fuck!” She hangs up. Of course he did. If he can have his name in the press, he does it regardless of the cost. He just doesn’t want anything bad associated with it.
“What is it?”
“He put a piece out in the paper.”
Barry swears. “Well, you did know who you were dealing with.”
I nod. I did, but still. His own daughter didn’t give him permission.
“I took a month off her contract,” I tell him.
“You what?” He shakes his head. “For the kiss, right?” He guesses correctly.
“She should have the papers any minute.”
“How long do you plan to play this game?” Barry asks.
“Until I want to stop.” I smile.
“Don’t invite me to your funeral then.”
“You aren’t invited.”
“Good.”
Carla’s at home and in bed later that night, and on my side of the bed is the contract, signed. She doesn’t turn as I start to undress and head to the shower. When I come out, she’s sitting up with her cell in hand.
“Billionaire’s ex-lover says it’s all a lie, that he’s cheated on her already, and really he’s in love with her.” She reads, not looking up.