The man sitting across from Winston, older and a bit pudgy, rakes his lecherous gaze over my form, licking his lips before letting out a quiet whistle. If I weren’t so fixated on Win’s features, I’d have missed the flare of his nostrils and the darkening of his blue eyes.
“Speaking of the teenager I took advantage of…” Win lets his words trail off, flicking his wrist at me as though my presence bothers him. Five bucks says he’s hard for me. I flash him a slight, knowing smile that has his shoulders tensing.
Ha.
This isn’t over.
“I tried to stop her,” Deborah tattles, “but she—”
“I’m Ash Elliott,” I say to the man, cutting off Deborah. “And you are?”
The man is all too eager to stand and shake my hand. “Anthony Lambruski. Mr. Constantine’s attorney.”
“Anthony,” Winston says, his voice sharp and commanding. “We’ll continue this discussion in the conference room. Grab Perry and I’ll meet you both in there.” He doesn’t have to say anything to Deborah, simply nods at her that it’s okay I’m here.
Of course it is.
Winston’s mine.
Anthony grabs his bag and gives me another once-over, the interest in his brown eyes apparent. Once he’s gone, along with Deborah, I meet Winston’s intense stare.
He rounds his desk and my eyes can’t help but drop to his slacks where his dick is at half-mast, molding the expensive fabric across his thickness. The outfit is totally doing it for him just as I knew it would. His presence is overpowering and rippling with authority. He stands so close I have to crane my neck up to look at him.
I ache for him to touch me but things are fragile right now.
The door bursts open before Win can speak to me or before I can throw myself at him. In walks Nate, but Winston doesn’t even look up at him.
“Need help?” Nate asks in an irritated tone.
As though I’m an intruder and he’s the security detail. God, he’s such a douchebag.
“Have I ever needed help in my entire life?” Winston’s words are frigid, and I suppress a shiver. “The answer is no.”
Nate remains for a beat longer before muttering something out under his breath along the lines of, “I sure hope you know what you’re doing,” and leaving the office.
A thrill shoots through me knowing I have Winston’s undivided attention. That he sent away his meddling bestie to focus on me.
“What now?”
His brow lifts as he continues to peel me apart with a probing stare. “You think there’s more?”
“It’s us, Win. There’s always more. We can’t seem to ever get enough.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Winston
This woman is maddening.
I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s been hanging around me too long. This whole “sex scandal” thing would turn most young women into a sobbing, devastated mess. Especially considering this wasn’t just any sex scandal—it’s New York’s most notorious. There probably won’t ever be another sex scandal to outperform this one.
I’m a Constantine. We go big or go home.
That makes me think about baseball and Ash being the fucking mascot of Team Constantine.
Irritation prickles across my flesh and I flash her a cruel smile. It’s meant to flay her but the pretty girl just grins at me. Fuck. Why does she have to look so hot today? She’s killing my resolve to put distance between us. Hell, it’s less than five minutes of seeing her and my fingers twitch to ease her short dress up her silky thighs and explore what’s underneath.
Now my dick is really at attention.
Traitorous bastard.
“So, I guess that’s it, huh?” A single dark eyebrow arches high and her hazel eyes sparkle with challenge. “I mean, I kind of gathered we were through when you dumped me at the whore apartment last night—even sent our bird packing too. I spent all night thinking about how we must be over.”
Not our bird.
“You thought this was over, Cinderelliott? It’s a good thing I don’t pay you to think. I pay you to be my filthy, sobbing maid. My dirty little girl who drops to her knees and begs for whatever scraps I’ll toss at her. Money. Praise. Affection. You still need me, but I will never need you.”
Liar.
The feisty girl with the sexy-as-sin mouth laughs. Fucking laughs at me. Her laughter is minty this morning and I’m tempted to taste the humor right from the source.
“Gotcha,” she says in a triumphant tone.
I clutch on to her throat, my dick twitching at the small gasp of surprise she makes. Everything in me craves to shove her pretty dress up over her hips, bend her over my desk, and fuck the sass right out of her. Fortunately, I refrain from being a Neanderthal. Barely.
“You’re playing with fire today.” My voice is a rumbled growl of warning. “I’m not in the mood for games.”
Hurt and uncertainty glimmers in her stare. Good. Maybe she’ll realize this shit is over.