He just sits there, looking up at me with mild amusement. “ Are you negating our contract already? Because that’ll cause some problems.”
“You want a problem?” I ask, feeling myself spinning out. “I’ll give you a problem.”
Then, acting on pure instinct, I grab the half-finished glass of wine on the table and hurl it in his face. Like they do in movies.
It’s dramatic and sudden. Even I’m shocked at myself.
He doesn’t really move. Just sits there, looking… well… looking like he hasn’t just gotten a faceful of wine. Somehow, he makes it look good. The liquid dripping down his strong nose, winding past those full lips. The flicker of his tongue as he tastes it.
Fuck me.
“You’ve just made more work for yourself,” he tells me in an icy growl.
“I… I’m sorry,” I hear myself saying. “I didn’t—I really shouldn’t have done that.”
“No, kotyonok, you shouldn’t have,” he says.
His voice is a low, dangerous snarl. More animal than man. It does something to me, like it’s bypassing my normal person filters and speaking directly to the cavewoman part of my brain. I’m shamefully wet.
“I’ll—I’ll clean up.” I reach for the partially soaked napkin on the table.
“No.”
I freeze, wondering if I’ve succeeded in actually pissing him off this time. “No?”
“Forget the table. You’ll need to clean me up first.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me, Jessa. Get on your knees.”