Win: Want to make some money?
Me: Always.
Win: I’ll be there soon. It’ll be more fun in person.
“Everything okay in there?” the salesclerk asks, her voice bright and hopeful.
“Still trying things on.”
I toss my phone back into my purse so I can pull on another dress. All the options the lady keeps bringing me are too fancy. I’d felt like an idiot walking in wearing cutoff shorts, a T-shirt, and flip flops. The woman who greeted me could barely fake a smile. However, when she realized I was here for the Constantine appointment, her smile got genuine real fast.
“Do you have anything . . .” I trail off with a frown at my reflection. “Sexier?”
This dress looks like something an old lady would wear, not a woman about to go to dinner with a billionaire. It’s sunshine yellow with embroidered daisies on it for God’s sake.
“Mr. Constantine called ahead and asked me to locate our most demure dresses. I’m sorry if there was a miscommunication.”
Ugh.
Winston did this on purpose.
Free embarrassment. I didn’t even get paid for it. Fucker.
“No miscommunication,” I grumble. “He’s the one buying.”
A deep chuckle resounds from the other side of the door. All my hairs stand on end in anticipation of seeing the face that goes with that voice. His rap on the door is sharp and demanding.
“Let me in, little girl.”
“Daddy? Is that you?”
He snorts, waving his middle finger over the top of the door. “Open it, Cinderelliott.”
With a stupid grin on my face, I unlock the door. He flings it open, his starved blue eyes devouring me in one hungry sweep over my body. With the way his nostrils flare, I’d say he’s a fan of grandma dresses.
“Very conservative,” he observes, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.
“Thinking about wearing it to our wedding.”
He rolls his eyes. “Over my dead body.”
“The wedding or the dress?”
I laugh when he ignores me, leaving the dressing room. A few minutes later, he returns with something I approve of. Short, fitted, black, sexy.
“Better.” I take the dress from him and stand on my toes, waiting for a kiss. “Miss me?”
“Who are you again?”
“Your fiancée.”
His blue eyes darken, but he makes no move to kiss me. I let out a huff. Before I can pull away, he clutches my throat, hauling me closer. Our lips meet for a hot kiss. The groan of need that escapes him does wonders for my ego. Maybe I should wear the granny dress. All too soon, he releases me. I hook the new dress on the hanger and then turn my back to Win so he can unzip me out of this yellow nightmare.
“Hmm.” His grin is wolfish as he wraps his arms around my waist. “I thought you said you wanted to make some money.”
I meet his wicked stare in the mirror. “Does it involve this horrible dress?”
“Let me fuck you in it.”
Groaning, I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let me go.
“You’re not rich enough,” I sass back at him.
At this, he laughs, rich and delicious. “Funny.”
“I’m serious. You’re going to have to get a loan to make that happen.”
“Name your price, girlfriend.”
“Not going to happen.”
“Name. Your. Price.”
“A bazillion dollars and a yacht.”
“Bazillion isn’t a real number.”
“Fine, just a yacht.”
“No.” He slides his hands over my breasts, squeezing them. “How about three more years of college tuition dumped into your college fund?”
“To fuck me in this terrible dress?”
“And let me take pictures of course.” He smirks. “Take it or leave it.”
“Fine, but I get to wear the sexy dress to dinner.”
“I’ll allow it.”
I roll my eyes. “And you have to call me baby while we fuck.”
“You’re obnoxious.”
“You’re just mad I’ve upped my negotiation game.”
“Mad? No. Impressed? Still no.”
“Asshole.”
“Bend over and let me see your ass, Cinderelliott. I pay good money for it.”
Flipping him off, I pull away and then bend over dramatically, wiggling my ass at him. His blue eyes dance with mirth before he smacks my butt. Then, he pushes up the stiff, yellow material to reveal my black panties. Slowly, he drags them down my thighs, letting them drop to my ankles.
“Aren’t you afraid they’ll hear?” I ask, my voice low and husky with need.
His fingers skitter along my ass crack and then tease my pussy. “I’m not afraid of anything,” he murmurs. “Besides, they’re taking a fifteen-minute break.”
“Did you tell them we only need three?”
Smack!
I yelp and then scowl at him in the mirror.
“You’re a mouthy one,” he growls, dropping to his knees behind me. “Good thing I like your mouth.”
And holy shit do I love his mouth. I whimper when his tongue laps at me from behind. He’s not being shy or delicate. The man is messy and ravenous, licking and sucking and biting whatever flesh he can get to. He uses his hands to spread my cheeks apart in an obscene way that has me gasping. His tongue licks me in the most wicked place, and despite my skin turning red in the mirror, I love it. It’s filthy and wrong, but boy does it feel right. Seeing this powerful billionaire on his knees behind me is addictive—a sight I’ll never grow tired of seeing.