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I don’t say that. I say this: “Because even though your entire position as Princess is about your body, you’re afraid of it. You’ve always been afraid of it, like when you freaked out over the video I sent you.”

Her brows crash together. “That was your body not mine.”

“Your body caused it, Rosilocks,” I give my cock a squeeze, watching the way her tits heave with a breath. “You got me so hard that finding and fucking you was the only thing I could think of.”

“Because you’re a pervert.”

The music swells in the background, the long strains filling the room.

“Baby, you’re in Forsyth.” I dip my hand into my pants, grinning when her eyes instinctively follow the motion. “I’m practically a monk compared to the other men in this town. If you learned to let go of all that West End defiance, then maybe I could even teach you how to feel good.”

She barks out a dark laugh. “None of you care if I feel good.”

Voice firm, I say, “You’re wrong.” The truth is, the thought of having her beneath me, writhing with pleasure, makes my cock surge with want. Because only then will I know I’ve won–that I’ve conquered the mark.

I want her stroking that pussy until she’s barreling down the edge. And then I want her to stop. To feel that denial and deprivation, how it twists her up inside and consumes any rational thought.

Quietly, she says, “It’s still my day off.”

“If that’s how you feel, Rosilocks,” I stand, cock poking out like a flag pole, “then you can take your chances out in the hall.”

“No!” Her eyes flick to the computer screen. I don’t have to look to see Lex still out there. I can hear him in the hall. “Fine. I’ll do what you want.”

I clear my throat and repeat, “Panties.”

She lowers them angrily, shimmying them down her hips to the floor. Her toes are painted pink.

“Spread your legs.”

Her knees part.

My cock lurches forward, twitching. “You stopped waxing.”

She averts her eyes. “You told me to.”

This time, I don’t just feel it in my balls, but all the way up in my chest. I finally pull my cock out of my pants, the skin hot and iron-hard in my palm. With my thumb, I smear the precum over the head.

I watch as her fingers twitch against her inner thigh. “What do you want to do, Rosi?”

“Put my clothes back on.”

I shake my head. “Try again.”

Huffing out a breath, she replies, “Get this over with.”

My eyebrow arches. “Then make it happen.”

Slowly her hand slides down her thigh, toward her pussy. I know the instant she brushes over her clit, because her body goes rigid, like she’s been shocked.

“Do that again,” I order, and her fingers roll over that bundle of nerves, eliciting a full body shudder. “Show me your fingers.”

She lifts them and they shine, wet in the light.

“Taste them.”

She freezes, those green eyes peering up at me. “What?”

“Lick your fingers, Rosi.”