Page 19

I snatch her wrist before she can escape me and throw her back against the kitchen wall. My hand is wrapped around her slim, delicate neck before she even has a chance to react. I feel her pulse thumping against my palm, and the sweetness in the air tells me it’s not fear that’s sent her heart racing. I press my thumb deep into her neck, seeing if she’ll let me stop that rhythmic beat just for a moment.

“Get the fuck off me,” she hisses.

I guess that’s ano. She tries to fight me off but only succeeds in pressing her full tits against my abs and making me so much fucking harder than I already was. “Stop fighting like a hellcat, and I will.”

I slide my knee between her thighs and pin her to the wall beneath me. Her dark eyes widen the moment she realizes that any more attempts to struggle have her rubbing her needy pussy on my leg. She stills, sitting on my knee like a naughty little girl who just got her ass trapped by a sadist with a sizable vendettaand an even bigger cock. She really should try fucking with someone her own size for a change. As it is, I’m more than happy to remind her why she shouldn’t fuck withme.

“Now,” I purr with my hand still wrapped around her pretty neck, “would you like to apologize and get on with your cooking practice for this morning, or would you like me to show you why you should never, ever tempt me to give you the kind of punishment you truly deserve. I promise you’ll regret it if you do.”

I’ve been keeping careful count of her sins since Halloween night—one more word from her, and I’ll torture her for every one until shedoesfucking cry. I leverage my thumb under her chin and push so that she’s forced to look up at me. I need her to read the urge to bleed her in my eyes. I need her to sense the tension in my body and know this isn’t a fucking game. I need her to feel the violence crackling in my fingertips and know how very close I am to breaking her, whether she begs me to or not.

And for the first time since I met her, I see the smallest hint of fear reflected in her golden-brown eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, her body going slack as she submits. For the moment, at least.

“Good girl.” The way her thighs strangle my leg and press her poor aching cunt against my knee at those two little words is enough to make me want to cream my pants—for the second time today.

I watched Angélica’s little show while I fisted my own cock this morning. Of course I have cameras in my office. It’s my most private space apart from my apartment above the restaurant that few people know of and even fewer have actually stepped inside. It was a toss-up on whether I was going to let her come or leave her drenched and aching for the rest of the day. But since I rubbed one out on the other side of the door while watching her ram her sweet cunt into the edge of my desk, I decided it would only be kind to do her the same favor. A pity for her that kindness isn’t in my repertoire.

“I looked up what you said in my office,” I tell her as I release my hold on her throat and help her slide down from my leg. I don’t miss the way her thighs press together like she wishes I was still between them. I fucking wish I was too.

“What?” She tries to look disinterested as she rights herself and straightens out her slept-in clothes as best as she can.

“Ni siquiera he follado en seis meses.” Although I’m sure I’ve butchered the pronunciation, it’s clear from the way her cheeks turn scarlet that she remembers her comment from last night.

“Oh. That.”

“You haven’t fucked in six months,” I translate just for the sake of seeing her squirm. “A highly inappropriate detail to disclose to your boss, don’t you think?”

I know who her last fuck was before starting this job, and I can understand why no one else would compare. Even though I make regular trips to Pandemonium to release the tension I build up sharing a kitchen with her every day, no one else has compared to her either. Because I’m a cunt, I add, “Sorry, barging in while you were fucking yourself on my desk was probably bad timing.”

“You know what, chef?” she asks, her eyes glittering with contempt. “I think you’re just bitter that you’re too chicken shit to fuck me yourself.”

“Or maybe I know once I start, I’ll never stop.”

That’s enough to shut her up for the moment, and she follows me to the main kitchen in silence. The kitchen I spentallfucking night cleaning after I made a temporary detour to her apartment. I’ve not slept in twenty-four hours, but I’ve never felt more awake in my life. I grab the pile of cinnamon and vanilla-scented clothes from the end of the counter and shove them into Angélica’s arms. “Here.”

“What’s this?” she asks, her tone suspicious as she wraps her arms around the bundle.

Assuming it was obvious, I reply, “Your clothes.”

“And how doyouhave my clothes?”

“I went to your apartment while you were sleeping. And before you do me the injustice of askinghow I know where you live, remember I’m the one who sends your fucking paycheck every other week. Your address is on file—I didn’t stalk you.”

From the annoyed expression on her pretty face, it’s clear that stalker isexactlywhat she was thinking.

“Oh, and before you start shouting at me, I also found this.” I reach into my back pocket and pull out the apartment key she lost on Monday. “You’d be amazed at how handy your roommate is at finding things when she has a little friendly persuasion.”

Her dark eyes harden, and she looks like she might throw the clothes and the key in my face. “What sort ofpersuasiondid you use on Amber? Bend her over for a spanking, too?”

I laugh. “Are you jealous, angel?”

“No,” she answers too quickly.

“Yes, you are. But don’t worry, only special girls get spankings.”

Angélica flushes the prettiest shade of pink and shifts on her feet. “So what did you do?”

“I told Amber and her worthless shitsack of a boyfriend that I would start cutting off their fingers and force-feeding them down their throats if they ever fucked with you again. I took my favorite knife with me just to prove my point. ”