Page 10 of Filthy Mouth (Obsessive Age Gap #2)
Benedict
I watched her inspect every inch of the floor while all I could picture was taking her in every way possible. She scribbled notes on her tablet, paused to assess the windows, then held the sample page against the wall as though she could already see the finished space.
“ Why don ’ t you join me for dinner? It ’ s late,” I said once she ’ d finished taking pictures. “ I do have another proposition for Iona Designs.”
Her head snapped up, eyes wary. I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to the cook to set the food in the formal dining room.
“ What kind of proposition?”
“ A lucrative one. You know I develop properties, and I saw your reaction to the apartment I showed you. I may be ready for a change from my current interior designers.”
Her eyes widened, a faint flush rising to her cheeks, but I was already leading the way to the lift.
I was a businessman—I ’ d seen the company ’ s work.
Iona Designs had a classic elegance that didn ’ t tip into gaudy excess.
They could set my developments apart. She might not like what I wanted in return for the contract, but the PI had given me enough about her mother ’ s company ’ s history to convince me this was the way forward.
The lift doors slid shut, enclosing us in the faint, expensive sweetness of her perfume. Her hair was pinned up tonight, exposing the nape of her neck. I towered over her, and I hoped she remembered that when she started looking into furniture for my red room.
On the library floor, I took the sample book and tablet from where she ’ d hugged them to her chest and set them inside.
“ Dinner ’ s ready in the dining room,” I said, glancing back at her in the doorway.
She nodded, pushing her handbag strap higher on her shoulder. The navy suit was conservative and professional—exactly why I wanted to strip it from her. My gaze dipped to her lips. Watching her eat would be its own kind of torture, but the meal was just a step toward the real prize.
??
??
??
Course after course, I was transfixed by the way she put everything in her mouth—the slow drag of the fork between her lips.
The faint shimmer of moisture left behind.
The delicate flex of her slender neck as she swallowed.
I ’ d seen erotic films that stirred less.
If food porn were a category, she would be the star. My cock had never been harder.
I dabbed my mouth with the napkin, though my appetite wasn ’ t for the food in front of me, while she lingered over dessert—tongue flicking against the spoon as if she had any idea what it did to me.
My architects were paid well, but my interior designers? Better still. They didn ’ t just fill a space—they created the atmosphere that sold the dream.
“ I want to offer your company the contract for a new building. Forty apartments and two penthouses,” I said, my voice even as her fork froze halfway to her lips.
Her mouth stayed parted, and I stared at it—at the exact fit it would make around me. I could almost feel the heat of her tongue. My cock pulsed hard enough to hurt. Her eyes were wide when she set the fork carefully back on the plate.
Yes. This was the perfect hook.
“ I ’ d like something in return,” I murmured. “ I want to be your Daddy for six months. Just us. Exclusive.”
Her lips closed slowly, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. The faintest tremor passed through her fingers before she set the fork down.
“ I have a father. Why would I need a Daddy?”
Their relationship was strained. The PI had given me everything I needed and more. I knew why she wasn ’ t a spoiled socialite—she ’ d clawed her way through life. She was a survivor.
“ You know why,” I said, voice low. “ Ever had a cock stretch your throat the way mine will? Don ’ t you want to find out what Daddy ’ s cock feels like pounding that tight little cunt?”
She reached for her wine, fingers tight around the delicate stem, and drained the last drop without breaking eye contact.
“ I ’ ll bet you a thousand pounds your pussy was dripping when you ran from me that night.”
The glass hit the table, soft but deliberate, before I landed the killer blow.
“ I ’ ll see to your every need for six months, Poppy. Every. Single. One.”
I wanted to own her. To sit in her head. To haunt her the same way she ’ d haunted me ever since I saw her lips wrapped around my cock.
Her tongue slipped out, licking her lips, and I remembered exactly how good it had felt when she ’ d used it on me—slippery, wet, soft.
“ Your company will gain a significant amount of new clientele if we link our names together.”
She cleared her throat. “ I ’ m aware.”
“ If the upstairs is completed, you could be the first to break in the new furniture—with me,” I said, smiling slow and deliberate.
“ Six months and you want me to call you Daddy?”
“ Yes,” I murmured. “ We ’ ll put the terms in writing. I ’ ve seen your work. The quality is not in question.”
She sat back in her chair, placing both hands on the table. Her nails weren ’ t red tonight, but a glossy pink to match her lips. The speculation was plain in her eyes—but so was the heat.
“ Be warned,” I said, my voice low. “ I like it messy. Some might call it… nasty.”
Shit. My words were like a battle cry, and she took the field.
Her back straightened, chin tilting, eyes locked on mine like she was already testing her limits.
“ Fine,” she said, lips curling. “ Count me in.”
I stood, uncaring if she saw how hard she made me. The napkin hit the table, and I circled to her side. She tilted her head up, meeting my gaze without flinching.
“ You ’ ll sign both contracts tonight. One for the renovation. One for us. I ’ ll courier you the apartment plans tomorrow,” I said, holding out my hand.
Her palm slid into mine, warm and sure. She rose, and I didn ’ t let go.
The six months were just the bait.
Poppy Blythe was already mine.
??
??
??
I watched her fasten her seatbelt, fingers neat and deliberate. She glanced at me once before starting the engine.
Her days were numbered. She ’ d be in my house soon—how else could she oversee every detail of the project?
I stayed there, tracking the taillights until they disappeared.
Then I turned back inside.
Everything was falling into place exactly how I wanted.
??
??
??
When I woke the next morning, I was smiling. I reached for my phone and picked up right where we ’ d left off last night. Poppy was braver through text—bolder, filthier. The more she pushed, the harder I ’ d fuck her.
The tension last night had been thick with anticipation.
Me: Good morning, Princess Poppy. I hope you show Daddy what you ’ re wearing today .
I dressed and headed to the basement for my workout. Just as I was about to shower, her reply came through—a picture of her perfect arse, half-clad in black French lace. The seam disappeared between her cheeks, the contrast of black against pale skin making her curves stand out even more.
Me: Why don ’ t I come and pick you up tonight?
I was already thinking about the movers collecting her things.
Poppy: So impatient. How about I meet you in the bar at 5:30?
I smiled. The bar we ’ d first met in.
Me: See you tonight. Pack for an overnight stay and be prepared to be late for work in the morning .
My mind buzzed as I walked into the shower. I had plans for those lace knickers. Filthy, nasty plans involving Poppy’s mouth.