Page 123 of Hate Me Like You Mean It

She was on the bed, scrolling through her phone, wearing a black bra so lacey and thin that it barely covered anything and a familiar plaid skirt that had been rolled up high enough to break every dress code in existence.

I was going to burst through my zipper.

She shot me a “surprised” glance, then narrowed her ethereal green eyes. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock?”

It took so long for my blood-deprived brain to decipher the words that she broke character, her pretty pink lips spreading into an are-you-okay smile as she furrowed her brows.

Get it together.

I rolled my sleeves, forcing my voice to settle into the calm, authoritative one I normally reserved for board meetings. “Why would I knock on any door in this house? I own it.”

Her eyes flared briefly, flashing with amusement. “With all due respect, Dominic?—”

“That’s Mr. Crawford to you, Miss Cloutier. Regardless of where our interactions take place.”

She tried to bite back her smile but failed. “Mr. Crawford, while both my parents and I appreciate your generosity and the postgrad internship opportunity, I’m sure they’d also agree that I’m entitled to a basic level of privacy.”

I stepped into the room, shut the door, and locked it. “Yes, well, as it turns out, Miss Cloutier, in order tokeepa postgraduate internship as a live-in assistant, you do, occasionally, have toassist.”

She sat up. “And what, pray tell, can I assist you with at 10:45 on a Saturday night, Mr. Crawford?”

I racked my brain, scrambling through my choices before I made my pick, opting for the shock factor. “I need help picking out a gift for my wife.”

Alice ran her tongue across her top teeth, and my cock strained against its confinement, demanding to be let out.

“An affair partner would be my recommendation. Someone capable of actually getting her off.” She grinned, gesturing around her. “Thin walls.”

I shot her a glare, slowly approaching the bed until I was standing directly in front of her. She swallowed, her gaze dipping to the bulge in my pants. “I don’t tolerate disrespect in my home, Miss Cloutier. Consider that your last opportunity to get it out of your system.”

She raised a brow. “Or what?”

My gaze meandered down to her perfect tits. “Consequences. Some disciplinary action might do you some good.”

She smiled, all innocence. “And getting the chance to experience at least one orgasm in her life will do your wife alotof good. My recommendation still stands. Are we done here?”

I stuffed my hands into my pockets, pressing my lips together in faux disappointment. “Where do you keep your toys, Miss Cloutier?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your toys. Where do you keep them?”

She crossed her arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I cocked my head. “It’s funny. Nowhere on your resume did you think to mention that you fuck yourself on camera for money.”

Her eyes lit up. She broke character, mouthing “oooh, scandalous” up at me before regaining control of her expression. “You found my account?”

“Thin walls, remember?” The more I leered down at her, the more color seemed to spread over her cheeks. So I leaned in harder. “I’d cooperate if I were you, Miss Cloutier. That is, unless you want me to provide every future employer who contacts me for a reference with a link to a video of you fingering yourself for tips.”

Her mouth popped open.

“Too far?” I asked.

She shook her head, her shock quickly morphing into a grin. “They’re under the bed.”

I rewarded her with a clipped smile. “Good girl. Now, why don’t you get them out and show me?”

She did as she was told, covering her perfect ass with her hand with false modesty as she retrieved a small box from under her bed. She clutched it protectively to her stomach as she sat back down on the edge of the mattress, dragging her bottom lip through her teeth.