Page 104 of Love to Loathe Him

Another roll of my hips, another groan tears from his throat.

“This is for your entitlement,” I say as I grind against him. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. I can practically see the internal struggle playing out behind those intense eyes of his. It’s taking everything in him not to flip us over.

But he doesn’t. Not yet anyway. And that alone is enough to send a thrill racing through my body.

“You rap your knuckles on my door like you’re the fucking Met police,” I continue, my voice getting breathier with each movement. “Then you just barge in, not even bothering to check if I’m buried in work.”

I pinch his nipple hard but the bastard just laughs, his eyes glinting with amusement. Ugh. But there’s something else there. Something darker, hotter, like I touched him in a way no one else has ever dared and the beast inside him actually liked it.

“Gemma.” He growls my name, and it’s a sound caught between a plea and a warning.

I roll my hips again, feeling every inch of his hard cock deep in me. “This is for your impatience,” I breathe, watching his face contort. “You reschedule meetings at the last minute like it’s no big deal, as if my time isn’t just as valuable as yours.”

He smirks up at me with hooded eyes. His hands come down to clamp my hips, trying to control the pace, but I slap them away.

“You just expect me to drop everything and come running whenever you snap your fingers,” I hiss, leaning down so my breasts brush against his chest.

He has the audacity to chuckle, the smug bastard, like my anger is nothing more than an amusing sideshow for his entertainment.

So, naturally, I do the only thing any self-respecting woman would do in this situation: I rake my nails down his abs hard enough to leave angry red lines.

He sucks in a breath, his eyes darkening with a mix of pain and pleasure. “Jesus, Gemma.”

I glare at him, my blood singing with a heady mix of rage and lust that makes me feel plain out of control.

“You’re the most sarcastic, condescending bastard I know,” I continue. I brace my hands on his chest and start to ride him in earnest, bouncing on his cock like my life depends on it. I squeeze my inner muscles around him, milking him for all he’s worth, determined to wring every last drop of pleasure from his body. “Always with the snide comments and the arrogant smirks, like you’re so much better than everyone else. For years, I had to call you Mr. McLaren,” I seethe, my thighs burning with the effort.

He groans. “If I’d known you got off on the whole boss/subordinate thing, I would’ve proposed this years ago.”

This makes me see red. I wrap my hands around that thick, masculine neck of his. I’m not actually trying to strangle him, but god, it would be so satisfying to see a flicker of panic in those smug eyes for once. His skin is hot against my palms, his pulse thudding steadily beneath my fingertips. And still . . . he just smirks up at me.

“Your damn neck is too thick to choke properly.”

His eyes glint with dark amusement. “Try using my tie,” he murmurs, and bucks his hips.

I let out a strangled moan, my head falling back as the pleasure builds to an almost unbearable level. “Fuck you, McLaren,” I gasp. “Fuck you and your fucking massive ego and your fucking magic fingers and your fucking perfect cock.”

“Come for me, Gemma,” he commands, his voice rough with need. “Come on my cock.”

And I do, exploding into a million pieces, my body convulsing around him.

But when I see him start to shudder, I pull off his cock. And point it right at his face. “This is my flat and I am not your subordinate here, mister.”

He comes with so much force, it’s like a fucking geyser erupting. Most of his cum splatters across his heaving chest, but a stray shot manages to nail him right on the lip, dripping down his chin.

I couldn’t have aimed better if I’d tried.

I can’t help it; I erupt into maniacal laughter. The sight of the great Liam McLaren, with his own jizz dripping down his face, is too much.

His eyes flash with shock, then annoyance, then something darker, more dangerous. For a moment, I think he might actually murder me with his bare hands, right here in my own bed.

But then, to my disbelief, he starts to laugh too.

An hour and a few more rounds of neighbor-waking sex later, Liam’s up and pulling on his trousers like he’s getting ready for a board meeting instead of, you know, cuddling with the woman he just thoroughly shagged.

I look up at him from the bed, my hair a sweaty, tangled mess, my face flushed and shiny, and my body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. I must look horrendous.

He’s not even looking at me, too busy buttoning up his shirt.