Page 98 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad

"Open your mouth," his voice lowers to a hush and goosebumps pop on my skin.

I part my lips. Just like that, he leans up, slides his forefinger over my tongue and I suck on it.

His blue eyes deepen to that cerulean that sends a thrill right up my spine. I bite down on his digit and his lips twist. "Such a hellion."

He pulls his finger from my mouth, drags it down my chin, my throat, the valley between my breasts. He pinches my nipple and I yelp.

"Who does this belong to?"

You, it belongs to you,is what I want to say. Hah! As if I am going to make it that easy for him. "Who do you think?" I ask.

He peels back his lips, slaps my breast.

I jump, "What the—"

"Who do your breasts belong to?"

"Not to—"

He slaps my left breast, then my right, my left again.

I yell, "Stop, stop, you asshole."

"Alphahole," he snaps. "Tired of correcting you, tired of having you challenge me, go toe-to-toe with me. You think you can defy me and win, you thought wrong."

"Fuck off," I choke.

"Wrong answer."

He cups both of his big palms around my breasts and squeezes, like I am a shapeless mass of clay for him to mold, or a bust that he is sculpting. Okay, so it is my bust that he’s massaging and kneading and pummeling like he can’t keep his hands off of me. And I don’t want him to stop touching me. I need him to stop teasing me, and fuck me, only I am not going to ask for it. Ever.

"You don’t scare me," I blurt.

"Oh?"

I lower my chin, stare at his beautiful, cruel, mean features. "You can’t make me submit."

He bares his teeth and I shiver.

Jesus, what the hell is wrong with me? I’d come here, wanting to push him over the edge… I hadn’t realized that it’s me that I’m challenging, that I want him to take me, show me how it could be when I’m not thinking too much, simply taking what is in front of me. "Do your worst," I mutter.

He releases my breasts, only to grab my hips, spin around, and hoist me up and onto the wooden top of the piano.

I stare down at him, at his cold features, the stern lips, how he frowns at me as if trying to solve a puzzle. "Why are you here?"

"Why do you think?"

"I think you’re trying to provoke me."

"Am I succeeding?"

"Maybe." He tilts his head. "Maybe not." He reaches forward, cups his big palm around my pussy. "Maybe you want to push me until I take you, so you can pretend you didn’t really want it."

"I don’t."

He laughs, "Your presence here says otherwise."

I swallow.Can’t refute that, can I?