Page 28 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife

9

Sin

The door shuts behind me. Something hits against the barrier; I ignore it.

She's angry. Good. I flex my fingers.

So far, things are going smoothly. In fact, it has been too easy. I frown.

I can’t believe she allowed me to spank her. I’d expected her to run out of there screaming, maybe reach for her phone and dial for help… which, of course, I’d have stopped her from doing. It hadn’t taken much coercion to bait her, actually.

I stab my finger on the elevator button. Max butts my leg. I glance down and he darts toward the stairs. Why not? My office is a floor above.

And after that run in with that little spit fire... My cock hardens. The shape of that gorgeous arse is burned into my palm. For someone I’ve spent most of my life hating… Too bad her physical attributes are so enticing.

I clench my fingers into fists. All a ruse to tempt me. Bet she’d dabbed on that infuriating perfume—jasmine and something more complex lurking below. Notes of pepper that had twisted my guts and had tested my patience.

I hadn’t meant to lose control, honestly… but what’s done is done. I square my shoulders. Next time I won’t veer from my plan. I will not give in to my hate… It hadn’t been hate. Far from it. There had been something in the air between us. Something that had annoyed me, had squeezed my chest and hardened my balls until I couldn’t stop myself.

Not again. One slip up… one more than I have allowed myself in any other project. Nope. I have to look past that enticing face, to the darkness that taints her. The darkness, so like mine. The fuck?

I shake my head, prowl toward the stairs, hold the door open for Max. He darts ahead and I follow him up the stairs to the floor above.

I shove the door open and he breaks out in a flurry of barks. No one in the foyer looks up. My staff is too well-trained to show any signs of recognition. I shove my office door open and he darts in, jumps onto the rug in the corner. When I’d brought him here the first time, he had headed for it and claimed it as his. I’d been mildly amused, enough to allow him to own it.

"Stay," I stab a finger at him. He pants, tongue lolling, then places his head on his paws.

I swerve right, walk into the adjoining room, as Damian throws his ball at a basket strung up in the corner. The ball bounces once, then rolls toward me. I pick it up, pitch it at him.

"Wassup?" His long blonde hair haloes his face.

"Isn’t it time you got that cut, Goldilocks?"

He grins, "Jealous?"

I frown, "Why would I envy your lifestyle?"

"Oh? Let’s see." He holds up his fingers, "The women throwing themselves at me, the ability to hold a crowd with my magnanimous presence, the chance to travel the world while following my passion…?" He cocks his head, "Not to mention the fact that I have more than enough to invest in our new venture, and fly down at the least pretext."

"It isn’t a pretext, douche-canoe."

"Speak for yourself." Weston turns from the window, jerks his chin. "I need to return in half an hour to prep for a very important procedure."

Fucker’s the quietest of us, the most serious, the most accomplished.

I lean forward on the balls of my feet, "Is that a surgery you’re talking about or your latest sub?"

His lip curls. "What do you think?"

"Not going there. What you do with your personal time is your own thing. We all have a dark side, but you, Weston, you scare me."

Yeah, did I mention he’s the meanest? Still waters run deep and all that.

"High praise coming from the master sadist." He smirks.

"That’s a back-handed compliment. I’ll go with the positive meaning of it… For now."

I crack my neck. "I wouldn’t have called this meeting if it wasn’t important. I realize all of you can't wait to bugger off to whatever depraved pursuits I pulled you away from."