Chapter 6 Gus

I've never tasted anything so delicious in my life. Julia is decadence embodied. She moans when my lips part hers, giving me passage into her sweet mouth. She fucking moans. I've never heard a more exquisite sound than the mewl of pleasure that escapes her. It's melodic. Needy.

It's exactly what I've yearned to hear all these nights.

I sink into the plush cushion next to her, keeping my lips tied to hers the entire time. The heavy sigh she releases is confirmation that my efforts are appreciated. She leans into me, taking advantage of the angle to suck on the tip of my tongue, probing and exploratory.

I'm many things, but I'm not a patient man. I'm not a nice one either. And yet I waited months for this moment—months to make this woman fall apart with pleasure. Normally during my first time with a new partner, I pace. I figure out her limits and her wants.

Tonight? No chance.

Tonight, Julia is going to get fucked whatever way I see fit.

Tonight, she sauntered into my penthouse wearing this tease of a black dress that does wondrous things to an already wondrous body. It leaves nothing to the imagination: a clear view of the round curve of her ample breasts, the slender arc of her waist, and the glorious slope of a near-perfect ass. Near-perfect? Yes—because it would look a hell of a lot prettier with my hands gripping it. Or my mouth licking it. Or my cock inside of it.

Imagining unfettered access to every inch of her shapely body strikes regret deep in my chest. One night won't be enough. Already, I know I won't have time to do every messed-up thing I want to her. Her hands roaming nonstop over my body don't help the situation. She paws at me greedily. Such a spoiled brat. So used to getting everything she wants.

While I plan my next move, I toy with the hem of her minuscule dress, inching the silk up her lush thighs with my palm. One thing I know: I'll grip these thighs tonight. I intend to clutch them as roughly as she'll let me. Redden them. Bruise them, maybe—if she likes that. Something tells me this mouthy hellion absolutely would. After all, she had no qualms when I put my fingers in her mouth just now—when I tugged down her lower lip so I could see her pretty pink tongue—the very tongue I'm sucking on at the moment.

My hands weave around her little waist and tug her into my lap so she straddles my thighs and faces me.

A smile? She's killing me.

Her lower lip fixes in her teeth and she loops her arms around my neck. Her desperate, lithe body melds to mine, growing more pliant with each passing second.

For four months, I've wanted her. Craved her. This. Touching her. Debasing her. Hell, defiling her. She really is the most stunning woman I've ever laid eyes on, and I brim with smug satisfaction.

I get everything I want. Everything.

Julia is dying for it, even if she refuses to admit it. Pink flushes over her skin and she takes up a quick, but almost undetectable grind against me. Her hands roam over my shoulders and my arms, tracing my muscles and drawing me closer to her. When her soft lips touch my neck in frantic, messy kisses, I can't do anything but groan. She's greedy and unabashed. She takes what she wants.

It's perfect.

I lean back, letting her smother my neck in kisses. "Mark me," I urge her. "Because I'm going to do the same damn thing to you, beautiful."

Her eyes swivel up to meet mine and she raises both brows—in surprise? Has no man ever left a mark on her before? The idea of being the first stokes a latent, caveman part of my biology—but I don't give a fuck.

"Do it," I order this time. "I want proof that you lost your dignity on my body."

Like she's testing me, she nips at my skin with perfect, white teeth—hard. It stings, but I love the ache she leaves behind. That ache is proof she can't hold back around me. It's proof that behind the dotted line, there's something else here.

For someone who allegedly finds me loathsome, who had to be contractually mandated to come here, she really goes for it. She bites me again, harder, making my skin light up with pleasure and pain.

Abruptly, I grab her jaw and hold her face in my hand. Our eyes meet in a tense, unbreakable stare.

"You're desperate for it. For me," I murmur appreciatively, not even attempting to be gentle. "That must drive you insane."

Julia yanks her face out of my grasp and immediately grabs a fistful of my hair. She tugs my head back so forcefully, my neck stings. Before I can reprimand her, she hoists herself up on her shins.

"Shut up," she hisses into my mouth when she returns to my lips. "I hate hearing you speak."

I blink through my confusion as I stare up at this beautiful woman—who is acting in a way few would describe as beautiful. She's aggressive, borderline vicious—and I need more.

After she finishes lying through her teeth, she releases my hair and shifts her hands to rest atop mine. She maneuvers them to her ass and pushes them firmly—a tacit order to handle her. Her ass is a revelation. Soft globes, perfect for cradling. I palm her, stopping short of gripping her like I own her. I know she'd love that, so I need to save it for later—when I finally have her on the brink.

Groaning, Julia lowers once more and rolls her hips into mine, grinding against my erection. Her warmth surrounds me, brushing up against my hardness.

"Fuck, you're big," she blurts out, sending a rush of satisfaction through me.

And then I get my shit together and realize that Julia said something sweet to me. We barely know each other, but I already know how out of character it is for her to offer a compliment. The hell…

Suddenly, I'm aware of how much we've both had to drink. At least two glasses for her, but based on the way she's now rubbing up against me like she wants to bathe in my scent, I have to suspect she started before she came over.

"Did you eat dinner?" I demand, feeling a pang of regret for not asking sooner.

Julia ignores the question at first. I pose it again, this time with more force. I know she's drunk because she doesn't even hesitate to shake her head. She just does it, sending her long, blond hair swishing side to side before she leans in for another kiss.

Hell no. A contract is one thing, but her faculties are another. There's no way I'm going to screw a drunk twenty-eight-year-old. And I was enough of an idiot to ply her with wine without asking if she had eaten anything. I basically shot myself in the foot.

I dodge her lips, knowing my evasion is going to piss her off beyond measure. "Not tonight," I murmur, resenting every upstanding bone in my body.

Her eyes widen before she suddenly moves to slap me. Luckily, I have the wherewithal to catch her hand—again.

"You want to hit me so badly," I remark, keeping my cadence slow, still gripping her wrist. "Is this a kink?"

"Are you shitting me?" she demands, the pink flush of her cheeks deepening as arousal transforms into anger. The delicate arch of her forehead tightens to match. "You dragged me all the way over here to fuck you, and you're not in the mood?"

"You're drunk," I counter, injecting poison into my words like this is her fault, even though it's mine. I'm not about to be apologetic though—hell no. Without a doubt, she would find contrition pathetic.

Her features wrinkle with indignation, and she pulls back to look at my face, assessing if I'm serious. "So what if I'm drunk? Hell, that makes it more fun."

"I'm not—"

"I've consented," she declares before she rolls off my lap to teeter onto her high heeled feet. She tugs on the zipper on the side of her little dress, fumbling to get purchase on the tiny tab. "Consented, willing, and ready, all of that—that's me. My safe word is Paris. Let's do this, Winter."

Julia strips her dress over her head and pitches it to the side so it lands somewhere near the fireplace. With the dress gone, she's wearing nothing but a black thong that frames her gorgeous, shapely ass. But more astounding than her ass are her bare breasts: generous, rosy, and topped with hard pink nipples that make my mouth water.

Fucking perfection.

"Shit," I grit out, knowing I'll need all the willpower in my body to keep from bending her over and taking her.

"Come on," she practically taunts. She glances down at her own body. A malicious smile passes over her face, like she knows she can cause some real damage with a body like hers. "You're dying to do it. I promise you, I feel as good as I look." She takes a swaying, seductive step closer. "You have no idea how tight I'll feel. How wet. Come on. Take it."

She's a fucking psychopath.

On the brink, I let out a heavy, protracted exhale. "You're fucking with my head."

"You make it easy," she states, not denying it. Even while drunk, she has a devilish grin that puts all others to shame.

Clenching my jaw, I force myself to narrow my eyes. "I loathe you."

"And yet you still want me so bad, you're a second away from destroying your couch cushion." She raises her chin at my hand, which I've failed to realize is gripping the edge of a cushion with so much force, my knuckles are turning white.

A haughty look passes over her face. "I thought you were a man who takes what he wants," she comments slowly, testing out which of her goading words will rattle me the most. "Not to mention, a man who told me to take off my dress the first time he met me. I'm right here, giving you everything you want, and you're losing your nerve? Oh, August. What a letdown."

"Don't provoke me, Julia," I warn, steadily losing my patience. "I'm not capable of playing nice."

"No shit," she replies, snickering. "Nobody thinks you're nice. Nobody." She tosses her long hair over her shoulder again. "So don't be a nice man. Be a bad one. Fuck me."

She has too much leverage, I realize. No matter what I do, she's going to keep trying to make me give in—to admit she's in control of the situation.

This is a takeover.

Not for long.

"Come here," I instruct, making a matching gesture with my hand. "Now."

"What?" she questions, blinking hard, trying to ascertain if I'm giving in—if I'm going to fuck her after all. The look of surprise on her face is a brief window of hope: I can still win this round.

"Fucking come here," I order her, using my harshest tone when she doesn't move from her spot. "You want to get off so badly, then get off on me."

As my directive floats in the air between us, Julia shifts in place like she doesn't comprehend what I'm saying.

"Jesus, woman." I reach for her hand to tug her towards me. "Get in my lap," I demand as she stumbles to the space in front of me, "and ride me until you come. Surely you know how to make yourself come."

Julia continues to watch me in silence while I settle her atop my legs once again. Her brow is knotted tightly, and the look she gives me is the unholy mix of uncertainty and suspicion—and yet it still looks pretty on her.

"You're not going to fuck me?" she inquires softly. "All you want me to do is come in your lap—that's it?"

It takes me a moment to realize she's asking if this is the deal now—if this is how Davenport-Ridgeway acquires FundRight.

"And if it is?" I inquire, surveying her for cues of disappointment while I take up an absentminded caress on her bare back. "Would it be a letdown?"

"Hell no," she answers, but it's an obvious lie. She's leaning into my touch, and once she finishes speaking, she folds her lips over her teeth and stares into my eyes, waiting for me to dispel any notions at play here.

"We'll fuck another time," I assure her, eager to move us along now that she's practically naked in my lap. "For now, you can make your drunk ass come right here in my lap."

"Meaning…"

"Meaning, I want you to make yourself come." I place my hands on her bare arms, surprised by how soft she feels. It's a wonder that any part of Julia Ridgeway could be soft, yet her arms feel unexpectedly delicate against my palms—so damn delicate.

"And if I don't feel like it?" she returns, raising both shoulders.

I force a shrug, telling her that her satisfaction means nothing to me, even though I would break necks to see her come right now. "If you don't feel like it, then you should stop whining about me fucking you."

"Asshole," she mutters, but she still lowers her hand between us.

Quickly, she picks up a rhythm with her lower body. She starts to undulate her hips, and I worry I haven't been clear. I don't want her thrumming her clit with her hand; I want her to grind against me—to use my body. To ride me like a toy. But as I learn more about Julia, I realize she would never take the easy way out. No, her hand is just there to notch my cock right against her thong-clad pussy.

Insatiable. Fucking insatiable.

"There," she murmurs, pressing against my hardness, groaning on the word. "Happy?"

"Rarely."

"Bite me."

"If you insist," I reply, not giving her a moment to realize she just opened Pandora's box. My lips make contact with her neck and I suck hard, reddening her like I want to brand her perfect body forever. When my teeth clamp onto her skin, she lets out a surprised yelp that quickly shifts into a groan of pleasure.

Her hands rise to my shoulders to grip me through my jacket, and she presses herself harder against my dick.

She starts to roll now, rotating her hips with the skill of a seasoned professional, making me wonder how many lap dances she's given before tonight. Surely I can't be the first. There's no way a woman can move so temptingly on her first try. I bet she's danced for tons of men. I bet she gave them the same damn show—the microscopic thong, the round, suckable tits, the perky ass.

I don't care if she gave a lap dance to every finance bro in the country. If anything, I should be thanking those jackasses for letting her practice on them. Appreciatively, I lean back and spread my arms along the length of the couch—as if I were paying for it.

Julia arches her back, jutting her breasts out at me. Her rosy nipples are hard, plump beacons. I want them in my mouth, I realize. I want all of her in my mouth before the night is gone. But before I can taste her nipple, she opens her eyes—like she caught me.

"Stop being coy and lick them, already," she dares me, like a mind reader.

I glare right back at her. "Why? You can't get off without my help?"

Annoyed, she cants her hips with more force. "I don't need anything from you, August."

"Prove it." I loop my arm around her, pressing her body closer to me. My hand caresses her bare back, and I explore the suppleness of her skin. Her breasts are right in my face, tickling my cheeks with her motions. She's bouncing on me now, working harder for release now that my challenge is out in the open. "Prove it, Julia."

"I will," she insists as I lower my head to her breast. "I'll do this shit by myself—"

"You're grinding on my cock, darling."

"—by myself, and if you even think about putting your disgusting, filthy mouth on my tits—"

Immediately, I surround one of her pebbled nipples with my lips.

"Shit, that's good," she blurts out and lets the word ‘good' disintegrate into a groan. "I hate you."

"I hate you more," I grit, moving my hands to grip her ass cheeks and give them a hard, punishing squeeze.

"Not. Fucking. Possible."

"You have no idea, Julia. You have no idea the shit I could say about you," I warn, pausing to tongue her other nipple. I slide over the peaked tip before pulling it back between my lips, marveling at how attentive they are.

"Coward," she taunts breathlessly.

I shove my hand in her hair and tug her towards me, putting our faces right in front of each other. Her hair is a tangled mess in my fist, but she doesn't stop working herself. Even when my hand releases her to wrap around her throat, she continues to grind unceasingly, making her breasts shake.

"Desperate," I grit out, applying pressure that makes her gasp and then smile like she loves this shit. "You look so good with my hand on your throat."

"Yes, August." Her mouth latches onto mine right when she hits her climax. And when Julia Ridgeway comes, she comes hard.

Her body pulsates with satisfaction and release. Her gasps, her moans, are unparalleled. One day, I want her to say my name with those lips. With those breaths. I want her shouting my name to the ceiling while she moves like this.

The pressure against my cock compels me to squeeze her ass so hard, I know I'll see my handprints if I ever bother to let go of her. She keeps rolling, keeps coming, swearing profusely. As she draws down, she gasps, working to catch her breath while she clutches my face. With her lips still locked on mine, she exhales contentedly.

"Incredible work," I murmur.

The dreamy look on her face lingers until she makes eye contact with me and sees my best unimpressed face. It takes everything I have to sport that face in this moment when I'm anything but unimpressed. The single most beautiful woman I've ever seen is topless, wearing nothing but a soaking wet thong, and gyrating absentmindedly in my lap—of course I'm fucking impressed.

I take her in, memorizing every second, knowing I'll recall this in lurid detail for years to come. Her pink, kiss-swollen lips. Her flushed cheeks. Those pebbled nipples. The slick arousal seeping through her underwear. Her pussy lips nestled around my length. The small wet spot she left on me.

This may as well be my legacy.

"You got my pants dirty," I remark, my attention fixed on the dark wet spot right over my cock.

"You'll live," she responds smartly, somehow managing to be caustic while nearly dazed with pleasure.

Brat.

Without a word, I reach between our bodies, fist the crotch of her thong, and pull it as hard as I can. The seams strain against the force of my hand, snapping. It tears but remains intact, scraping her perfect skin in the process and making Julia inhale sharply through her teeth. Shit. Red marks dot her hips, which I regret. She wiggles with discomfort, her supple skin now indented by the harsh line of her stretched and fraying panties. Ruthlessly, I yank again, succeeding in ripping the thong clean off her this time.

Julia's jaw drops and she breathes fast, chest heaving. Silently, she stares in horror at the tattered remains of her underwear in my clenched fist.

"You ruined them," she blurts out, disbelief making her voice scratchy.

"You'll live."

Oh, she hates that. "You're a caveman." She attempts to snatch the thong from my hand, but I hold it out of her grasp. A tight expression of annoyance crosses her pretty face. "Give it back."

"Hell no."

"Give it back," she presses, trying and failing to grab it once again. "I'm not letting you keep a trophy from me."

"I'll return it after we fuck for real." I twist the damp lace around my fingers, weaving the fabric between them. "And we will fuck, Julia, like we agreed we would. Based on the way you moved just now, I can only imagine how much fun we'll have."

Eyes narrowed into slits, she tightens her lips together. "Fine," she concedes. "You creep."

"Says the woman who took off all her clothes and rubbed one out on my lap while I watched."

She lets out an exaggerated gagging sound before she pushes off of me. Without a word, she saunters out of the living room and down the hall naked, like she owns the place.

"Where are you going?" I call after her, grateful for the view of her perky ass swinging.

"To sleep," she declares, her voice growing more distant. "Fuck off."

"What am I doing here?" a voice demands in the darkness.

Startled, I blink awake and find Julia shoving her hand into my bare shoulder. Her curtain of blond hair frames her face while she jabs at me with her fingertips, like she doesn't want to touch me—like she didn't let me watch her climax spectacularly earlier tonight.

Groaning, I pick up my phone from the nightstand. It's after midnight. Wine is making my head throb, but a headache is nothing compared to the irate twenty-eight-year-old in my bed who won't stop poking me.

"Sleeping." I try to pull her back to the space next to me. "You're sleeping, Ridgeway."

"In your bed." She gestures around my bedroom. "I fell asleep in a different room."

"And I wanted you here," I answer firmly, "so I put you in my bed. Now go to sleep."

"You moved me? You asshole. I don't—"

"You don't spend the night with men?" I guess, making easy assumptions. "And I don't let women who look as good as you sleep with a wall between us. You're staying here."

"The hell I am—" She starts shimmying towards the edge of my king-size mattress.

"You're staying," I repeat, pulling her back to me. "A few minutes ago, you were sleeping soundly. Hell, when I brought you in here an hour ago, you started out all the way over there, and then snuggled me on your own."

She scoffs. "I don't believe that for a minute."

"Oh really? Your perfect little body was rubbing up against me. You were so aroused, I could practically feel it in the air. So get over here and sleep where your body clearly wants to."

My comment strikes a nerve and Julia shoves me away with a hard blow to my shoulder. "You don't know anything about my body."

I catch her hand and hold it, knowing how much it probably bothers her. "I know what you look like when you come," I reply, caressing her thumb with mine. "You're astounding, by the way. You do this thing with your back where you arch it and your nipples point right up at the ceiling. Fucking masterpiece, really."

Even in the darkness, I can see her flush. Most would miss it, but I'm good at reading micro-reactions.

"Go to another room if you want," I finally insist. "Hell, I've got four bedrooms for you to choose from. But keep in mind, wherever you go, I'm following you."

Her face grows serious. I'm following you. Some internal battle takes place, and I don't know which side wins, but whatever side it is chooses to stay in bed with me.

"Fine," she mutters, rolling her eyes. "If you're that lonely, I'll sleep in your bed."

For once, I'll give her the last word without a fight if it means she's staying. When she came over tonight, I had no plans to let her sleep over—let alone share my bed. But I wasn't lying: I don't think I can sleep with a wall between me and Julia. Not until I've had her—all of her.

She drifts back to sleep easily, her hair draped across the pillow in every direction. Carefully, I reach over and arrange it close to her neck, the way she would if she were awake.

Her eyelids tighten, but she doesn't awaken a second time. I wonder what she's dreaming about. Maybe me. Maybe how much she hates me. Or maybe how much she wishes I were a worse man, the kind of man who would have taken her while she was drunk and docile.

I can't pretend to be a good man. After all, she's in my bed because I played hardball on a whim and used her body as a bargaining counter. But when we finally fuck, we're both going to be fully present for it.

In the morning? Maybe. I hope so.

The last thing my conscious brain considers before I drift off to sleep is how I can't wait for Julia to wake up in the morning.

But when the sun rises, I don't awaken to her gorgeous profile staring out of my bedroom window, or her trying to use the overcomplicated espresso maker in my kitchen. All I find is an empty bed with rustled sheets. A vacant corner of the living room where her dress was. The deadbolt undone on my front door.

And me, drinking my coffee alone, like I do most mornings.