CHAPTER 5 #2
“You came into my office, threatened my staff, played knight to a man who’s not paying you enough for the unnecessary torture you’re going through, might I add. Angel, I’m sorry to say this, but desperation doesn’t look good on you. And you won’t win. Not when I’m the one backing him.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off.
“I didn’t send anyone after you. But if I wanted to, I wouldn’t send amateurs. And I can. Don’t think that just because I’m fond of you, you can keep pulling these stunts.”
I see red. Before I know it, I’ve snatched the stapler from the first aid kit and lunge at him. He moves fast, dodges, grabs my wrist, and twists it behind my back, forcing me up against the cold desk.
“Let me go, you fucking asshole! Degenerate piece of shit!”
His voice is low in my ear, almost amused. “What a mouth you have on you.”
He squeezes my wrist just enough to make the stapler drop from my fingers. My breathing is hard, he pinned me like some criminal.
“For such a short woman,” he murmurs, “you’ve got a tall temper.”
I spit to the side. “You men are all the same. You push a woman until she breaks, then blame her when she finally snaps. You say she’s hysterical, dramatic, overreacting. But you started the damn fire.”
He doesn’t answer at first, only tightening his grip until my shoulder aches.
“Since you’re already pinning me,” I snap, “go ahead. Hurt me. Isn’t that what you’ve been itching to do this whole time?”
He laughs, that dark, shameless sound. “I quite like us in this position,” he says. His breath is hot on my ear, and then I feel his tongue. “And God—you smell divine.”
I freeze. My pulse jumps, and not just from fear.
Then I feel something pressing against me from behind.
I pray it’s a gun, God please let that be a gun.
“What do you want?” I grit out. “You’ve done your research.
You know I’m broke. If you take this to court, I’ll play the victim. You won’t get a dime out of me.”
He chuckles, next to my ear. “Who said anything about money? I’ve got enough to buy a country.”
He leans in, peppering kisses on my neck. “What I don’t have,” he murmurs, “is you. First you try to stab me with a pen, then a stapler. I’m starting to think you actually want to kill me.” He presses closer. You don’t come at a man like that unless you want him to react.”
He presses harder, the heat of him pinning me in place.
“You want rough? You want a fight?” His voice drops, low and edged. “I can give you exactly what you’re asking for… just say the word.”
He looks me dead in the eyes, mutters. “my spitfire.”
He guides me to the long chair in the lounge, lays me down, and whispers in my ear, “Spread your legs.”
***
I’m spitting curses, twisting away from him, and the next thing I know, I’m pinned on the long chair with his body above mine. His knee pushes between my legs, spreading me open so he can settle between them.
“You bastard,” I hiss, struggling again. My wrists are pinned, his grip unforgiving. All I can do is arch my back against the leather and glare up at him.
He looks down at me like I’m a prize he means to claim. Slowly, he starts to unbutton my blouse.
“Ilay,” I warn, starting to panic. “Don’t.”
He ignores me, going for my first button and popping it free, then another. My chest heaves, the pink lace of my bra now exposed.
“I quite like pink on you,” he murmurs, his fingers ghosting over the edge. “Honestly, I expected black. But this? This is surprising.” His smirk deepens. “Not that pink doesn’t suit you. You’d be sexy in anything.”
His hand moves, cupping my left breast through the lace.
His thumb grazes over the sensitive peak, and he gives a firm squeeze.
A low, involuntary moan that betrays everything I try to suppress comes out.
God, I hate that he can pull that from me.
I Hate how my body reacts even when my mind is screaming no.
He hears it. His eyes light up and he give me a smug smirk. “There it is,” he whispers, brushing his lips against my jaw. “That’s the real you. I knew you were hiding under all that righteousness.”
“You’re disgusting,” I hiss, trying to turn my face away, but his mouth follows, tracing a path down my neck.
“And yet,” he says softly, “you don’t push me away. Why do you think that is, love? It’s because you’re drawn to danger. The thought of darkness excites you.”
My nails dig into the leather beneath me. I don’t know if I want to push him away or pull him closer. I don’t know if I’m angrier at him, or at myself.
“You don’t get to play with me,” I say through gritted teeth.
He smirks, his lips brushing my collarbone. “I’m not playing, Iris. I never play when it comes to things I want.”
I laugh, dryly. “Very funny. Do you always have to prove you’re the alpha male?”
Ilay scoffs, still pressing down on my body. “I don’t have to prove anything. I am the alpha male,” he says. “I just can’t pass up the spitfire who’s been plaguing my mind and my office.”
“Interesting,” I reply, tilting my head at him. “So, you just sleep with anyone if you like how they look?”
“Not necessarily.” His voice dips. “But you, angel, you’re going to look so beautiful covered with my cum.”
I narrow my eyes, curling my lips into a sweet but poisonous smile. “Why don’t you imagine me cutting off that precious member of yours,” I say, threateningly. “I’d much rather prefer your blood sprayed all over me.”
He stills. His gaze just gets darker, not with fear, but with lust. The sick bastard.
“You talk like that,” he murmurs, leaning in so close our noses nearly touch, “and all I can think about is you carving your initials into my chest while I fuck you through my own death rattle, and trust me I will enjoy it.”
I roll my eyes. “Are you sure your safe to be apart of society.” A long silence washes over the still room
“No, I’m not,” he says, brushing his knuckles along my jaw, “But if I had you, fuck a mental clinic.”
I shove at his chest, trying not to show how fast my heart is beating. “You’re a lunatic.”
After a long, silent beat, he finally lets go, shifting away until he’s sitting beside me on the lounge chair. His breath is uneven, like he’s barely holding himself back.
“Look,” he utters. “I like you. But tread carefully. Stop butting heads with the wrong crowds iris.”
I glare at him, the Adrenaline of a few seconds still in the air making my breath choppy. “Fuck you”
He pays my curses no mind, leaning back against the sofa and sighs. “Go home. I’ll send a doctor. And don’t do anything more stupid than you already have.”
I stand up trembling, whether from rage, adrenaline, or embarrassment.
I button my shirt, one snap at a time. His eyes stay on me the whole time till the last button, I hike my skirt down watching his gaze on my thigh as the fabric covers my exposed skin.
I grab my bag, sling it over my shoulder, scoff, and flip him the bird.
“You’re lucky I still need you for this case,” I say, every word full of venom, “or I’d be filing a sexual assault lawsuit against your smug, degenerate ass.”
And with that, I walk out—not giving him the satisfaction of a last look.