Chapter 20 #2
I falter for a moment, completely entranced by how perfect she looks with her glistening pink pussy on full display. But this isn’t about me or how crazy this woman makes me.
Because I know she does.
Her wet pussy proves it, even if she’s not willing to admit it—yet. This is so much more than her admitting I help her write. It’s her accepting that despite how much she claims to despise me and everything I stand for … she wants me.
I move my thumb down to her entrance and soak up all the evidence she tries to reject. Then I move it back to her clit and continue to massage.
Her jaw has fallen slack, and a tiny gasp leaves her mouth.
This time, I can’t help but smile. “Do you still want to deny it, Kayla?”
I continue to move my thumb over her clit as I watch and wait for her reply.
“It’s …” she starts but appears to lose her train of thought as I increase the speed. “I’m … not …”
She can’t even finish her sentence. She knows there’s no use in denying it. That’s not enough. I want to hear her say it.
I pull my thumb away, and her face looks visibly disappointed. Then I push two fingers inside of her pussy, and her body goes wild. She moans loudly as her ass leaves the couch.
Fuck, my dick is begging to come out and join the fun. This woman is becoming impossible to resist. I hate it. But, fuck, do I love it at the same time.
I move my fingers up and down, working her G-spot every time they curve back up. She is a panting mess at this point.
“Oh God, Sawyer,” she shouts.
My name on her lips. I’ve been in boardrooms, making billion-dollar deals, but nothing is as rewarding as hearing this stubborn, pain-in-the-ass woman scream my name.
I know she’s close … so now it’s time to prove my point. I pull my fingers out and rest both hands on the couch cushion, leaning in as I watch her mouth close and her eyes home in on me.
“What … did …” She breathes rapidly. “Why did you stop?”
“Because, Kayla”—my voice drops to a deep growl— “you don’t get to finish unless you write for me.”
Her eyes search mine with confusion. “I’m sorry … what?”
“You heard me.” I lean further into the cushion. “You don’t write … and admit what’s happening here … you don’t finish.”
My eyes look down at her soaked pussy, and I can’t help but lick my lips with hunger.
Then I meet her stare. “You do, and I’ll reward you with my tongue and my fingers. I’ll suck on that clit until you scream my name again.”
Her eyes snap open wider, shock flashing across her face.
For a second, she just stares at me like she can’t believe I actually stopped. Her lips part, breath coming fast, chest rising and falling as she tries to catch it.
Anger sparks in her gaze almost immediately.
But it’s the other thing underneath it that catches my attention—need. Frustration.
The kind that makes her fingers tighten in the couch cushion beside her.
She looks furious, stunned, and painfully aware of exactly what I just took away.
Her brows draw together as she glares down at me, but the tremble in her breathing betrays her.
For a moment, I just watch her. Every reaction, small shift in her face. The anger is there, but it’s tangled with something else now. Something that makes the corners of my mouth lift slightly.
Kayla looks like someone realizing she may actually lose this fight.
Her glare drops to the laptop on her stomach for half a second, then back to me. She’s trying to decide whether she’s more furious about what I just said or about the fact that she’s actually considering it.
I lean back slightly onto my heals, giving her just enough space to think. Not that I’m worried about the outcome.
The way her eyes keep flicking between me and the laptop tells me everything I need to know.
She wants to argue, but more than anything … she wants me to keep going.
“Write, Kayla.”
Her fingers hover above the keyboard, but she doesn’t move.
I raise an eyebrow. “You said you don’t need me. Prove it.”
For a moment, I think she might actually hold the line, sit there all night just to prove me wrong.
Then one finger finally lowers. A single key clicks under the weight of it. The faint sound cuts through the silence between us.
A second letter appears on the screen.
A third … and just like that, she’s writing.
She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t acknowledge what just happened.
Her attention locks on the screen like it’s the most important thing in the world.
But the words keep coming now, her fingers moving faster, the rhythm building as the sentence takes shape.
A minute ago, she was ready to burn the laptop out of pure stubbornness. Now she’s typing like she’s afraid the words might disappear if she slows down.
And the best part?
She refuses to look at me, which tells me everything I need to know.
I move my hand back between her legs and push my fingers back inside of her. I see the relief wash over her like she thought I might not oblige.
But I leave my fingers still as I watch her write. She starts to slow down, her pace nearly coming to a halt. But she still won’t look at me.
“Keep writing,” I demand. “I’ll give you more when I feel like you’ve earned it.”
I’m pushing my luck here.
But she continues to write. She focuses on her screen while her fingers move at a rapid pace. The words clearly come to her with almost no effort. She bites on her bottom lip, like even she’s affected by the scene unfolding before her.
I push my fingers in all the way and move them directly onto the spot I already know she likes.
She gasps and moans … but never stops typing.
“Good girl, Kayla,” I praise as I move my thumb to her clit. “I think you just earned yourself some more pleasure.”
I work my fingers inside of her while simultaneously rubbing her clit with my thumb. She is back to panting and wiggling her little ass closer to me, like she’s begging for me.
All the while … she keeps typing.
I play this game for a while, retreating … giving it back to her. Increasing the pressure when she never falters.
But now I need to feel her come all over my fingers. The urge is so strong that I may actually blow in my pants like a damn teenager.
I shift my weight forward until my face is exactly where it wants to be … in between her legs, breathing in the scent of her arousal.
“Good job, Kayla. Just one more thing before I let you come,” I breathe over her clit. “Tell me you want me.”
Her glare could probably burn a hole through me. For a moment, she says nothing, just breathes like she’s trying to outlast me.
Then her shoulders drop slightly. A quiet, frustrated sound leaves her throat.
“You’re such an ass,” she breathes. Her eyes meet mine again, and this time, the words slip out. “I want you.”
That’s all I need. My lips wrap around her clit, and I suck like a man starved. I push my fingers back in and move them furiously inside of her while sucking and licking like my life depends on it.
It feels like it does.
I feel Kayla toss the laptop to the side. Her hands move into my hair, and she grips it hard. Really fucking hard. Hard enough that I know she’s trying to hurt me.
But, fuck, I love the pain. It’s hot, and it only spurs me on more. I shake my head back and forth against her clit, and she goes off.
She lifts her ass off the cushion and shoves my face harder against her pussy while she screams my name loud enough that if I had any neighbors on this floor, they’d surely hear it.
Her body slowly sinks back against the couch cushion, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The only sound in the room is the ragged rhythm of our breathing. I pull back, dragging the back of my hand across my mouth as I sit up on my heels, trying to steady the pulse hammering through my body.
Kayla’s eyes stay closed for a few seconds longer, her fingers still tangled in my hair, like she forgot they were there.
Then she opens them, and reality crashes back in. Her gaze drops to the floor, to the couch, then to me still kneeling in front of her, and the shift is immediate.
Her hands shove roughly against my shoulders, pushing me back as she sits up fast.
“What the hell was that?” she snaps, her voice still rough from breathing so hard.
I lean back slightly, bracing my elbows on the coffee table as I watch her.
She grabs her laptop that she tossed aside a minute ago and holds it against her chest.
“You’re insane,” she mutters under her breath.
She stands up, not gracefully or calmly, like she’s furious at the floor itself.
I stay where I am on the floor, watching as she storms across the room, running a hand through her hair.
“This was your idea,” she throws over her shoulder without turning around. “Your stupid, conceited idea.”
Her bare feet hit the hardwood harder with every step. The hallway light flicks on. Her bedroom door slams shut hard enough that the sound echoes through the entire apartment.
Silence settles over the penthouse.
I sit on the floor for a long moment, elbows resting on my knees, trying to slow the pounding in my chest, but it doesn’t work.
Because one thing is suddenly very, very clear.
I’m in trouble.
Not because of what just happened, but because even after all of that … I know without a doubt that I’m nowhere close to being finished with Kayla.
Not even remotely.