Using his formal name halts him, and he swings around and glares at me. “Don’t you dare give me that Mr. King crap, do you hear me?” he says, pointing his finger at me. “You owe me more than that.”
“Oweyou? I oweyounothing,” I argue back.
His eyes widen at my comment as if stunned by my reaction. “Are you fucking serious? You owe me fucking answers,” he demands.
“All I owe you is a massage with a happy ending, Mr. King,” I say to him through gritted teeth.
Alistair looks like he’s ready to punch a wall at my comment. I don’t understand why he’s so upset when he is the one in the wrong. He’s the one who promised me the world, asked me to take a chance, and then fucked around with my work colleagues.
Alistair stops himself for a moment, sucks in a deep breath, then flicks those hazel eyes in my direction. “Guess you better do a good job then,” he says, turning his back on me and walking over to the massage table.
Fuck him.
Do a good job?I’ll show him.
I’m going to edge the shit out of him. He will be on his fucking knees begging me to make him come, and I’m going to enjoy the torture so much more. He has no idea what I am capable of.
He drops his towel, exposing his white, peachy ass.Fucker.He smirks over his shoulder, knowing that I’m checking him out before lying down on the massage table face up, showing his magnificent hard dick standing at attention for me.
Did our fight turn him on?