Bought and Paid For (Hot-Bites 1)

“There’s my good girl.” I let go of her then, after placing a gentle kiss against her ear.

It took a Herculean effort on my part, but I reined in the hunger once again. My hand nearly trembled with the energy that took. I hadn’t had a woman since the moment I laid eyes on Megan. I hadn’t wanted anyone but her. Some might call that insane; I didn’t care. I was well past the age where getting my dick wet was the sole reason for fucking a woman. I wanted more. The moment I saw Megan I knew she was it. The woman I would claim, the woman I would plant my seed in—the one. It was that simple. It was that complicated.

I regretfully released her hair and let my hand drop to the base of her back. My fingers found that sexy line of her ass and rubbed against it. Soon I would let my tongue follow the same path.

“What are we doing?” Megan asked, clearly flustered, as I walked her to the table.

“We’re eating,” I informed her and I couldn’t help the smile that broke from my lips when she stumbled. It was refreshing to have a woman who did not know how to hide her reaction to me. Megan would never pretend with me. I wouldn’t allow it. Everything between us must always be completely real—completely open.

That thought brought me satisfaction as I found my seat at the head of the table and waited for the cook to serve us. There was some distance between us. She was at the opposite end of the long table. I’d planned it that way. Now when I observed the distance between us I had but one vision in my mind.

Megan crawling across the table toward me and then lying on it nude, with her legs splayed out, waiting to be devoured.

Suddenly I knew exactly what I wanted for dessert.

Chapter 5

Megan

I stared at the plate of food in front of me, my appetite nonexistent. How did Jackson expect me to eat after what he’d told me, after how he’d touched me? I fell so easily to his soft whispers, his hard body against mine. Even now I could still feel his hard cock pressed against my stomach, a testament to what would come, to what he would have deep inside of me.

“You should eat something.” He stared at me from across the table, his gaze seeming so dark, so intense.

I felt like he was touching me just by the way he looked at me. This shiver raced along my body and although I was chilled, I also felt flushed, overheated. This was like nothing I’d ever experienced, and I knew being with Jackson would only make it ten times worse… or maybe better.

“I'm not all that hungry.” I was being honest, but it didn't have to do with the fact I was full from earlier, but from the fact that my emotions were so turbulent, so consuming that they filled me.

He’d already finished his meal and pushed the plate away. Someone came and took the dishes, walked over to me, and removed mine as well. The glass of wine beside me sat untouched. I was thirsty, so damn thirsty, but I was afraid that drinking alcohol would only intensify my emotions, my arousal.

“Maybe you'd have an appetite for something sweeter?”

His voice was so dark and commanding that all I wanted to do was melt into it, let it consume every single part of me. It was the way he said those words, the way he asked me, that told me he wasn't just thinking about dessert.

Or maybe he was and I was said dessert.

I reached for my glass of wine, not caring if the alcohol did make my arousal worse. I took several long drinks from it, the red wine sliding down my throat, the sweetness covering my tongue, the flavors exploding over my palate.

When I set it down I glanced up at Jackson. He watched me with that commanding expression, that dominating persona. I felt the alcohol move through my veins swiftly and I knew intoxication was inevitable if I kept this up.

A second later another tray was brought out to the table. A plate was set in front of me with strawberries, chocolate, and whipped cream all arranged in this delicate, fantastical way.

“You always did have a sweet tooth,” Jackson said and my heart started beating faster.

I thought back to three years ago, to that first time I’d met Jackson, that first time he’d seen me. I’d been an eighteen-year-old girl, so vulnerable and innocent, so naïve. I’d let the world around me consume me.

The party that my father had taken me to was unlike anything I'd ever experienced or seen before. I was swept away in the Cinderellaesque moment, taking in the wealth and beauty that surrounded me.