Mr Garcia

I storm in behind him.

He walks straight to the bar and pours himself a scotch, he holds the bottle up in question.

“No, thanks,” I snap.

I place my purse down onto the table and see a silver bucket filed with ice and a bottle of champagne in it. That’s more like it.

Sebastian follows my line of sight.

“Do you want one of those?” he asks.

“Please.”

He opens the bottle and pours me a glass of champagne, eventually passing it to me.

We glare at each other as we take a sip of our drinks, animosity bouncing between us.

“I thought your job was making shit coffee?” He sips his scotch.

A sarcastic smile crosses my face. “You sound quick to judge for a man that pays for sex.”

He fakes a smile as if I’m stupid. “I’d rather pay than sell myself.”

“Same fucking thing.” I sip my champagne and then smile sweetly. “But I’ve been paid now. So run along… Mr. Garcia,” I mouth.

Contempt drips from his every pore as his eyes hold mine. “What the fuck are you playing at?” he whispers.

I step forward so that I’m only inches from his face. “I was hoping to get some sexual satisfaction,” I say quietly. “But you don’t have what I want.”

His jaw clenches, as he glares at me and he slowly takes his suit jacket off. “I have more than you fucking want.”

“I doubt—”

He cuts me off by grabbing my hand and putting it over his crotch. His dick is rock hard beneath the material of his suit pants.

My blood begins to heat and, unable to help it, my hand closes around the shape of his hard penis.

“Do your job!” he sneers, and it’s obvious that he’s furious that I’m here.

“You wish.”

His eyes are fixed on mine. “Get on your knees and suck my dick, you dirty whore.”

Excitement screams through my body. This is fucked up…. but holy hell, it’s hot.

“I wouldn’t suck your dick if it were the last cock on Earth,” I whisper. “I’m broke, not desperate.”

A trace of a smile crosses his face, he likes this game, too.

He steps forward and takes my face in one hand, his grip is almost painful as he licks up the side of my face and drops his mouth to my ear. “You want to be a whore, Cartier?”

My heart begins to thump hard in my chest at the dominance of him.

“You want to be used?” He growls against my ear, squeezing my face harder. “You want me to blow my load on your face?” He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls my head back so that my face is to his. “Because I’ve got a really full cock that’s looking to be emptied.”

Christ Almighty, he’s fucking filthy.

Goosebumps scatter over my body. His grip almost painful.

He pulls my head back again and bites my neck hard. My body betrays me and pumps with arousal.

Yes.

He licks my open lips, and I feel it in my sex. He takes my bottom lip between his teeth and stretches it out. I flutter all over and whimper.

He licks my face again, and I’m pinned by the grip of his hand. All I can do is close my eyes.

“Answer the question, Cartier. Do you want my cock, or will I go and find someone else who does?” he whispers darkly. “Any wet pussy will do.”

His grip on my face is painful when he licks up my face once more, and then bites my earlobe.

Holy mother of fuck.

This is not how respectable men speak or behave.

Some kind of moral rubber band snaps, and suddenly, I want to be who he thinks I am.

I want to be his whore.

“You wouldn’t survive my pussy,” I whisper. “I’ll ruin you for fucking life, little boy.”

His mouth breaks into a slow, sexy smile, and he steps back from me as he pulls at his tie hard and undoes it. “You wish.”

I pick up my champagne and take a sip.

Our eyes are locked, and button by button, he slowly undoes his shirt. His chest is broad and olive with a scattering of dark hair, and blow me down, if he isn’t the most perfect male specimen I’ve ever seen.

All man.

My sex begins to throb. God, he does turn me into a whore—a filthy whore who wants him badly.

He pulls his shirt completely open, untucking it from his pants.

My eyes drop down his body, and I swallow the lump in my throat. I don’t know if I’ve ever been this turned on.

This is wrong and messed up and so damn primal.

He undoes the button on his pants and rearranges himself in his pants. The tip of his hard cock sits over his waistband, and my eyes linger on the thick purple head.

He’s hung.

Okay, this little fantasy just keeps on giving.

Thump, thump, thump goes my pulse.

He steps closer and takes my champagne glass to take a sip of my drink. Then, with his eyes on mine, he slowly tips the glass and lets the champagne drizzle down my cleavage. It’s cold, and my nipples harden.