Briggs (Carolina Reapers 7)

“That’s not for me to judge.” I reached for my zipper. “Need my pants off, too?” I held her stare, even when her cheeks pinkened.

She blinked and cleared her throat. “Um. No. Just the shirt.”

I stepped onto the podium and stretched my arms out to my sides. “Well, here I am. Do with me what you will.”

“I can think of a few things,” Angela muttered.

Bristol shot her a glare and grabbed a garment off the table next to a sewing machine. “Here.” She thrust the silk at me.

I pulled the shirt on and buttoned it, nodding when it fit across my shoulders. “Different size?”

“I altered it this morning after it got here,” she muttered. “I beckoned one of my assistants to bring it down.”

A slow grin spread across my face as she walked around the podium, studying the fit and seething. Hell, I was surprised smoke didn’t come out of her ears. “Still hung up on that comment, huh?”

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at me.

I’d kissed those lips last night. Tasted them. Slid my tongue across every sweet line. By the way she blinked and looked away, she’d been remembering the same exact fact…or something close to it.

“I don’t beckon men.”

“You sure like to beckon me. Hell, you contractually beckoned me.” I rolled my shoulders back, enjoying the feel of the fabric against my skin.

“Everyone out!” She squared her shoulders as she barked the order.

The staff scurried to the door.

She folded her arms across her chest and glared at me.

“Did that include me? Or should I stay?” I motioned to the door and lifted my brows.

“Is this about last night?” She cocked her head to the side. “You can take that off, by the way.”

“What about last night?” I stripped out of the shirt, and my pulse skipped as her eyes followed every movement.

“You know what!” She grabbed the shirt and thrust another one at me.

This one was a sweater. It was soft without being itchy. Nice. “Oh, the little hello we had in the back room?”

Her mouth dropped open.

“Haven’t given it much thought.” That wasn’t a lie if I fucked around with the definition of much. It was all I’d thought about. Hell, thinking about it had almost fucked with my game this afternoon.

“Haven’t given it…” She floundered, then locked her jaw and paced around the podium. “That one’s fine. Take it off.”

“Since you beckoned so nicely.” I pulled it off and handed it to her.

“It didn’t mean anything!” She threw something at me.

I caught it. It was a long-sleeved shirt. “Right. I told you that last night, and you’re pretty pissed for someone who agreed that it didn’t mean anything.” I tugged on the shirt. “It’s too short in the arms. Like you forgot how big I am or something.”

She growled.

Okay, this was way better. Maybe I’d been handling Bristol wrong since she’d walked back into my life. Maybe getting under her skin was the way to go. It was sure as hell more fun than letting her get under mine. “Like we agree. It didn’t mean anything. It was just a slightly more physical hello. After all, you were the one throwing a fit that I didn’t say hi.” I shrugged.

“I did not throw a fit! Take it off.” She held out her hand for the shirt.

I stripped it off slowly, taking my time and loving every little shift of emotion on her exasperated face. “You threw a fit.”

“Is that what you think?” She ripped the shirt out of my hand and folded it in her arms.

I stepped off the podium, taking up her space. “I think you’re used to getting your way because you’re rich and possess the kind of beauty that doesn’t just lure men but ruins them.” There were barely inches between us now.

She retreated.

I followed.

“I think you’re used to snapping your fingers and getting whatever—whomever—you want delivered right to you.” I braced both hands on the mirror, effectively trapping her between my arms. “I’m pretty sure you’ve never been told no once in your life, and while I’m sure you love getting every little thing your heart desires, what you could really use is someone who withholds what you want in order to give you what you need.”

She swallowed. “And what exactly do you think I need?”

Me. She needed to be handled without care, for someone to fuck her like she wasn’t breakable. She needed to be so strung out with pleasure that she was the one begging to be finished off, then held at that edge until she understood that she wasn’t always the one in control. She needed someone to take her power so she could learn how to take a breath without the weight of it. Hell, I bet she didn’t even realize it was heavy.

But that wasn’t an option. That wasn’t even close to being an option.