Beg Me

“What makes you think you can talk to a woman like that?” she hisses, cupping her hand around the receiver of the phone.

I grin when I see her fiddling with her silver necklace.

“Every woman has a price, right?” I ask.

“No, not every woman,” she says. “My father is—”

“I know very well who your father was,” I interrupt. “I’ve done plenty of business with the man. I’m not asking about him. I want to get to know you.”

“Fat chance,” she says.

I keep the game going. “And why is that?” I ask.

She begins to lay it on thick. “Because you’re kind of a prick. And it’s like I said, I’m too young for you.”

“You really want to get with a younger guy? Someone like that boy you were talking to earlier? Go right ahead,” I say. “I can show you things you could never dream of. I would make you quake.”

She swallows hard. I can hear it through the phone. “That’s what I thought,” I tell her.

“You’re married, aren’t you?” she asks. “That’s your thing, isn’t it? You go to highbrow business functions and prey on younger women. Then you go back home to your loving wife and tell her how much she means to you. I’ve seen that before. I’ve met guys like you.”

“Wrong again,” I say.

I walk up to the top of the stairs and watch her. That elegant sway of hers gets me every time I see it. The way she runs her fingers across her collarbone drives me crazy. I want to kiss her neck, to taste her sweetness as I shake the foundations of her world.

“I’m single,” I admit. “And very happy about it.”

I can tell I’ve softened her up a bit. She’s not as angry with me now that she knows I don’t have a lady at home.

“Interesting,” she says.

“Look, I can understand not wanting to engage with me. I’ve been vulgar. I’ll admit it,” I say, taking a breath. “I doubt you could handle me either. Sorry. Just being honest.”

“What makes you think that?” she asks. I smile and click my teeth together. I check my Gucci watch. It’s nearly midnight, which means I’ll be leaving soon. I never stay at business functions past midnight, even if they have an open bar.

“You’re much too small. I’d probably break you,” I tell her.

The thought of me towering over her and wrapping my hand around her waist makes my cock twitch.

“Break me?” she asks, stunned.

She sits with her ass against the staircase, and I swear to God, she’s actually biting her lower lip. “Is your cock as big as a soda can or something?”

“Bigger,” I tell her. “Much bigger. I don’t think you could handle all of me.”

“Bullshit,” she says. “And you’re a pig. Seriously.”

“I’m a pig. I’ll admit that much. But I’m not lying to you about my anatomy. It’s more of a curse, really. Most women can’t handle me. I’m much too powerful for them,” I say.

“You’re disgusting,” she says.

“But the ones that can beg for more,” I say. “Once they’re on top, they have the most profound and earth-shattering orgasms.”

“Is that right?” she asks. “What would you do to me if you had me right now?”

Now the real fun has started. I stand against the top banister of the stairs. If she were to just turn around, she could see me staring at her. But she doesn’t. She just continues talking and biting her lip.

She’s interested. No, she’s captivated.