I know I’ve made a mistake the second her desire coats my fingers. The scent of her need fills my nose, and my mouth waters for more than I’m able to take right here because I’d be kidding myself if I said I didn’t want everything from her. I might hate her, but that doesn’t stop me wanting to take. I want to see her writhing beneath me, calling out my name as she understands the power I have over her. She might think she’s something special with her designer clothes and posh girl demeanour, but she’s nothing more than a plaything for me. And she’s about to discover the real game here.
“Oh god,” she whimpers, and my cock swells beneath my trousers.
I drop my head to her neck and breathe her in, but I refuse to put my lips on her. Instead I lick up the smooth skin, feeling her racing pulse.
I circle her clit once more before dropping my fingers lower and dipping them just slightly inside her. Her muscles contract and try to suck me in deeper to get what she needs, but she’s not the one in control right now.
“Zach, please.” Fuck, if the sound of my name as a plea on her lips doesn’t do something to me.
“You want more?”
“Yes,” she begs. “I need… need more.”
I thrust higher into her heat, wishing like fuck that it was my cock, not my fingers as she clamps down on me.
“Shatter, Tabby Cat. Fucking shatter for me.” Lifting my head from the crook of her neck, I watch as pleasure hits her. Her eyes roll back and her teeth sink into her bottom lip.
“Ohhhh,” she cries as she falls, her pussy clamping my fingers impossibly tight.
The second she’s come down from her high, I rip my hand from her trousers and take a step back. It’s not enough for anyone to see her, but it’s enough that I’ve got no contact. She’s already too tempting as it is.
Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath. She drags her heavy, lust-filled eyelids open and stares at me with glassy eyes. Her brows draw together as she tries to figure out what the hell just happened. I wish I had a fucking clue. All I know is that I couldn’t watch her dancing with Titch a second longer without touching her myself. She’s mine. Mine to taunt, mine to pleasure.
Unable to resist, I lift my hand and suck the two fingers that were just deep inside her pussy into my mouth.
Her chin drops and her eyes darken further as she watches the movement.
She’s so fucking sweet.
“What now?” she taunts, her eyes narrowing in contempt.
“Now nothing.”
Turning on my heels, I walk away from her. It’s the hardest thing I’ve done in quite some fucking time. Every muscle in my body screams for me to go and take what I need, but I refuse to show her that she holds that kind of power. She doesn’t need to know how crazy one look at her dancing with Titch made me.
I lose myself in the hundreds of people who are still filling this club despite the fact it’s nearly dawn, and order myself another drink. I need the taste of her off my tongue. It makes me want to do crazy shit like find her and drag her back to my bed.
Deciding to leave, I slam my glass down on the bar and turn for the exit. Sadly two others have a similar idea, because when I lift my eyes Titch and Tabitha are before me.
Titch’s dark eyes are ablaze, telling me that he’s drunk off his arse, while Tabitha refuses to look me in the eye, but I don’t miss the blush that’s still colouring her cheeks and down her neck.
Good.
“We’re heading out.”
I nod, not trusting myself to say anything.
“See you tomorrow then?” Titch asks hesitantly. He knows exactly what’s up—well, maybe not exactly, but we’ve been friends for long enough for me to know when he’s trying to play me.
“Great. Can’t wait.” They both turn to leave and my mouth runs away with me. “Titch?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t fuck my staff.” He looks at Tabitha, who stands stock still beside him, her spine ramrod straight as if she’s trying to appear unaffected by me. Big fat fail on that, love.
Titch salutes me, a small smirk appearing on his smug as fuck face, before placing his hand on the small of her back and guiding her towards the exit.
Deciding against following them out in case I’m wrong and he does actually want her, or more likely she’s so fucking horny after our little moment that she’s begging him to finish the job I started, I order another drink and try to think about anything other than her pussy.
Tammi, the barmaid I’ve fucked on many occasions, walks over when I gesture for her.
“The usual?” she asks.
“Make it a double.”
“That good a day?”
“Something like that,” I mumble. Not that she can hear me.
“Here you go.” She slides the glass over and then leans forward on the bar, forcing her breasts together in a move that usually works wonders on me. Tonight, not so much. “You needing a friend to end the night with?”
“Nah, not tonight. Just a few of these.” I lift my glass and down the contents in one. One of her brows lifts. She doesn’t believe me and spends the rest of time I’m at the bar trying to convince me that spending the night with her will be exactly what I need. She might be right in that it’s pussy I’m desperate for, but she’s very much mistaken if she thinks it’s hers I’m craving right now.
By the time I leave the club, I can barely feel my legs. The cold hits me, but with the alcohol flowing through my system I barely even shiver. The sun is rising and London is beginning to wake up, making me glad I don’t have a boring nine to five like everyone else.
That was what was expected of me. To join the family antique business and continue the Abbot legacy. The problem with that is that from as early as I can remember, I’ve felt like anything but a member of that family. Yes, they’re my parents, they’ve brought me up and given me every opportunity, but I’ve never been able to shake the feeling that I don’t belong. Harrison, my brother, jokes about me being the milkman’s, and to be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out I was. I’m the opposite to the rest of my family in every single way.
I come to a stop outside Rebel Ink with my keys in my hand. I look up at my dark flat and let out a sigh. I could have gone home with Tabitha tonight. I’d put money on it. With my fingers deep inside her I’m pretty sure she’d have done anything I asked of her. I wonder how she’d take to me turning up at her front door right now. Would she still be awake and willing for a little more of what we started? Or—and the thought makes my stomach turn over—did Titch not just walk her home? Is he there right now, taking what should be mine?
I look over my shoulder in the direction I know she lives in. It’s not that far from the studio, and it would only take me minutes to be at her building. My cock swells at the thought and desire courses through me before it quickly turns to anger.
I shouldn’t want her. She’s the epitome of everything I dislike about my life. She’s the posh little girl, living the posh little life. Okay, so she’s clearly trying to make a statement by working for me here, but I’m under no illusion she’s here because she wants to be. She’s probably just trying to prove a point to her stuck-up parents. She’s given me no sign that she even likes tattoos. She’s just using me, and that makes me feel a hell of a lot better about using her back. I’ll let her continue working, because despite my first impressions she’s actually pretty damn good at her job, and eventually I’ll get her in my bed, break her, and send her back to her privileged little life. Then I’ll be able to continue with mine.
