Page 9 of Good Girls Like it Dirty
He took one full tit in his mouth and sucked it, feeling her intake of breath. “Monique, say yes to me.”
She shoved her fingers in his hair. “Mon Dieu…don’t stop. Please.”
Damn it. What if he screwed her one time then they figured out the rest later? Pressure built in his core, the need to be inside her shaking him. Desire fogged his brain, and his vision, the hazy blur an evidence of his madness.
He unzipped his jeans, then—
The sound of voices nearing their cocoon of naughtiness made him raise his head. She was still grinding herself on him, giving herself to him in the best way a woman could to a man. He blinked and tilted his head, checking he wasn’t hearing things. That’d certainly be the last shred of sanity.
“Monique,” he said, standing upright. “People are coming.”
He pulled down her shirt, hiding her breasts from view. Such a crime, but he didn’t want to share Monique’s many assets with anyone. She opened her eyes with a start, then shifted on the washer, sliding down before he helped her.
Seconds later, the door opened and two women entered, each carrying a plastic hamper filled with clothes. They were talking to each other about what had happened the previous night at a club, and one of them acknowledged them with a quick smile.
He sighed and glanced at Monique, who smoothed her shirt. She lifted her chin and a mischievous glint flickered in her eyes. A wave of newfound affection washed over him. Affection? He cleared his throat. Lust had zero to do with affection, though unrealized lust certainly made someone crazy. The weeks without sex definitely had taken their toll on him. “Two-month fuckfest. Yes or no?”
She chewed her bottom lip, then smiled. “Yes.”
He swallowed.
“Tomorrow,” she said. “Tomorrow we’ll celebrate our deal.”
…
Monique brushed her hair for the tenth time. She glanced at her watch. Maybe she shouldn’t have told him to pick her up at her place, but she didn’t want him to show up at her doorstep again.
The previous night they’d made out in the laundry room, and she’d agreed to his insane proposal. She’d had the good sense to ask him to meet her tonight, almost twenty-four hours later, to rethink her decision.
Now, she couldn’t run. He’d wired thirty thousand dollars to her account, and she’d already paid her rent. Do I want to run? Her stomach knotted, anxiety moistening her palms. No. I want this.
She put the brush in her room, then hurried out of the apartment. Her determination only grew stronger during her walk to the parking lot. Why couldn’t she be bad and sleep with her boss for money? She’d sleep with him anyway, so why not make some money to send to her family? Her mom had mentioned her youngest brother needed braces, and her other two brothers could use new tennis shoes and sports gear. They loved running, and every so often needed sneakers.
He drove his Lamborghini into the parking space next to her and came out. Moisture evaporated from her throat. Oh la la…
Dressed in an unassuming dark gray shirt that clung to his thick biceps and black jeans, Monsieur Zaine looked like a delicious entrée.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hey, beautiful.” He opened the door of his Lamborghini and she stepped in. She liked that he treated her as though they were on a date. Older men knew how to court a woman, supposedly. Maybe he just wants to get into my pants faster and is outdoing himself. Though if she were honest, didn’t she want him? She hadn’t had sex in months. Between studying and working way more hours than she had expected to, at the end of most days she fell facedown on the bed and slept.
“Where are we going?”
“My place.”
His place? He chose to take me to his house because no one’ll see us. After all, why would he waste time taking her out to eat if sex was a sure thing? Really, the only thing—he’d been clear about it. When the time came, he’d choose someone who wanted the same things he did. Rich men preferred marrying a successful woman who came from a good family. Whatever that meant.
She nodded, trying not to show her true feelings. Maybe he was embarrassed to be seen with her. Like her father had been of her and her brothers. An old insecurity clawed its way back, but she shook her head, not wanting to believe it. Choosing not to.
“You know, I was thinking… I wish I’d been there while you stripped in front of Paula and the staff and told her off.”
Monique rolled her eyes. She refused to apologize for her behavior. If he wanted to scold her, then so be it. “Sad to say, but she had it coming.”
He gave her an apologetic smile. “She was unfair to you, and I know I didn’t help. I’m sorry.”
Relief streamed in her veins. “Thanks.”
He glanced at her sideways, and she caught herself grinning. He flicked on the satellite radio until a soothing jazz song filled the air. For the rest of the drive, she enjoyed the misleading serenity of the sultry, melodious ballads invading her eardrums. They’d never shared a quiet moment like this, not talking or kissing, since, well, the beginning of their…how to call it? She shifted in her seat, equally excited and worried about the prospect of sleeping with him. He’d been her boss. Correction: had been married to her boss. What if she fell madly for a man she couldn’t keep?
