She crosses her arms over her chest and pouts, staring out the window. “You’re no fun.”
I drag a hand down my face, calling for patience. “I’m not supposed to be fun when my job is to keep you safe.”
She sulks the entire way to the car dealership.
Once I park, she’s about to hop out when I plant my hand on her thigh, giving it a little squeeze. “I’m not doing this to be difficult.”
She gives me one of those understanding smiles. “I know.”
I jerk my chin toward the shop. “Good. Let’s find you a car.”
I steer her toward the SUVs; she urges me to the sports cars.
Two hours later, and we have clashed five times already.
Nostrils flaring, I pinch the bridge of my nose, urging for calmness that has eluded me.
Behind a Ferrari’s wheel that has more horsepower than it should be legal, she grins at me and then tells the salesperson, “We’ll take it.”
“We won’t take it,” I rectify.
He shifts his head from me to her like he’s engaged in an Olympic game of ping-pong, not wanting to lose the winning moment.
Dahlia looks me dead in the eye. “I want this car.”
“Sorry, baby girl. You don’t always get what you want,” I grit out.
“Don’t I fucking know it,” she huffs.
I rake a hand through my hair hard enough to pull some strands, snapping. “Stop cursing.”
“Stop telling me what to do.” She snaps back.
A heart attack might happen sooner than expected.
She shuts the door of the Ferrari hard making the salesperson flinch.
From the corner of my eye, I see the Silver Porsche Carrera she has stealthily glanced at. Her attempts at manipulating me are cute as fuck. It’s a sports car, but at least it has less horsepower. I give in, programmed to make this woman happy.
Before I can suggest we take the Porsche, she storms outside, and I tell the salesman to get the car ready. Then I rush out to find her climbing into my car.
Seeing her upset wrecks me. I would buy her whatever she wants just to make it stop.
I’d endure fucking hell for eternity, but a few minutes of her silence shatter me like nothing else.
Hoping to ease her mood, I bring her to an ice cream parlor.
“You know it’s impossible to guarantee my safety 24/7,” she says, ending my torment.
“Try me.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “For that you’d need to be glued to my side,” she says, licking the ice cream cone and batting her lashes at me.
I have seen her eat ice cream, but this is something else, driving me wild. The vixen does it on purpose to provoke me. She rolls her tongue up before swirling the tip at the top, never breaking eye contact. I am one second away from giving her something else to lick. Let’s see how she likes it when I have herchoking on my cock. I shift in the seat, inconspicuously adjusting my slacks.
I stare up at the sky, hoping for a sunstroke. Anything to make the torture better.
“Your ice cream is melting.” She points at my vanilla cone and takes a bite of mine too. Licking her lips, she moans. That sound stirs my cock even more, weeping pre-cum in my pants. I am so fucking hard it’s painful, desperately craving a release. I am battling an honorable but losing fight.
