I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and stand up.
We stare at each other.
He tucks himself back in. Zips up. Doesn't take his eyes off me.
"Where did you learn to suck cock, princess?" he says finally, his thumb caressing my bottom lip. His eyes are on the splash of himself he left on my skin.
"Jealous?"
He snorts. "I’d like to send him a fruit basket as thanks." He releases me, moves back to his desk. Sits down like nothing happened.
I stand there, waiting. My heart is pounding. I just got on my knees for him. Swallowed him. Proved I'm serious.
He has to agree now.
He has to.
"Well?" I finally ask when the silence becomes unbearable.
He leans back in his chair, studying me with those cold green eyes. "Well, what?"
"Do we have a deal?"
His mouth quirks. Almost a smile, but not quite. "I'll consider it."
The words hit me like a slap.
"You'll—" I can't even finish the sentence. "I just?—"
"I know what you just did." He picks up his phone, scrolling through something. Dismissing me. "And it was very impressive. But I don't make business decisions with my cock, princess. I need to think about whether your intel is worth me risking my ass. I’m not big on family drama.”
Rage floods through me. Hot and sharp.
"You're joking."
"Do I look like I'm joking?" He glances up, expression neutral. "I said I'll consider it. That's more than I was willing to do ten minutes ago. You should be grateful."
"Grateful?" My voice is shaking. "I just?—"
"Got on your knees and sucked my cock because you wanted something from me. Yes. I was there." He sets the phone down. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to give it to you just because you've got a talented mouth."
I'm shaking. With anger, humiliation, frustration, I can’t even pinpoint which emotion I’m feeling.
"We’re going to a gala this evening.”
I blink, confused. My mind is flooded with a mixture of desire and fury. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
He laugh, leans back in his chair. “Some charity bullshit. Lyla will have a dress for you. Try to look pretty.”
“Fuck you,” I sneer.
He makes a tsking sound. “That’s for later this evening.” He stands, moves to the door. Opens it. "Emmanuel's waiting downstairs. I'll see you tonight at seven.”
The dismissal is clear.
I want to scream. Want to tell him to go fuck himself. Want to storm back and demand he honor what just happened.
But I don't.
