I hadn't planned on her.
I refused to answer, too mesmerized by the sight of her long, sleek legs and the flash of pastel pink panties peeking out from under the hem of her blouse.
My hand lowered to rub the heel of my palm along my hard length. There was only the black silk of my pajama bottoms separating me from her bare skin. Her kiss was wild and reckless. My mouth watered imagining what her cunt was going to taste like.
Her gaze skittered to the left to land on the closed bedroom door, then back to me.
She lunged for it.
I let her.
She was so cute when she had a little hope.
As she rattled the locked doorknob, I closed the distance between us and wrapped my hand around her throat from behind.
Her head fell back onto my shoulder as my other hand ran down her body, cupping her breast then sliding down her flat stomach all the way to her dripping pussy.
I whispered in her ear, "I warned you, little bird. Now you're going to do as you are told."
CHAPTER 32
JAMESON
“Get off the floor before one of the neighbors sees you,” I snarled.
Skylar lifted her arm and held out her hand.
Ignoring the gesture, I turned and walked back into the apartment, sipping from a tumbler of straight vodka.
“There isn’t anyone else in the building,” she whined.
I gritted my teeth and took another sip, letting the vodka burn my throat and soothe some of the rage Skylar’s incompetence inspired. “Then no one will hear you scream if I decide to drag you up by your hair.”
All I did in this hellhole was drink and rely on a woman too useless to do the one thing I’d asked of her.
“You’re a fucking asshole. You know that, Jameson?” she said, pulling off her high heels and using the doorknob to pull herself up.
Picking up her purse, she hobbled into the apartment and slammed the door.
I refilled my glass.
She put her heels back on and fluffed her hair. Looking in the cracked hall mirror, she ran a fingertip under her lower lip,where my slap had smeared her red lip gloss. She then pinched her other cheek to match the bright pink tone of the injured one.
Typical Skylar, to care more about her appearance than the fact that I had hit her.
Using the back of her hand to push aside several empty Chinese take-out boxes and old newspapers, she dropped her purse onto the kitchen counter and reached for the open bottle of vodka. She held it up for me to see. “It’s bad enough you insist on hiding out in this squalid shoebox. Do you have to drink this cheap crap, too?”
I crossed to the kitchen and slammed my glass down. It shattered, slicing into my palm.
Skylar cried out as she grabbed a dishcloth from the sink.
I circled around the small island and placed my bleeding palm on her throat, just under her jaw.
She stumbled as I walked her back until her body smacked against the wall.
I leaned in close. “I wouldn’t still be living in this shithole if you had just done what I asked.”
She rose on her toes. “Jameson, you’re hurting me.”
