Do you remember when I admitted she wins eighty percent of arguments? Yeah. It might be eighty-one percent now.
“Now, will you tell me what you’re doing in my car?”
“Err...the case.” I swallow. “We need to go over the suspect. The evidence. Report. Documents that Biceps gave us.”
Pull it together, man. Stop thinking aboutripping that skirt off her and finding out if she’s a dirty little liar.
She smirks, twisting her body to face mine, and I attempt to do the same.
“Are you okay, Dr. Jones?” she purrs. “You look a little flustered. Almost like when the tips of your fingers grazed my tits on Saturday. You didn’t know what to say then either.”
“I still felt them though, didn't I?” I snap back.
“Barely, you were like a scared little boy. I didn’t realize women scared you so much.”
I’m not scared of women.
Maybe one woman.
The she-devil.
The pantiless, always-has-to-win, she-devil.
I try to pull back some control. Seeing her bent over and then her mentioning me touching her tits is giving me a semi. For fuck's sake. The humiliation of my penis not understanding that we do not stand to attention for too-smart, has-to-win-at-all-costs, red-headed women who have no interest in the likes of me is too much. He just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t care. And unfortunately, he has his own head that he thinks with. The one including my actual brain doesn't get a word in.
“If I were scared of women, how would I get so many to attend our dinner club?”
“I’m not judging you for payingwomen, Jonesy. I had noticed that none of them came twice. But maybe they never come at all, and that’s where the real issue lies.” She smirks, her eyes dropping to my crotch.
“Given how eagerly you nestled your ass against my cock on Saturday night, you know full well I have more than enough to work with, princess.”
“You wish.”
If only she knew how true that was. I’ve thought about nothing else since Saturday night. My somewhatcomposedobsession with her has become anything but. I’ve tugged my cock more times than I can count; I’ve been dreaming up more ways than normal to annoy at our next games night. And now that I have the guarantee of a good bed for the next three months, I’ll need to find a way to make sure she’s in it with me.
“I’m a red-blooded male, Katie. If you were offering, I’d take it. But I’d make you beg me first.”
Anger flashes across her eyes.
“I wouldn’t beg you for water if I were dying of thirst,” she spits.
“I’m not offering water, but I’ll make you wet for sure.”
Her eyes spark with a fury that tells me I’m pushing my luck. It’s not unheard of for us to get into near wrestling matches. Her claws come out; my strength and size allow me to take a beating without consequence, knowing I could overpower her if I wanted to. But it’s cute she thinksotherwise. Is that what I’m doing? Baiting her into putting her hands on me so we could take it in a new direction this time? She pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts.
“Next time, bring your own car. I’m not your chauffeur.”
“I’m surprised you still have a license. There’s no way you’d get a permit to be anyone's chauffeur.” I smile, knowing this is going to piss her off even more than the comment about her tits.
“I hit that pole one time.” She throws her hands up. “And you were distracting me.”
“How exactly was that again?”
Her cheeks turn beetroot, no doubt a curse of the redheads, as she mutters something about a shirtless dickwad under her breath. That would be me. The shirtless dickwad.
“So, your place or mine?”
“What?” she splutters.
