He finally turned his head. Those grey eyes were dark, storm-cloud furious. “You smell like cologne that isn’t mine.”
I pulled my wrist free — or tried to. He didn’t let go. “A client from OnlyFans. He needed arm candy for dinner. Ten grand, no sex, no touching beyond polite escort — Milo, what is this?”
“Client.” The word came out like a curse. He stood up so fast the couch scraped backward. He was taller than me even when I wore these heels, and right now he looked twice his size. “You quit the club so some rich fuck could still parade you around like his personal whore?”
The slap of his words stung more than I expected. I stared at him for a long moment before saying, “You’re fucking drunk.”
“Drunk?” Milo laughed. His breath was sharp with rum, but his eyes were clear enough — burning even. “I came home with wine, thinking we’d celebrate you quitting that shithole, and you’re out playing escort in a dress that barely covers your cunt.”
I straightened my spine, refusing to shrink. “So where the fuck is it?” I held my hands out, looking around. “This celebratory bottle, hmm?”
He stood there, with the glass still in his hand, seething. He wasn’t sober, but he wasn’t exactly drunk either. I knew I was provoking him, but he made me feel cheap, and fuck if I’d let that slide.
“You’re a sloppy fucking drunk, Milo,” I continued. “Admit it.”
He moved faster than I expected for someone who’d been drinking. One second he was across from me, the next, his hand was fisted in the front of my dress, yanking me forward until our faces were inches apart. The fabric strained, the neckline dug into my skin. Well… if I said that didn’t make me feel a particular way, I’d be a liar.
“And you’re an expensive whore — guess we’re a match.”
I slapped him.
It echoed like a gunshot in the penthouse. Milo’s head snapped to the side, the sharp crack of my palm cutting through his bravado. My hand stung, but the heat flooding my body wasn’t just anger. His grip on the front of my dress tightened, the expensive fabric straining. One more tug and it would rip.
He slowly turned back to face me. A red handprint bloomed on his cheek, but his eyes were molten.
The glass slipped from his hand, and I flinched when it shattered against the ground by our feet. It was a matter of seconds before he had me bent over the back of the leather couch, the cool material pressing into my stomach as he shoved my dress up and over my ass in one brutal yank.
“I hope you enjoyed your evening,” he said, kicking my heels wider apart. “’Cause your night is about to be very long.” His belt buckle clinked.
“Milo—wait—” I twisted, reaching back to push at his thigh, but he caught my wrist and pinned it to the small of my back with one hand.
“You smell like him,” he hissed against my ear. His free hand shoved the thong aside, fingers plunging roughly between my legs. I was already soaked, and he groaned at the discovery. “Fucking dripping. Is this for him?”
I bucked against him, half trying to get away, half grinding back. “Don’t you dare—”
He didn’t dare. Hedid. The thick, pierced head of his cock dragged through my slick lips — up, then down — then slammed into me in a vicious thrust.
I cried out. He was so deep like this — no mercy, no warmup.
Fuck, I enjoyed it more than I should’ve.
I didn’t dare utter a sound because two things would’ve left my mouth then — a moan or a curse. And both would’ve only riled him on.
I tried to push up on the couch, but he had me pinned — one wrist twisted behind my back, his heavy body draped over mine, the weight of him pressing me into the leather.
“Stay,” he ordered, pulling out almost to the tip before slamming back in so hard the couch scraped across the floor.
Shit. My legs trembled. Jesus Christ, he felt so good.
Every thrust shoved my hips into the back of the couch, my breasts spilling out of the low neckline and dragging against the leather.
“I told you—” I gasped as I felt his piercing moving within, “—nothing happened. It was just dinner—”
“Stop talking,” he demanded.
“The hell I will! You’re acting insane—”
His free hand grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back so his mouth was at my ear. “Your mouth wants to work so much? Then work it on my fucking dick.” He pulled out abruptly and spun me around. The world tilted, my heels scraping against the floor as he shoved me down onto my knees. Shards of the broken glass glittered dangerously close to my bare skin, but Milo didn’t seem to give a fuck. His hand stayed in my hair, pulling my head back so I had no choice but to look up at him.
