Tell Me You Want Me by Willow Winters
Adrian
No matter how much she tries to hide it, I can still hear her catching her breath.
Fuck, it’s hard enough to keep steady myself. My muscles are still coiled with adrenaline rushing through my veins. That was exactly what I needed.
With a hushed moan slipping through her lips as I button up my shirt, I amend the thought: She is exactly what I needed.
With my back turned to her, a satisfied smile creeps to my lips and I bend down to pick up my tie. “Do you have plans for dinner?” I ask, balling up the silk and pocketing it rather than attempting a professional appearance in the least.
The unmistakable sound of a zipper replaces the silence in the room, as do the muffled sounds of her attempting to slip her heels back on. I turn to see her peering up at me.
Fuck.
There are so many questions that dance in her gorgeous light blue eyes. The vulnerability is unexpected. Her red dress is still open in the back; her attempt to zip it up only moved it partway.
Distrust riddles itself in every small movement she makes. It’s so damn obvious as she stares back at me like she’s afraid to even breathe.
“Turn around,” I command her, not liking wherever her pretty little head has taken her. “Let me help you with that.”
She only hesitates a moment, still not having answered my question. I take my time, using the backs of my fingers to brush her brunette locks to the side. My hand brushes against her bare back before I zip up her dress to the top. I don’t miss that she uses her right hand to brace herself on the desk and she stares down at it rather than looking back at me. The obvious insecurity has my dick hardening already. If she thinks I only wanted her once or that this was some kind of manipulation tactic, my little vixen is dead wrong.
“I have reservations for dinner. Come with me.”
She’s silent still as she comes back to reality. Her cheeks are still flushed, her lips still swollen from my bruising kiss. With her hair disheveled, she looks well and thoroughly fucked.
Stepping to her right so as not to be trapped between myself and the desk I’ve just fucked her on, she leaves me wanting.
“I should go,” is all she says.
Panic is something I didn’t expect to feel. Certainly not with a woman like her, confident and transparent. If she leaves right now, I’m fucked. We barely spoke. There’s no chance in hell she’ll let me near her again.
This is not at all the way it was supposed to go.
“We have reservations and we’re going to be late.”
“We? We have reservations?” she says and finally looks me in the eye. That’s better. Wherever her head is, whoever screwed her over to the point of not trusting another man, it’s in the past.
“I don’t want to go alone. So yes. We have reservations at the Waldorf.”
“I’m not dressed for that,” she responds far too quickly.
I make a point of letting my eyes undress her from head to toe. “The hell you aren’t. You look utterly delectable.”
“I would never wear something like this to the Waldorf.”
Watching as she smooths her hair, her gaze dancing between me and the door, I offer her a simple solution. “We can stop on the way.”
She rolls her eyes and my cock answers in response, hardening and wanting so desperately to punish her. “I have plenty of money if I—”
“I could buy you a thousand times over.” My voice is harder than I’d like but I’m through with this little back-and-forth. “If I say we can stop to buy you whatever the hell I want, it’s not because I wish to spoil you or show off. It’s to save time and for your comfort.”
My statement must have come off harsh, because her jaw clenches. I add, “I couldn’t care less what you wear.”
“I wouldn’t want to be seen with someone like you, showing off your recent conquest.” The bitterness to her tone might as well slap me across my face.
Is that what she thinks this is? Is that who she thinks I am?
Invading her space, I tower over her and say, “When did I give you the impression you were something to conquer? I want you because I want you, and I couldn’t care less what anyone else thinks of that.”
All that anger, all that resentment—it all vanishes the second I exert any dominance over her. It’s addictive. It’s heaven and hell, a concoction I’d gladly get drunk on every second for the rest of my life.
“I am one thing in the boardroom. I’m another outside of that. If you can’t compartmentalize, tell me now.”
“I’m sorry,” she says and her doe eyes fall to my chest. She’s on the verge of running and that’s the last thing I want.
“I don’t want you to apologize,” I say, gentling my voice, tipping up her chin so she’ll finally look at me. See me. “I want you to come to dinner with me.”