A Deal with the Bossy Devil by Kyra Parsi

26

I wokeup to the soft pitter patter of rain hitting the window, and it took me a few sleepy seconds to register why I was so warm, or why my lips were automatically curling into a satisfied little smile, even though I was dead tired and my body felt like it’d been hit by an actual bus. Every single one of my muscles were sore, yet I’d never felt so... satiated.

Adrien was pressed to my back, an arm draped over my bare stomach, a muscled leg tangled between my knees. He was fast asleep, according to the gentle way he was snoring into my neck. It tickled.

I swallowed the small giggle bubbling up my chest and tried to slip out from under his arm so I could grab my phone from the bedside table. But the second I moved, he stirred against me, his limbs tightening around my body instinctively.

“No,” he growled into my neck, barely awake.

I sighed. “I need to check the time. My flight’s at noon.”

“Fuck no.” He snaked both arms around me, trapping me against his chest. The giggle that escaped my throat when he bit my shoulder was nothing short of unhinged.

I’d lost it.

“Adrien.” I writhed against him, but he wouldn’t budge.

“No.”

“I need to call a cab.”

“You can’t. This is officially a hostage situation.”

“That’s extremely not legal,” I pointed out. “But also kind of kinky.”

He chuckled into the crook of my neck. “Are you into it?”

I considered the scenario. “Depends. Any hardcore weapons involved? Like, could I be ‘accidentally’ murdered midorgasm?”

He nipped my earlobe with his teeth. “Absolutely not.”

“Then no.” I wiggled my hips, trying to escape.

He rasped another laugh, bulky arms tightening around my chest and stomach as he pressed his hard length into the small of my back.

Knowing that the only things separating us were two pieces of easily discarded underwear made my core quiver like the slutty little fiend it was.

My libido and I were in a fight after last night.

“You shouldn’t be allowed to be funny on top of everything else,” Adrien grumbled into my hair.

“And your dimples shouldn’t be allowed to hang lopsided, but alas, I’m perfect, and life isn’t fair.”

His nose brushed the shell of my ear. “Is that your way of admitting you like my dimples, Sanchez?”

I could feel him smile against my skin, and the mere image of his dimples flashing in my mind made my heart flutter like an overexcited songbird.

My heart and I were also in a fight. This was notappropriate behavior.

“I just said they’re lopsided. And they dip so frikkin’ deep, I’m pretty sure they’re direct portals to the second circle of hell.” That was the lusty one if my memory served.

He placed a kiss just underneath my earlobe, and my whole backside puddled against him.

“You’re avoiding the question,” he said.

“I honestly can’t even remember what it was.”

“Do you like them?”

“Does it count if it’s against my will?”

“Yes.”

“Then the answer’s still no,” I lied.

He continued to place soft, smooth kisses along my neck, and my eyes fluttered shut for a moment, my nipples hardening.

“Adrien, I have to...” I cut off when he palmed my breast, the flutter in my chest spreading down to my clit.

“What, pretty girl? What do you have to do?”

“Shower. Flight,” I breathed. My brain was already turning to putty. “And we... It was just supposed to be once.”

“I fucked you more than once last night,” he purred into my skin.

My cheeks colored at the reminder, and I swallowed, trying to get my thoughts in order. Because yes, okay, fine. I’d kind of lost my mind last night.

We both had.

Something in me had snapped after our first tumble. It unlocked this deep, impossibly starved craving, and suddenly we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. No matter how many times he made me moan and scream, or what angle he took me from, it hadn’t been enough. We’d be satiated for a short stretch of time, and then one of us would reach for the other again.

We kept going until our bodies gave out. I couldn’t even remember falling asleep. I think I was just so exhausted at one point that I blinked and that was it. I was out.

“Speaking of,” he murmured, “how are you feeling?”

“Sore,” I rasped. My muscles were about as solid as jelly, my pelvic area felt like it’d lost a boxing match with a jackhammer, and my throat was charred from chanting his name all night. But in the good way. “You?”

He inhaled deeply, his embrace softening just a tad. “I’m processing.”

And here I was, doing my best to avoid that exact thing.

“I need to shower and get ready,” I muttered. This time, though, I made no effort to move away from him.

“Or you could stay,” he said.

“That’s a horrible idea. One of your worst.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I don’t want to keep lying to your family about this whole engagement nonsense?” Especially since I was almost certain he hadn’t been entirely honest about his reasoning. “Or maybe because absolutely no good could come out of this?”

“Out of what, Sanchez? You and me?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“And you rarely ever actually answer them.”

I sighed, realizing only then that at some point during the conversation, my fingers had started playing with his.

“What would be the endgame? I stay, we have more sex, and then what? We just… keep going until this thing fizzles?”

I frowned to myself as soon as the words were out because that wasn’t a half-bad idea. I mean, eventually, it had to burn out. We’d fuck each other out of our systems, shake hands, and be on our way.

It would only take a week. Two, max.

But then he said, “What if it doesn’t?”

“If it doesn’t what?”

“What if it doesn’t fizzle out? What if the opposite happens? What if you actually start to like me?”

I laughed. “That’s never going to happen.”

Had our fingers not been tangled just then, I may not have picked up on the subtle way he stilled for just a moment. And it was either in my head or he shifted slightly away from me.

“Why? Because of Alba?” he asked. “Because I wasn’t a good boss?”

I could feel the drift begin. If I pushed just a little more, the frail little tether holding us together would snap, and he’d let me go.

So I shoved.

“Among other things,” I said.

“Like what?”

“You’ve got a reputation for being an asshole, Adrien.”

“Do you believe everything you read on the internet?”

“When something’s that prominent and widespread, there’s usually some truth to it,” I retorted. “Plus the fact that I’ve experienced it firsthand, and that I’ve had to watch my sister suffer through your bullshit for years.”

“She never… I’m not a mind reader, Ria.”

“No. You’re just selfish, arrogant, and a shitty human being to boot.”

I braced myself. Here we go.

He was going to pull away, storm out of the room, and leave me to pack my shit and make my escape in peace.

“Bullshit.”

I blinked at the rain-splattered window I’d been staring at. “What?”

“Bullshit, Sanchez.”

“On what?”

“On all of it. On whatever you’re trying to do right now. Bullshit. It’s all an excuse.”

I shot a glance back at him. He was smirking, looking down at me like my skin was see-through.

A sensation akin to panic sprouted in my stomach as I slithered out of his embrace, taking the flat sheet with me so I could wrap it around my body before I stood up. Then I gathered my clothes from the floor and slipped into the bathroom without a word.

Adrien didn’t say anything, nor did he make any move to stop me. Which was fine.

Great.

Exactly what I’d wanted.

I stepped into the scalding hot shower, turned off my brain, and gave myself five minutes to scrub down. I really needed to catch that flight.

* * *

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Adrien was still on the bed, but he’d put on a pair of gray sweats and was scrolling through his phone.

He glanced up at me, brows ticking with an unspoken question. Either because he didn’t know what I was talking about, or because I was dripping all over the carpet.

“Do you have something against drying off after a shower, Sanchez?”

“Don’t be annoying,” I said, clutching the towel wrapped around my torso like my life depended on it.

The rest of me was still soaked, and there was a small chance I still had shampoo suds lurking in my hair, mascara smudged under my eyes.

“I don’t understand what you meant by the bullshit comment,” I said.

“And it couldn’t wait until you washed all the shampoo out of your hair?”

Okay, well, that answered that question.

“Seriously, what did you mean by it?” I pressed.

“Seriously, you have makeup smeared all over your face.”

“Adrien!” I meant for it to be snappy, but somehow it came out as amused and bubbly.

He chuckled. “Go rinse off first, then I’ll tell you.”

“No. Tell me first.”

“Did you look in the mirror before you stormed out here?”

“Bold of you to assume I care what I look like in front of you.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

He smirked, probably because my nostril flared. And then, to my complete and utter horror, he raised his phone and snapped a picture of me.

“My new wallpaper,” he said.

Oh, hell no.

“Your corpse is going to be mine if you don’t delete that picture right now.”

“That’s dark, Sanchez. Even for you.”

I practically lunged for his phone, but he quickly hid it behind his back and pressed a palm to my towel-covered chest, keeping me at arm’s length.

“I told you I have a fake fear of clowns. This is incredibly triggering for me,” he said.

I tried not to laugh. Really, I did. “That’s rude as hell! Give me your phone!”

“No.”

“Adrien!”

“Ria!” he exclaimed, mimicking my voice.

And before I knew what was happening, I was on top of him, trying to wrestle his phone from behind his back with my one free arm. I really should have dried off and changed before storming out here.

“Sanchez, if you get a single drop of shampoo on me—”

I rubbed my wet head against his cheek. “You’ll what?”

My warning came in the form of a single dimple, and then his arms were hooked around my waist, and I was being lifted.

I squealed with what could only be described as unhinged delight as Adrien picked me up, threw me over his shoulder, and stormed us into the bathroom.

I still had my towel on when it started to rain hot water, though he’d managed to throw off his sweats and briefs before stepping into the walk-in shower.

I was laughing so hard tears streaked my cheeks. “Put me down, you hooligan!”

He smacked my butt over the wet towel, then obliged. The second my feet were planted on the firm tiles, my cheeks were cupped in his hands, and his smiling lips were pressed to mine.

I should have stopped it. I knew I should have. So why did I drop my towel and sling my arms around his neck instead? Why did I giggle when he nibbled on my lip, and melt right into his warm embrace?

And why were we laughing so much? What was so funny?

I’d have contemplated the ever-loving, overthinking hell out of these questions just two days ago. Right now, though? All I could think about was how nice it felt when Adrien’s fingers sunk into my hair. I purred against his mouth, my knees almost caving when he started to massage my scalp.

God, that felt good.

He chuckled at my reaction, pulling away so he could peer down at me.

“What did you do? Dump a bunch of shampoo on your hair and immediately step out of the shower?”

“Mmnmunm,” I answered, crossing my eyes euphorically.

“Don’t be cute.”

“Don’t be wet!” I demanded of the water raining down on us.

It wasn’t funny. I was delirious and high on a plethora of sex hormones. But he laughed anyway, like he found my malfunctioning brain delightfully amusing.

I couldn’t make sense of when, how, or why the switch had flipped for him. A small voice in the corner of my head kept trying to flag the abruptness as a warning, but Adrien’s fingers massaged it into blubbery incoherence. I was a giddy pile of putty, barely able to keep my body upright without clinging to him for support.

We giggled and played, splashing each other with water and soap, unable to keep our mouths separate for longer than a few laughing seconds. And once we'd managed to stumble out of the shower, he carried me right back to bed.

“What time is it?” I breathed as his hot mouth moved down to my neck. I felt drunk.

He answered by slipping his fingers down to my center, teasing my opening. I whimpered, my thighs widening under his weight.

“Adrien, my flight.”

He pulled away just enough to glare down at me, right before he rolled my swollen clit between his index and middle fingers. I had to turn my face into the duvet to muffle the cry that escaped.

“What about it?” he demanded to know, rolling, rolling, rolling.

“I don't wanna miss it,” I muttered, my hips grinding against his touch.

He chuckled darkly. “What part of hostage situation are you not understanding, Sanchez?”

My breathy laugh quickly turned into another moan as he inserted a finger, then two. His palm moved to knead my button as his fingers fell into a maddeningly perfect rhythm. I was already tingling.

“God, that feels so good.” After this, I was going to get on my knees and lick him all the way to the high heavens. I’d blow his mind through his dick, then run off into the sunset, never to be seen again.

That sounded like a great plan.

“Should I keep going?” he murmured.

“Yes,” I pleaded.

Which was precisely when he stopped.

“What the hell?” I breathed, frowning up at him.

He brought his glistening fingers to his mouth and proceeded to suck them clean. “You taste like a fucking wet dream, Sanchez.”

“Again, what the hell?”

“Again, what part of hostage situation are you not understanding?” he imitated lightheartedly.

My jaw fell slack. “You're holding my orgasm hostage?”

That evil dimpled grin told me everything I needed to know. “Here's the deal. The last direct flight from Victoria to Toronto is at 9 p.m. If you're still here by then, we'll finish the game.”

“You're joking.”

“Not even a little bit.”

I sighed, my head sinking into the mattress. “This is so dumb.”

He leaned down to kiss me. “9 p.m. Wear the green slip. You and I have another score to settle.”

“I can just use my own hands, you know.”

But he was already pushing himself off the bed. I fumed silently as I watched him slip into a pair of jeans and a fresh white shirt. He was, without an iota of doubt, the most infuriating man in existence.

“Breakfast is ready when you are,” he said cheerfully on his way out.

He shot down the pillow I hurled at his idiot head and winked at me before shutting the door.

I hated him.

So, so, so much.

Then why are you smiling?

…

Shut up.