Page 100 of Right Man, Right Time
“Do you really think you can come in here and boss me around?” Her nipples are hard now, and it’s next to impossible not to at least glance at them.
“I’m not bossing you around. I’m telling you that you signed a contract, and now I’m expecting you to live up to that.”
“It was a napkin. I could have wiped my nose with it if I wanted to.” She folds her arms together and poses in the most defiant stance I think I’ve ever witnessed.
“A deal is a deal. Now get fucking dressed before I do it for you.”
“And what if I don’t?” she asks.
I prepared for this question, knowing damn well she would put up a fight. And I hate to do this to her, but she needs to come with me tonight. I need the defense.
“If you don’t, then I’m going to go to the owner of the Agitators and tell him about the article.”
Her face falls, and her arms drop to her sides. “You wouldn’t.”
“You don’t want to test me.”
She stares me down for a few seconds before she huffs and turns toward her closet. “You realize I’m going to hate you until the end of time, right?”
“Whatever gets you dressed up, babe,” I say as I make my way into her dorm and sit on her bed. I watch as she digs around in her closet. She tosses a pair of black strappy heels toward the center of the room and then retrieves a long black outfit.
When I think she’s going to head into the bathroom to get changed, she doesn’t. With her back turned toward me, she pulls her crop top over her head before pushing her sweatpants down, revealing her thin black thong.
My mouth waters at the sight of that rear end again and her bare, muscular back with the rarest of glimpses of side boob as she fits her outfit on. She pulls it up, revealing a black one-piece of sorts with pant legs and a tight-fitted top.
“I need you to zip me up,” she says, her back still toward me.
Pushing off the bed, I walk up behind her. I drape her long hair over one shoulder, then rest my hand on her waist. Her back stiffens, and as I grip the small black zipper, I move my hand up her rib cage until I pause right below her breast. Holding tightly, I slowly pull the zipper up, the entire time feeling her breath inflate and deflate her lungs until she’s all the way zipped up, and I pull away.
Without a word, she storms off into the bathroom and closes the door.
She wants to play with fire by stripping in front of me? She’s going to get it in return.
I sit on her bed again and pull out my phone. I scroll through emails for the next ten minutes, and when she’s finally ready and opens the bathroom door, she emerges with her hair pulled back into a high ponytail, a heavy smoky eye, and what looks like fake eyelashes. She topped the look off with bright red lipstick.
Yup . . . she’s fucking hot.
Not to mention, the neckline of her outfit cuts down to the spot just below her breasts, once again offering an abundance of cleavage for all to see. It must be her signature move, to show off her breasts whenever she gets a chance. And I’m going to tell you right now, it fucking works.
As she slips her shoes on, I realize one thing. I hate that even though I’m mad at her, I still think she’s hot. I don’t want to be attracted to her, but it’s inevitable. I can’t stop it. And I can’t stop the way my eyes scan her, resting for a moment too long on her breasts, on her lips, on those eyes.
She stands tall, flips her ponytail over her shoulder, and snatches a clutch from her closet before stuffing her phone, wallet, lipstick, and key in it. She tucks the clutch under her arm and says, “Let’s go, master.”
Better than fart face. Guess I’ll take it.
We’re silent the entire trip out of the dorm. I honestly expected nothing less than her glacial attitude.
When we reach my car, I open the door for her and watch her get in, then, taking her seat belt, I loop it over her and click it in. When I pull back, I hear her sharp inhale, only for her eyes to connect with mine in confusion.
“Just want to make sure you don’t bolt.”
Her face falls. “Aren’t you a funny guy?”No. Just a bit desperate it seems.
She doesn’t bother talking to me, and I don’t bother talking to her until we’re five minutes from the event.
“You’re going to have to act like you like me in there.”
“This is not my first rodeo, Potato.”
