He doesn’t care what I say, he’s marrying me
It was supposed to be a hookup. That was all.
But when you accidentally sleep with someone like Abell Birch, notorious billionaire player…
Walking away isn’t easy.
He’s perfectly gorgeous, perfectly filthy. Tattoos cover every inch of his muscles, his eyes can burn right through you, and his lips know just where to kiss. A real complete package.
The exact kind of manwhore I hate.
So when my parents pulled out that marriage contract, I thought they were joking.
Marry him? I don’t care how loud he made me beg that one night we spent together. I never want to see his sinful smile again.
But if I don’t marry him, I’ll lose everything. It’s pure blackmail.
Either way, he doesn’t care what I want.
Because he plans to put that ring on my finger…
To make me belong to him…
No matter what I say.
“How much cream do you like?” he asked.
Stirring my mug, I said, “A lot, copious amounts.”
His lips split into an angled grin. “Naughty girl.”
I put the rim of the cup to my mouth, sipping. “A Jizz Joke? If you’re trying to get me flustered, you’ll have to try harder.”
Angling his head like a hawk, Abell set his cup down on the counter. Slowly, with purpose, he rounded the kitchen island until he was standing over me. On reflex I backed up, my thighs bumping the sink.
I was trapped.
“You shouldn’t give me instructions,” he whispered, fingers circling my wrist just below my mug. “I’m the kind of guy that will listen. Telling me what I need to do to make you blush is a recipe for escalation.”
My mouth was suddenly dry, I couldn’t even remember the taste of my drink. Abell ruled my senses.
He hovered over me, I could see where his eyelashes connected with the hooded lids of his heated eyes. I could even see the tiny lines across his perfectly smirking lips. We were too close, and I knew it, but my brain was firing wrong.
Stop this, I told myself, Don’t let him get to you.
I had wanted to go home and think. There was so much riding on me, and I hadn’t had the time to process it fairly.
Now, Abell was showing me he knew exactly how to take over my mind. His nearness was as good as a typhoon, demanding my attention and roaring that if I stayed or if I ran, the result would be the same.
He would consume me.
“Nix,” he said under his breath.
Smiling slowly, he ran his thumb in a circle around the underside of my wrist. “You’re spilling coffee everywhere.”
Glancing down, I saw that my floor was shining from the constant drip of my drink over the side of my mug. Unconsciously, I’d been tipping it as I leaned towards Abell. I shook myself, realizing I’d been inches away from kissing him. I knew how he’d taste. Whiskey, sin, and the tang of fresh brewed coffee. He’d be delicious, he’d—Stop!
Reaching out with my other hand, I grabbed my mug and set it on the sink. Then, I peeled at his fingers; he let me go reluctantly. “Abell, no, we aren’t doing this.”
“Doing what?” he asked, still hovering over me.
His thigh touched mine, and I jumped. “This. I wasn’t playing hard to get, I really have no plans to do anything with you. Ever,” I added for emphasis.
Chuckling, he rubbed his leg on mine, sliding it inside my knee until we were twisted up like a pretzel. His hands came down on the counter behind me, halting any escape. “You’re trying to tell me none of this is tempting you?”
Unable to look away from his stare, I swallowed. “I’m cold as a fish.”
“Oh yeah?” His eyes flicked down, staring pointedly at my shirt. I followed his gaze, noticing what he had; my nipples were stabbing through my shirt.
Biting my tongue, I searched for a response. “It’s just chilly in here.”
He twisted his lips together. “Then I’ll have to warm you up.”
Something was crushing into my hip, digging in hard. Oh god. With my heart pressing into my ribs, I shut my eyes. I knew what was grinding against me so firmly. That’s his cock. He had a hard-on thick enough I expected it to drill through his jeans.
He whispered, “I never did get lunch. Maybe I could eat something else?”