The Naughty King(3)

“Not yet, but you will.” I trace the exposed flesh on her chest with the tip of my finger. “You’ll beg me for it. You’ll beg me to fuck you, hoping that it’ll be you who changes my asshole ways and makes me fall in love.” She opens her mouth to protest, but I press my finger to her lips, cutting her off. “You will. I have that effect on women, but you’re smart enough to know that if you do that—if you let me have you—you’ll quit when you don’t get your way like the spoiled little brat your father has raised. And we both know that you quitting will piss off Daddy, don’t we?”

“I needed a secure job that will pay the bills after my family goes bankrupt. You know that. It’s part of the deal with my father,” she argues, but I’m not stupid enough to buy into that.

“Don’t lie to me,” I scold her roughly, and she stiffens. “We’re both highly intelligent human beings so let’s not play dumb. You’re here to spy on me—to figure out a way to stop me from buying your father’s company for pennies and then sell off everything he’s worked for piece by fucking piece, in turn making me an even richer man.”

She lifts her chin. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

I shrug. “Maybe so, but I’m honest and just to show you that infiltrating my business doesn’t scare me one damn bit, I’m going to allow you to stay. But know this: I’m going to make your life a living hell while you’re here. I’ll have you dying to fuck my brains out or needing to walk away before you kill me with your own bare hands. Either way—you’re fucked.”

Margo takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, giving me a chance to study her features. She wears the dark hair on her head pulled back, but I imagine that when she lets it down, it hangs in long loose waves around her shoulders. When she opens her eyes and gazes up at me, I notice the blue of her eyes standing out against the contrast of her dark hair, and it hits me—I bet she’d be an amazing lay.

She licks her lips, not in a way that’s meant to be sexy but in the way people do when they’re nervous, and my eyes are instantly drawn to her mouth.

Dammit all to hell. This would be so much easier if she was ugly—to humiliate her by playing with her emotions and knowing there’d be no way in hell I would actually fuck her except out of spite. The problem is that’s not the case. She’s exactly my favorite type of woman to fuck: beautiful and bitchy. When I take her, I can’t allow myself to enjoy it. I won’t give her that satisfaction.

Margo stares at me for a long moment, and just when I think she’s about to lay into me again, she twists her hand around my tie, yanking me closer. Without warning her tongue darts out and touches my top lip, causing a tiny shudder to tear through me before she pulls back with a sly smile on her face. “That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. King. That prediction implies that I would actually fall for your juvenile antics of seduction.” Her hand presses against my chest and then moves down to my stomach, drifting even farther south. “Those boyish tricks would never work on me. I’m a woman who always gets what she wants.” I let out a low grunt of half pain and half excitement as she grabs my semi-hard cock through my slacks. Stilling her hand on my cock, she leans into my ear and whispers, “When I want it.” The urge to throw her onto my desk and fuck her senseless surges through me. Never has a woman asserted herself with me, and as much as I fucking hate to admit it, I’m totally turned on by it.

Margo kisses my cheek before she pulls back and releases a hearty laugh. “Who’s fucked now?”

Angry that I allowed myself to be distracted for one moment, I shove her away a little rougher than I mean to. “Get the fuck out. We’re done here.”

Margo laughs as she takes a step back toward the door. “Oh, Mr. King, that’s where you’re wrong again. We both know this little game of ours has only just begun.”

“I said we’re fucking done with this conversation.” I glare at her.

“As you wish.” She smirks and actually fucking curtsies before heading out my door, invoking my hatred even more.

The moment the door closes, I plop down in my chair and loosen my tie. How in the holy hell did that just happen?

My nostrils flare and I take a deep breath, trying to maintain my composure and not throw something. The one thing I fucking hate is to be shown up. I’m always the winner—number one at all times. She will not take control of this situation.

No fucking way.

I won’t allow that to happen. Ever.