Play all you want, Peaches. I’ve already won this game.
20
DANIEL
Celibacy is a cranky bitch with withdrawal issues.
My dick hates me. My body hates me.
I hate me.
Not enough to crack, though.
I survived a week and a half without sex before. What’s four days?
Apparently, around four decades in human years according to my teenage-level hard-ons whenever that fucking woman is in sight.
It doesn’t matter what she’s wearing, a hot as fuck dress, simple jeans, or a long robe. All I feel is the need to fuck her until neither of us can breathe properly.
That night, right after she told me the E-word and I said in no uncertain terms that she could go suck it, I ran into her in the kitchen while she was making some apricot juice. I’m going to bet my career and left nut that she drinks it because it’s the most similar fruit to peaches. But anyway, when my hand brushed against hers not so accidentally, she glared at me with that snobbishness that made me both hard and irritated as a fireball.
She motioned at herself and said, “This is off-limits.” Then she flipped her golden locks and stalked back to her room.
I needed to stop myself from going after her or else we’d have second-degree murder on our hands.
My dick and I still haven't decided what we think about her newfound confidence. She’s glowing with it like an angel flying above God’s shoulder. Not that she didn’t have it a few weeks ago, but she was keeping it under wraps, bowing her head and biting her tongue to keep her job—and Jayden.
Lately, however, her old self is starting to peek through the cracks. And as much as I wanted to fuck that Nicole into oblivion, I didn’t really like her.
She wasn’t confident. She bordered on arrogant with mean-girl tendencies and a bitch sign slapped on her forehead.
And I’ll be damned if I don’t clip those wings before she morphs back into her old self.
“Your coffee,” she says sweetly, bending over so half her tits are nearly hanging out of her blouse.
I grab the edge of the desk.
Down, Junior. It isn’t your time to shine yet.
Pretending she doesn’t exist—which is as successful as ignoring global warming—I take a sip of my coffee and listen to her enumerating today’s schedule.
I throw the coffee in the rubbish can.
She pauses her anchorwoman presentation. “What’s wrong now? There was exactly one gram of sugar. I weighed it myself.”
“Too hot.”
“No, it’s not. You’re just being difficult for no reason.”
“There’s a reason.”
“Enlighten me.”
“My dick is throwing a tantrum for the lack of lips around him. If you want to fix it…”
Red creeps up from her pale cleavage to her neck and even to her ears. To her credit, though, her expression remains stuck in that snobbish stage.
Now that I think about it, Nicole has never been expressive. Not even on that day when everything shattered to pieces.
It’s why I like the new version of her better. At least I can read some reactions she leaves unguarded. Maybe, just like she couldn’t be bothered to hide her beauty mole anymore, she couldn’t care less about sealing everything inside.
She smiles and it’s as fake as A-list celebrities’ laughs and just as bright. “Sure thing.”
“Really?”
“Of course. You just have to say the magic words for it. Repeat after me, no other people.”
My lips twist, then I snap my fingers in her face. “Get the fuck out.”
She lifts a shoulder. “As you wish, sir.”
Her walk to the door is the equivalent of a strip show, minus the most important part—taking her clothes off. Her hips sway in that gentle, alluring way only she is capable of.
Stop looking.
Stop looking—
Once she reaches the door, she turns around. “Oh, and what would you like for dinner tonight?”
The sodding thing knows she has a hold on me through that, too. Even though I consider food the most disgusting thing ever created, hers doesn’t fall under that category.
Ever since she became my personal chef, I don’t eat with the sole purpose of survival. I actually enjoy the activity, especially with Jayden being a clown and Lolli sticking her head anywhere she deems fit. That includes the top of the table and Jayden’s shoulder.
But if Nicole thinks she has me as a ring on her finger, breaking news will hit her upside the head soon.
“I won’t be dining at home.”
“Oh?”
I don’t fall for her prompt to keep me talking, and just like that, her gleeful expression disappears.
That’s right, baby. You’ve got to work for it.
She clears her throat. “Where will you be dining?”
“It’s a bit out of your scope of skills.”
“I’m just asking if you’ll need me in a business meeting or something.”
“It’s a charity event.”
“So you need an assistant.”
“Not really, but you’re welcome to pass me condoms or join the orgies that I plan to take part in tonight.”
Her lips press in a line before she steps out and slams the door.
Good. Now, she feels a sliver of the fucking frustration she’s been shoving down my throat with a spoon.
Later that evening, I dress in a tux, ignore her glares over the kitchen counter, and let Jayden hug me goodbye, then head to the charity ball.
Calling it that is a bit of a stretch, considering this is the rich’s way to write off taxes.
King and Nate included.
They’re both here. Nate is accompanied by his young wife who’s pretty much half his age, but looks at him as if he’s her knight in a shining Mercedes.
King is solo because hoes aren’t for the public, and he’s actively glaring at Nate whenever he touches his daughter or makes her laugh. If a crime happens, I swear to fuck there will be no dragging me in as a witness into this mess.
Knox joins me with a gorgeous blonde on his arm.
Jeez, did I think of blonde and gorgeous in the same sentence?
Get a grip, Sterling.
Anastasia doesn’t look the part of a mafia princess. She’s soft, demure, and extremely in love with my sod of a friend who, until a few months ago, thought he didn’t have a soul.
Like me.
Turns out, I’m the only one on that merry-go-round. Aside from King, maybe.
Scratch that. King doesn’t have a heart, a soul, and a whole lot of things I pride myself in owning.
Anastasia’s continent-sized engagement ring was probably made by the blood of a mafia’s enemies.
Not a good thought to have when I’m kissing the back of her hand. “Looking good, Ana.”
Knox kicks my shin. “Hands off my fiancée.”
“Whom you got because of me.” I kick him back when no one is looking.
He stares at me as if I’m a pope who cursed. “How exactly did you contribute? Was that before or after you almost ruined everything?”
“Right in the middle, actually. Ana, let this wanker know that I played a vital part.”