“Tell me I’m wrong, Brat,” he pushes. The nickname isn’t laced with malice. Hell, it’s practically a caress. “Tell me you don’t like me.”
“My body likes you,” I concede, choosing to stare at the dark sky above us instead of his eyes. “But it doesn’t mean I’m interested in dating you.”
“And what are you interested in?” He leans even closer until his lips brush against the column of my throat. It’s like he knows he has me exactly where he wants me. Desperate and needy. Horny. Practically putty in the bastard’s hands.
I bite back my moan of frustration, tilting my head up, giving him better access to my exposed neck as I choke out, “Fucking.” I swallow. “I’m interested in fucking.”
“Let me take you out.”
“No.”
He lets go of my wrist, trailing his hands along my waist and cupping my sides, making me feel small and delicate. “Why?”
“Because you’re my boss.”
“We both know I’d never let a personal relationship affect the way I run my company. You’re an asset to the Lions whether or not we’re together.” He runs his nose along the column of my throat, making my knees weak. “Go out with me.”
“Not. Interested,” I whisper, but I can feel myself wavering. My resolve crumbling.
“If I touched your pussy right now, I think I could prove otherwise.”
My lips lift despite myself. “We’ve already discussed my body’s interest in yours.”
“So my mind repulses you?” he challenges, then sucks the patch of skin right beneath my ear into his mouth.
Dammit, this guy is way too talented with that thing.
My pulse races, and I try to steady my breathing, but it feels like he’s stolen all the oxygen available, and my only option is to kiss him if I have any hope of convincing my lungs to work ever again. But I don’t. I won’t. I can’t.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I lean my back against the car and let it take my weight, knowing my legs might give out at any second as my fingers press into the cool metal to keep from reaching out and tugging Henry closer. “If I say yes, it shows I’m interested in dating you, which means you’ll immediately turn into an asshole, and I really don’t want you to be an asshole.”
He hesitates, pulling away an inch or two as his eyes narrow, studying me with interest. “Who says I’ll turn into an asshole?”
My eyes open. I look up at the night sky. The stars twinkle above us, and the moon is big and bright as I admit the truth. The one that’s haunted me since my father died. Even before. When my dad would promise to take me out for ice cream, and I’d wait on the curb for hours, not even caring he was late. And when he’d call a week later with some bullshit excuse as to why he didn’t show up, I’d eat it up, denying the truth and agreeing the next Saturday would work for me too. Yeah. My penchant for assholes started long before my dad died. He was the one who started it all, then he was ripped away from me, leaving an unfillable hole in my chest no matter what I did.
“Who says I’ll turn into an asshole, Mia?” Henry repeats. His tone is softer now. Warmer, maybe.
With a deep breath, I whisper, “Me. Because I’m only attracted to assholes.”
I can feel his amusement against my skin, and it surprises me. The amusement. But it’s not at my expense. It’s more like I surprised him, too, and he’s rarely caught off guard.
“So, you’re refusing to go out with me because you’re afraid I’ll turn out to be an asshole?” he questions.
“Yes.”
“I’m already an asshole, Mia.”
“I know,” I whisper. The tightness in my chest eases. Because it’s true. He is an asshole. So much so, I should be running for the hills. Yet here I am, letting him nibble on my throat as desire pools low in my belly.
“But I don’t want to be an asshole with you.” The same warmth seeps into his confession, and I swear I might dissolve entirely.
My eyes close again, and I fist my hands at my sides, desperate to touch him, while knowing exactly how bad of an idea it would be if I allowed myself to give in. “I know.”
“Let me take you out,” he repeats, continuing his assault on my sensitive skin.
“I can’t.”
“You’re making this difficult, Brat.”
“I know.” My lips lift, and I squeeze my eyes shut even tighter, lost in the feel of him. He’s everywhere. His hands. His scent. His mouth. He presses his knee between my thighs while pinning my upper body in place with his own. The heat from my core warms his slacks, proving how weak I am for him.
And dammit, I am weak.
So damn weak, I’m about to make a huge mistake, but I’m too turned on to give a shit.
“I have a proposition for you,” I tell him. My fingers find the lapel of his suit, and I tug him closer.
He tightens his grasp around my waist and lifts his head from the crook of my neck to look down at me. “What kind of proposition?”
“Friends with benefits.”
He cocks his head. “Are we friends?”
“Okay, frenemies with benefits,” I clarify. My hips shift slightly against his thigh.
Yup. Pretty sure I could come by humping this guy’s leg in the middle of a parking lot.
Super classy, I know.
“You want me to fuck you,” he surmises while lifting his thigh like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
My breath catches, and I nod. “Yes.”
“But you don’t want me to date you.”
“Isn’t sex the only thing guys really want anyway?” I challenge.
Grasping my chin, he lifts my head up. “You think the only reason I asked you out is so I can fuck you?”
“Am I wrong?” I shamelessly roll my hips even more, but he drops his knee an inch, leaving me desperate. “Professor,” I warn.
He lets my chin go. “I can get sex anywhere, Mia.”
“But you want it with me, right?” I tug him toward me again, attempting to melt a bit of the iciness between us. It’s weird how there’s even any ice between us in the first place. I just asked him to sleep with me without any strings attached. I assumed he’d be jumping for joy. Instead, he looks torn. Hell, he looks almost offended.
“We all have needs, Professor.” I lift my chin without his prompting and meet his eyes. Sliding my hand down his torso, I toy with the button on his slacks.
“So you want to be fuck buddies,” he concludes.
“Yes.”
“But we aren’t buddies. You work for me.”
“Fine. We’ll be fuck associates,” I offer dryly. My hand travels a few more inches south until the head of his cock jerks beneath my palm.
“This is a bad idea,” he grunts.
“You’re one hundred percent correct.” I squeeze him one time and let him go. “But if you’re not sure––”
“What are the ground rules?” he growls.
I rise onto my tiptoes and nip at his bottom lip. “Well, for one, you can’t fire me when this ends.”
“Done.” He bunches the sides of my shirt in his fingers, and the cool metal from my car hits my lower back when I arch my chest into his. “Two,” he continues. “While we’re in this arrangement, neither of us will have sex with anyone else.” His grasp on my shirt disappears, and his hand finds my neck. He tilts my head up to his, commanding my full attention. “Understood?”