Filthy Rich

There was a slight misunderstanding…

Lucien tips back his head and lets out a boom of laughter that freezes me to my spot. I’ve been hungry for his laughter. Curious. Eager. I spent a lot of time rearranging his features in my mind, making his eyes crinkled and those lush lips form this kind of delight in my presence. I thought I’d done a pretty good job imagining what it would look like, but now I see I got it all wrong. The same way an art student goes to a museum, tries to copy the priceless Picasso on the wall and gets it all wrong.

Why? Because this is a pirate’s smile. A pirate’s amusement at my expense.

The way those eyes flash. The way those sexy crow’s-feet reach to his temples. The way the dimples groove down those hard cheeks, framing the straight white teeth.

It’s a startling smile. A stunning laugh.

The moment feels like a triumph of some sort. Or it would—if only he didn’t relish laughing right in my face like this, when my feelings are raw, and my vulnerability feels as though it’s flashing across my forehead.

“You’re laughing at me,” I say, cheeks burning and humiliation complete.

“I’m absolutely laughing at you. I’m surprised City Tech issued you a degree if your brain doesn’t work any better than this.” His glee finally winds down, thank God. “I’m disappointed in you, Ms. Scott.”

“You can stand there laughing at me by yourself,” I say, my wounded pride pairing up with anger and making a belated appearance. “I don’t know what’s happening here, but I’m not sticking around for it.”

I turn to go again, but that hand on my wrist—it feels warmer now—tightens its grip.

“Oh, no you’re not.” There’s a husky new quality to his voice, a silkiness layered over the amusement. “You’re going to dance with me.”

Dancing with him is the very last thing on my mind, but it’s the next thing in my future unless I want to make a scene by wrenching myself free. Which I don’t. So I grit my teeth and submit while he tugs me back down the stairs, into the bar and onto the small dance floor. We face each other, my face burning and his gaze now fixed and hard on my face. Then we assume basic dancing position, my hand on his shoulder, his hand around my waist and our other hands clasped to the side with a socially acceptable space between us.

I don’t want to keep staring into his eyes, but I don’t seem to have permission to look anywhere else.

“We’ve had a misunderstanding, Ms. Scott,” he says as we begin to move.

“A misunderstanding.”

“A big one. Let’s clear it up.” He ducks his head, his gaze boring into mine. “I’ve already told you I’m not nice. I’ve never done anything out of niceness in my life. Got it?”

“Okay…?”

“This is how I dance with someone I feel sorry for.” We shuffle back and forth a few steps, exactly the way I danced with my father at his sixtieth birthday party. It’s all fine, normal and socially acceptable. Until Lucien suddenly yanks me up against him, clamping his arm around me until there’s no space between us. More startling is the hard ridge of his impressive package pressing against my belly. “And this is how I dance with someone I want to fuck.”

I am absolutely speechless.

He presses his nose to my cheek before sliding it into my hair, inhaling my scent as though he hasn’t had a lungful of air in the last hour or more.

“I want to taste you,” he continues, now murmuring in my ear. “All of you. I want to suck your nipples. I want to bite your ass. I want your sexy legs around my waist and your tongue in my mouth. Am I startling you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Shall I continue?”

I hesitate before nodding shakily, too undone to trust my voice…

Copyright 2024 by Ava Ryan

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED