Opposition Read online Jane Henry (NYC Doms #6)

Categories Genre: BDSM, Dark, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors: Series: NYC Doms Series by Jane Henry
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Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
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“What’s your name?”

To my surprise, he doesn’t answer at first. Stroking his chin contemplatively, he shakes his head.

“Most women call me sir.”

I literally guffaw. “I, sir, do not.” I snort with derision.

“You just did,” he says, and the man actually smiles. My heart does a crazy little patter in my chest at the sight of him smiling. Honest to God, I thought he was gorgeous when he scowled. When he smiles…

“You didn’t answer the question,” I prod.

“We’re getting pizza,” he says. “Next time, I’ll give you fair warning so you can put on something a little more appropriate, and I’ll take you to a nicer place.”

“I love pizza,” I blurt out. “It’s like my favorite thing.” I can’t stop my mouth, and I say one stupid thing after another.

“Yeah? Have you ever eaten it on a rooftop?”

“Hell no, I haven’t. Shut up! Are you kidding me?” I smack his chest, but he pinches my wrist between his fingers and glides it down the silky suit jacket.

“No hitting, little girl,” he says, the humor fading, and in its place, a dangerous, predatory look lurks in his eyes. My sudden attempt at being lighthearted fades.

Little girl does funny things to my chest. I like that he makes me feel little. Hearing him say it? I like that even more.

“And no, I’m not kidding,” he says. “There’s a place near Verge that serves rooftop pizza cooked in brick ovens.”

“Wait, wait. Is this a date?”

A smile ghosts his lips again. “No. If it were a date, I’d have to kiss you.”

Flushing a bit, I shrug a shoulder. “You say it as if it were a chore.”

The heat in the inside of the car is suddenly sweltering. God, what is wrong with me? I’m flirting with him and this guy’s a jerk. He’s bossy and rich and arrogant as fuck, and I’m joking about—I don’t know—I have no idea what I’m…

Because he’s running his fingers through my hair, gentle pressure on the back of my head pulling me closer to him. He smells so good, the way I’d imagine the men on the cover of glossy magazines to smell, a gentle yet seductive masculine scent that makes me feel all feminine and pretty. I don’t know what to do with my hands, they’re awkward and clumsy, but soon I forget everything.

Everything but his lips on mine.

The electricity between the two of us hums like mad, as if our pulses are fused together. I’m soft, so soft, malleable and silky when I’m in his arms like this. I’ve kissed boys before, but I’ve never been kissed like this.

Kissed by a man who wants me.

Kissed by a man who takes what he wants.

I don’t even know how it happens, but I’m flat on my back on my seat, my wrists captured in his strong fingers, gentle but firm like silken cuffs. I’m moaning, sinking, under his spell. I’ve lost all control.

I like that.

When he pulls away his eyes are electric, and he’s panting slightly.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers.

I’m affecting him, too, and the knowledge is a mini victory.

“Your name,” I whisper back.

“If I tell you my name, you promise me you won’t run,” he says. His tone grows harsh. “Promise.”

An order.

I swallow, my pulse suddenly racing.

“Do it,” I whisper. “I promise.”

A beat passes before he speaks again. “My name is Liam Alexander.”

I close my eyes and groan.

Six

Liam

I want her and I hate that I do.

I fucking want her, and I shouldn’t.

She’s a damn brat, and way too young for me. Poorer than a church mouse and worst of all? She’s got kids she’s responsible for. Almost as bad as a single mom and that is fucking anathema to me. I don’t care who a woman is, how beautiful she is, how much I enjoy her… children are a hard limit.

A hard fucking limit.

Why am I even thinking about what I want to propose?

The elite women I socialize with don’t pose a challenge to me. The only challenge is who to pick. Cora, though… Cora is playing hard to get, and I doubt it’s even intentional.

After I told her my name, she closed her eyes and groaned, and I got my shit together. I released her and smoothed out my suit while she righted her hair and grumbled, though I didn’t miss the flush on her cheeks and chest, the wide, bright eyes and the way her pretty lips are slightly parted.

Christ, what I’d do with that mouth.

“You look oh so happy to be going out to eat with me,” she mutters, shaking her head and staring out the window. “Not super sure what your problem is.”

My problem is her, damn it.

I don’t do relationships with strings attached. Hell, the past half dozen relationships I had, we had contracts. There wasn’t anything beyond the bedroom involved. The exchange of power. Control.


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