Naughty Or Nice. Rachael Stewart

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      ‘We’re not even.’ My grin is one of sheer arrogance. ‘Not by a long shot.’

      Her brow lifts into an elegant arch—I can’t tell if it’s in disbelief or challenge—and she closes the door in my face, the lock twisting into place.

      It’s a first for me. I should feel humiliated, cheapened—used, even. But I’m feeling none of those things.

      Fire burns in my veins—fire for the chase, the thrill of the conquest. She will be mine. My groin pulses and I adjust myself, lifting my hand to sweep it over my face as determination settles in.

       When I’m buried deep inside her—then we’ll be even.

      I turn and head for the door. I should clean up, but the lingering taste of her keeps me hungry. If I get my way, I’ll have what I crave before the night is out.

      And I always get my way.