by K. Webster
Winston Constantine is an asshole, but he’s the asshole I’m falling helplessly for.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Winston
What is my mother doing?
She’s not nice for no reason. She doesn’t take people out for spa days. She’s up to something. Eventually, I’ll find out what it is. I’m just thankful Ash seemed to have made it out unscathed.
My phone buzzes from an incoming text.
Xavier: We have what you asked for.
Triumph surges through my veins, and I nearly knock my desk chair over in my haste to stand up. I grab my bag and lock my office.
“Leaving early, Mr. Constantine?” Deborah asks, a curious expression on her face.
“I have business to take care of.”
I walk straight over to Perry’s office, but it’s empty. I find him sitting in Nate’s office, peering at a notebook that’s resting on his knee while Nate taps away on the computer.
“Perry, time to go,” I bark out.
He nearly knocks his notebook onto the floor and rushes to his feet. Nate frowns, his gaze darting between us.
“Important meeting?” Nate asks.
“Something like that.” I smirk. “Hold down the fort.”
Nate frowns, but I don’t stick around to explain. Perry grabs his bag, locks his office door, and then we’re headed to the parking garage.
“I’ll drive,” he offers, laughing when I grimace. “What? I drive great.”
“It’s not how you drive. It’s what you drive.”
He whistles, unaffected by my insults as we climb into his orange abomination. The engine is loud, echoing off the parking garage walls, sounding like there are twenty muscle cars in a row, not just his. As he backs out of his parking spot and then peels out, gaining speed quickly, a thrill shoots down my spine. This car might be ugly as fuck, but it rides like a beast. He turns on some classic seventies rock as we drive to our destination. I nearly roll my eyes at how fucking corny he can be sometimes. “Cherry Bomb” by The Runaways blares through the speakers, and this idiot sings along, banging on the steering wheel like he’s a drummer in the damn band.
I try my damnedest to ignore my brother, my mind scattered in a hundred different directions.
“Barracuda” by Heart comes on next, and Perry grins at me. His excitement is infectious. I smirk back at him. We discussed this moment in great detail on the plane ride back from Paris. I wasn’t sure how long we’d have to wait, but my men are pretty good at doing what they’re told, especially when you throw a huge bonus in if they can deliver sooner rather than later.
Perry guns it down the road, weaving in and out of traffic, making my heart thunder in my chest. He wrecks boats for fuck’s sake. I don’t trust his driving, especially in a car like a ’69 Chevelle with more power under the hood than a boat could dream of. Thankfully, rather than killing us, he turns his blinker on like a good boy and darts his vehicle into a parking garage of a building we own.
He sings along loudly when “Just What I Needed” by The Cars comes on. I have to hold on to the dash to keep from flying all over the place as he drives around and around, taking us higher up the parking garage to the top level. Since the building is being renovated, there aren’t any cars. But when we reach the top level, a black Mercedes SUV waits parked next to a white Porsche Cayenne.
He kills the engine, thankfully ending his obnoxious singing. We climb out and walk over to the SUV where Xavier and Todd are waiting. Both men are dressed in black T-shirts, black jeans, and black boots. They’re ex-Navy Seals and mean-ass motherfuckers. And on my payroll. Naturally. Only the best for the Constantines.
“You have what I asked for?” I raise a brow at Xavier.
“It’s insulting you even have to ask.” Xavier laughs and motions to the other side of the SUV.
Perry and I walk around to discover that Xavier and Todd delivered. Times three, in fact. Seeing the three little fuckfaces in the flesh, after what they did and tried to do to Ash, has anger exploding inside of me. I want to beat the fuck out of each of them.
But that’s how a Morelli would do shit.
I’m a Constantine. We’re classy.
“Aww, look what we have here,” I taunt, squatting down in front of one of the triplets who’s hogtied and glaring at me. “The ringleader. Scout.”
Where the other two boys are terrified, Scout is pissed. If looks could kill, there’s no doubt in my mind this psychopath would end me.
“You know why you’re here?” I poke his forehead, enjoying his snarl. “Oh, that’s right. You can’t talk with tape over your mouth.”
Perry laughs from behind me.
“Looks like you’ll just have to listen, then,” I say to the fuckwit. “You should have stayed the fuck away when I told you to.”
His eyes burn into me, but they’re growing glassy by the minute. Based on how the other two boys aren’t struggling anymore, I estimate that I’m running out of time to get my point across.
“It’s like this,” I explain, shaking my head as though Scout is a naughty child who needs scolding. “You fucked up. Royally. Then, you thought you could best me. A fucking Constantine. Like a little bitch, you waited until I was away before you pounced on my girlfriend.” I inwardly roll my eyes at the thought of Ash preening at my girlfriend comment. “You hurt her. You hurt what’s mine.”
Scout’s eyes close, and I thump him on the forehead to get his attention again.
“Drugs are bad, Mannford. Surely you knew this with your mother being a doctor and all.” I arch a brow at him. “How much oxy did you take?”
“Enough,” Xavier assures me. “Fucker tried to bite me, but he took his medicine like a good boy in the end.”
“Harvard is gone,” I bite out, thumping Scout again on the head. “Your weak attempt to coerce me into fixing your mistake was a waste of fucking breath. Your cars are gone thanks to your hot little sister. And now your mommy’s ability to make money is gone too.”
Scout’s eyes widen despite the drugged haze he’s in.
“She’s being sued for malpractice.” I shake my head as though I feel sorry for her. I don’t. “By several people.”
Perry chuckles. Ulrich, in his effort to uncover all he could about Manda Mannford, was able to find some people who were paid off for botched surgeries. All it took was a call from my attorney, the great Anthony Lambruski, offering to represent them for free and they quickly agreed their payoff wasn’t enough for the terrible medical care they received.
“But wait, there’s more,” I say in a tone that mimics a gameshow host. “I have one more thing to take away from you.” Rising to my feet, I stare down at the piece of shit triplets who thought they could go to war with me and win. They thought wrong. “Lacrosse.”
I step back and gesture at Todd. He storms over to Sparrow, raises his foot, and stomps on his knee. Sparrow screams from behind the tape, tears streaming from his eyes. Sully whimpers when Todd makes his way over to him. Without warning, he does the same for Sully. Both sob like children. Finally, Todd delivers the same fate to Scout, making sure to smash both knees. Their howls of pain are music to my ears.
“Remember what I’m capable of,” I spit out at Scout. “And this only scratches the surface of what I can do to you. I’m the king of this city, and you’re nothing but bottom feeding parasites.”
I give Xavier a nod of my head. He and Todd shove Sparrow and Sully into the backseat of their mother’s Porsche. Then, Xavier comes back for Scout. He pushes him into the passenger seat and then closes the door before climbing in the driver’s seat. Xavier gives me a mock salute before driving off. Todd hops into the SUV and follows him.
As soon as they’re gone, Perry shakes his head and cringes. “Did you hear the pops? Fucking sick, man.”
“Well deserved,” I remind him. “Come on. We don’t want to miss the show.”
He follows me over to the lookout of the parking garage that has a view of the street below. W
e wait patiently for several minutes. The white Porsche flies out onto the street, screeching as it turns sharply. It speeds up and then the door flings out, an ex-Navy Seal rolling out with impressive skill. The subsequent crash is loud.
Xavier hops to his feet, a knife in hand, making a beeline for the vehicle. He reaches in, cutting Scout’s hands free and removing the tape on his mouth. Then, he drags him into the driver’s seat. Todd pulls up in the SUV and quickly frees Sully and Sparrow. They close the doors and then hop into the SUV, disappearing down the next street. All of it happens within the course of a minute. Moments later, sirens can be heard as a police car makes it to the scene.
Their mommy will have a hard time cleaning up that mess.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Ash
Win: What are you doing?
Me: Waiting for you?
Win: Naked?
Me: I’m in a dressing room so…
Win: Want to make some money?
Me: Always.
Win: I’ll be there soon. It’ll be more fun in person.
“Everything okay in there?” the salesclerk asks, her voice bright and hopeful.
“Still trying things on.”
I toss my phone back into my purse so I can pull on another dress. All the options the lady keeps bringing me are too fancy. I’d felt like an idiot walking in wearing cutoff shorts, a T-shirt, and flip flops. The woman who greeted me could barely fake a smile. However, when she realized I was here for the Constantine appointment, her smile got genuine real fast.
“Do you have anything…” I trail off with a frown at my reflection. “Sexier?”
This dress looks like something an old lady would wear, not a woman about to go to dinner with a billionaire. It’s sunshine yellow with embroidered daisies on it for God’s sake.
“Mr. Constantine called ahead and asked me to locate our most demure dresses. I’m sorry if there was a miscommunication.”
Ugh.
Winston did this on purpose.
Free embarrassment. I didn’t even get paid for it. Fucker.
“No miscommunication,” I grumble. “He’s the one buying.”
A deep chuckle resounds from the other side of the door. All my hairs stand on end in anticipation of seeing the face that goes with that voice. His rap on the door is sharp and demanding.
“Let me in, little girl.”
“Daddy? Is that you?”
He snorts, waving his middle finger over the top of the door. “Open it, Cinderelliott.”
With a stupid grin on my face, I unlock the door. He flings it open, his starved blue eyes devouring me in one hungry sweep over my body. With the way his nostrils flare, I’d say he’s a fan of grandma dresses.
“Very conservative,” he observes, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.
“Thinking about wearing it to our wedding.”
He rolls his eyes. “Over my dead body.”
“The wedding or the dress?”
I laugh when he ignores me, leaving the dressing room. A few minutes later, he returns with something I approve of. Short, fitted, black, sexy.
“Better.” I take the dress from him and stand on my toes, waiting for a kiss. “Miss me?”
“Who are you again?”
“Your fiancée.”
His blue eyes darken, but he makes no move to kiss me. I let out a huff. Before I can pull away, he clutches my throat, hauling me closer. Our lips meet for a hot kiss. The groan of need that escapes him does wonders for my ego. Maybe I should wear the granny dress. All too soon, he releases me. I hook the new dress on the hanger and then turn my back to Win so he can unzip me out of this yellow nightmare.
“Hmm.” His grin is wolfish as he wraps his arms around my waist. “I thought you said you wanted to make some money.”
I meet his wicked stare in the mirror. “Does it involve this horrible dress?”
“Let me fuck you in it.”
Groaning, I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let me go.
“You’re not rich enough,” I sass back at him.
At this, he laughs, rich and delicious. “Funny.”
“I’m serious. You’re going to have to get a loan to make that happen.”
“Name your price, girlfriend.”
“Not going to happen.”
“Name. Your. Price.”
“A bazillion dollars and a yacht.”
“Bazillion isn’t a real number.”
“Fine, just a yacht.”
“No.” He slides his hands over my breasts, squeezing them. “How about three more years of college tuition dumped into your college fund?”
“To fuck me in this terrible dress?”
“And let me take pictures of course.” He smirks. “Take it or leave it.”
“Fine, but I get to wear the sexy dress to dinner.”
“I’ll allow it.”
I roll my eyes. “And you have to call me baby while we fuck.”
“You’re obnoxious.”
“You’re just mad I’ve upped my negotiation game.”
“Mad? No. Impressed? Still no.”
“Asshole.”
“Bend over and let me see your ass, Cinderelliott. I pay good money for it.”
Flipping him off, I pull away and then bend over dramatically, wiggling my ass at him. His blue eyes dance with mirth before he smacks my butt. Then, he pushes up the stiff, yellow material to reveal my black panties. Slowly, he drags them down my thighs, letting them drop to my ankles.
“Aren’t you afraid they’ll hear?” I ask, my voice low and husky with need.
His fingers skitter along my ass crack and then tease my pussy. “I’m not afraid of anything,” he murmurs. “Besides, they’re taking a fifteen-minute break.”
“Did you tell them we only need three?”
Smack!
I yelp and then scowl at him in the mirror.
“You’re a mouthy one,” he growls, dropping to his knees behind me. “Good thing I like your mouth.”
And holy shit do I love his mouth. I whimper when his tongue laps at me from behind. He’s not being shy or delicate. The man is messy and ravenous, licking and sucking and biting whatever flesh he can get to. He uses his hands to spread my cheeks apart in an obscene way that has me gasping. His tongue licks me in the most wicked place, and despite my skin turning red in the mirror, I love it. It’s filthy and wrong, but boy does it feel right. Seeing this powerful billionaire on his knees behind me is addictive—a sight I’ll never grow tired of seeing.
“Your asshole is adorable.” He nips at my butt cheek. “Baby.”
“I hate you,” I growl. “You always gotta ruin it.”
His chuckle is hot and tickles my thighs. I moan when he pushes his tongue into my pussy, seemingly eager to taste every inch of me. My legs tremble and buckle the closer he brings me to orgasm. All it takes is a hard suck of my clit, and I’m seeing stars, begging for him to give me more.
“Hands on the mirror, baby.” He stands up and smacks my ass again. “Let me push your face against it while I fuck you, and I’ll buy you your damn boat.”
I nod because who doesn’t want a yacht?
His fingers twist in my hair, and he yanks, turning my head so that my cheek rests on the cool surface. The sound of his belt coming undone and then the zipper going down makes me shiver. He manages to undress enough to pull his dick out and slaps it against my ass. I can’t see my reflection—thank god for that since this dress is frightening to look at—but I imagine he’s enjoying seeing me at his mercy. The groan that escapes him as he pushes into me with one thrust is empowering.
I drive this man crazy.
Me.
Not anyone else.
Just me.
“Unngh,” I garble out, unable to form words or complete thoughts.
He barks out a harsh laugh, his thrusting hard and nearly painful. All I can do is hold on while he takes everything I have to offer. From this angle and at the forceful way with whic
h he fucks into me, I lose all control with a yelp of his name. As I shudder with pleasure, he yanks out of me. Hot come splatters on my ass, claiming me as his.
“Oh no,” he rumbles as he unzips my dress. “I guess I’ll need to use this lovely dress to clean up the mess I made, baby.”
I hear the telltale sign of pictures being taken from his phone which causes a thrill to shoot through me. He then tugs the material down on the dress and uses it to swipe away his come. Once he’s satisfied, he strips it the rest of the way off me before pulling my panties back into place.
“You could go just like this,” he offers, his large palms roaming up my bare ribs. “I wouldn’t mind.”
“You and half of New York.” I reach over to grab the pretty black dress. “What should I name my yacht, fiancé?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. You’re going to name a boat too?”
“Naming boats is a thing,” I argue. “How about ‘Win’s Sugar Baby’?”
“How about no.”
I laugh as I slide on the dress. He zips me into it. His eyes narrow as he drinks in my appearance. Because I’m a brat, I spin around so he can admire the whole thing.
“Also a no,” he growls, reaching for the zipper.
He knows I look good in this dress and the spoiled boy doesn’t want anyone looking at what’s his.
“Too bad.” I smack his hand away. “I love it. I’m wearing this one.”
He gives my ass a squeeze. “Hurry and find some shoes to go with it before I change my mind.”
“Are you worried all the men we come across are going to try and steal your girlfriend away?” I taunt, grinning evilly at him.
“Not my girlfriend. And no.”
“So sure?”
“Let us not forget about the last man who tried it.”
I scowl at him. “What? What did you do?”
“Remember that twat at the bar who gave you his number?”
“Hot suited guy?”
His jaw clenches. “Wes. Unemployed now.”
“You’re evil, Winston Constantine.”
“Tell me something I don’t know, brat.”
My mind reels as I find a pair of shoes and Winston pays the bill. Winston does a great job of pretending he doesn’t care, but he does. He so does. It makes me want to sing it to him just to watch him deny it. I’m grinning by the time we make it to his car.
