Failure to Match (Bad Billionaire Bosses, #2)

by Kyra Parsi

Was she serious? “You want me to go on a date with Jack the fucking Ripper and you don’t think it’ll be that bad?”

“It was marked as ‘not applicable’ because it’s not applicable,” he retorted. “And why’s that?” “Because I don’t plan on having a sexual relationship with my wife.” I almost dropped my pen. My fingers went limp with the momentary shock of the statement, and I blinked, wondering if I’d heard him correctly.

Jackson Sinclair was looking at me like he was trying his damnedest to Jedi mind murder me. You know what he wasn’t doing? Pointing to the clitoris in my very well-drawn and anatomically correct illustration.

“Much like you, Miss Paquin, my father also found me to be… how did you put it? Ah, yes, abysmally inadequate.” He grinned, but it might as well have been a sneer. “The two of you would have gotten along splendidly. You despise me almost as much as he did.” Well. This was quite possibly the most awkward predicament I’d ever gotten myself into.

“Good girl,” he murmured, so quietly that I almost didn’t hear him. Wouldn’t have if he wasn’t standing so close. But I did. I definitely heard him.

“Stand up,” he ordered softly. “Someone might walk in.” “I’ve instructed the staff to stay out of this wing and security cameras have been turned off. I told you I don’t share, Jamie. You’re for my eyes only. Now… stand up. Show me how good you are at following instructions.”

I was fucked. Both literally and figuratively, I was well and truly and thoroughly fucked.

“I’m tempted to take you to my office, lock the door, and make you get on your knees for me.” His fingers dug into my flesh with promise. “I want you sucking me off before your date, and I want you swallowing every last fucking drop so if he tries to kiss you, you can let him know exactly what he’ll be tasting.”

He swallowed, cupping my face with his palm. With a delicate sweep of his thumb across my cheekbone, he said, “I am not worth your tears, Jamie.”