Rich People Problems

viii | a man who grovels

JACE

WHEN I FIRST agreed to this engagement, I didn't realize just how crazy this infuriating woman would drive me.

Every five seconds, something completely out-of-the-blue came out of that pretty little mouth of hers that left me speechless. It was entirely my fault, as much as I hated to admit it. I should've done my research. I should've known that nothing would have been easy.

When Alex first told me about the hopes of a formal alliance between the two companies, I obliged for the sake of finally being able to do something for him. It seemed simple enough: marry the heiress, run the company until she was ready, and keep her out of trouble.

But, like an idiot, I didn't think that Kimberly Nyla Astor would be such a pain in the ass.

Would be so damn infuriating.

Would be a force of nature, destroying the sense of normalcy I developed.

Would be the loud distraction I tended to avoid.

Would be so... so... fucking sexy.

It didn't help that she embodied both of the stupid nicknames I had for her, Venus more than anything. Even though I didn't admit it at the time, the goddess was my true inspiration for her. Mentioning the toxic planet had just been a defense mechanism because I was the idiot who would gladly be in her presence, even if it meant burning up and dying.

Idiot doesn't even begin to cover it.

Everytime she opened that smart mouth, I would imagine those red-painted lips wrapped around my cock, finally getting her to shut up with those sly and cheeky remarks. I didn't want to feel this way. It complicated the shit out of things given the contract I impulsively signed.

The contract made it impossible for me to find any type of sexual release in another woman for two years. Any woman who wasn't the woman who didn't want to fuck me was off-limits for two-fucking-years. I could do this.

This was bad. It hasn't even been forty-eight hours since I met her and I've lost any hold I had on my brain.

I couldn't do this.

I didn't do things impulsively. Yet, something about her made all rational, reasonable thoughts fly out of my brain.

I was expecting her to be more of a—for lack of a better word—mess. Except, she wasn't and this was the issue. Alex warned me about how she was 'troubled', so I was expecting some grungy, I-don't-give-a-fuck-about-anything girl to show up in my office the day she unexpectedly popped by.

Instead, a classy woman showed up without a single hair out of place. Long, tan legs. Tits meant to worship. An ass made to grab. Hair meant to pull.

Stop.

God, this is not what I should be reminiscing about while she was sitting next to me in the small space of my car looking like that.

When I first got to her apartment, her teasing comment about not going to her room unless I wanted to see her naked sent dangerous images into my head. Her coming up to me—her chest merely inches from my chest—didn't help my need to fuck her against those windows for everyone to see.

The damn red too.

The heat that rushed down to my cock at the thought of her wearing red under that dangerous dress was enough to make me want to pin her down to the couch, lift up that dress, and pull down her—what I'm assuming to be—red panties to shove into her mouth.

Inadvertently, my grip on the wheel tightened. I could feel her eyes on me, but it took everything in me to not turn my head.

I wasn't the type of person to have these thoughts. I didn't do relationships. I didn't have the time or patience to go about them. No-strings-attached described my sexual history for as long as I could remember.