“You have a lot of theories,” he muses, “but where’s your proof?”

“The only proof I need is what I feel and see with my own eyes.”

“That’s a pretty loose base to build a case on. Our eyes and emotions lie to us all the time.”

Scooting closer, Rebel’s arm snakes out to gather both of my thighs together and draw my calves across his lap. Removing my shoes, he drops them to the floor. I watch as he casually begins pressing the pads of his thumbs into the arch of one foot.

I will not moan.

The massage is unexpected and feels way too damn good, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I enjoy it. What are his motivations? Why is he being nice?

After a few moments of silence, I realize the conversation—or maybe it was more of an argument—has died. I’m glad. If I’m going to spend any length of time with him, I don’t want to spend it fighting. Casting my gaze out, I think about how terribly off the rails the family dinner went and decide this is the perfect opportunity to finally learn something new about my mystery man.

“How long have you lived here?”

Rebel’s attention lifts to take in the space around us. “Five, maybe six years.”

“It’s nice,” I tell him. “Like, really nice.” What I mean to say is it’s expensive. On this side of town, a loft space like his is way out of my price range. It’s not even because it’s in a good neighborhood or that it’s state-of-the art in any way. It’s a hundred-year-old restored warehouse converted into high-priced apartments chosen for its central downtown location in an area the city wants to revitalize. For that reason alone, it’s prime real estate. It’s a rip-off if you ask me, but I can’t argue with its beauty.

Rebel chuckles beneath his breath. “Thanks.”

“You’re dad mentioned you were into computers? What, exactly, do you do to afford something like this?” I ask, tilting my head back to analyze the open crosshatch of steel beams and giant metal air ducts lining the ceiling. People really pay for this. It’s a nice space, but I still prefer a traditional home any day of the week.

“Sizing me up for a loan, pussycat?”

“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “Just wondering how many diamonds I can squeeze out of you before I kick you to the curb.”

A grin splits across his face, and the way it lights up his eyes momentarily steals my breath. I wonder if he realizes how incredibly handsome he is. “Ah, well, then. I can certainly give you a few of those, but I warn you, I have a very stiff payment policy.”

“Oh?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow as my mood instantly shifts to match his.

Adjusting my foot, he rubs the heel across the hard length hugging his inner thigh. Made from thin cotton, the lounge pants leave nothing to the imagination.

I lick my lips, and his gaze drops to follow the movement. My stomach is fluttering madly, deep wells of desire pooling between my legs. Sitting forward, I reach out, tracing my fingertips over his hard cock.

Rebel’s head falls back at the contact, and he moans deep in his chest. This man makes my mouth water. Swinging my legs around, I sit up on my knees for a better angle and slip my hand inside the opening of his pants. My fingers find his soft, silky flesh, and I trace the thick vein that runs from base to tip. Rimming the tip of his cock, I spread the drop of satiny precum, using it to lubricate the head as I give it a gentle squeeze.

“Fuck, Josephine, don’t you dare stop.” Rebel’s eyes are shut tight, his throat working on a swallow. Mouth watering for a taste, I lean in and press my lips against the tough column of skin below his jaw in an open-mouth kiss at the same time I wrap my hand around the base of his cock and give it a firm stroke.

Despite the lust consuming us both, I have enough presence of mind to know that I retain the upper hand. Rebel is gone, his brain arrested by the need to come. So far, he’s managed to dodge my questions, but not anymore.

“What do you do for a living, Rebel?” I purr as I pull his cock from his pants and get my first good look at it in ages. It’s long and thick, the head swollen and flushed a rich purple hue. I bite into my bottom lip as I close my fist around him and work his length up and down.

Rebel’s hand finds my thigh and grabs on, clenching and unclenching in time to each pump of his cock. His hips lift to my touch, and his lips part as his breathing grows labored.

“IT,” he gasps out.

“You fix computers?”

“I program them. God,” he groans, his head kicking back against the charcoal cushion. “Suck it, Josephine. I need you to suck it.”

I shake my head, refusing his request even as my mouth waters for a taste. “Do you like your job?”

“Yes,” he hisses through his teeth. He’s barely holding on, and I grin wickedly, loving that I have this control over him.

“What about women? Do you have many of those?” I ask, veering onto another topic that’s been weighing on my mind. I’m heading into dangerous territory. I know this. I’m not even sure I want to hear the answer to this question. What will I do if he tells me he has a girlfriend, or a wife, waiting for him in some other city?

“What?”

“How many lovers do you have?” I repeat, pumping him harder and faster, drawing another pained moan from him.

Without warning, Rebel grabs my hand and forces it to still. His onyx eyes bore into mine, and for a moment, time stops. The only movement is the rise and fall of our chests as we struggle to tame our ragged breaths and the occasional twitch of his cock in our combined hands.

“Just one. You.”

My chest feels like it just split open. Warmth floods me and a knot of emotion clogs my throat. I want to ask him how long and where Red factors in, how, or if she still does? Is he playing me? Is he just telling me what I want to hear? I have so many questions, but his finger pressing against my lips stalls them.

“Not another word, Josephine, unless you want to spend the rest of the night with a gag in your mouth.”

I open my mouth to issue a protest, but Rebel’s eyes flare with warning, and the words die instantly.

“Good girl,” he praises. Cupping my jaw, Rebel presses his thumb beneath my chin and tilts my head back to accept his mouth. His tongue dives inside, licking and suckling mine in that aggressive but highly sensual way of his.

For a moment, I forget myself. Releasing my hold on him, I move to straddle his legs, ready to throw myself back into the deep end, but Rebel’s forceful hands on my shoulders bar me from getting any closer.

Confused, I break our kiss and sit back to give him a questioning look. “Bedroom?”

“After,” he says, a wicked smile crossing his face. “Get down on your knees, pussycat. I want to see that pretty mouth wrapped around my cock.”

NINE

I’m on my knees before Rebel. He’s making incredible sounds from deep in his throat that spur me on, fueling my own desire and raising it to a fever pitch. With my fist pumping his shaft, I form a tight seal with my mouth and take him to the back of my throat.

My jaw is tired and a strand of my hair is caught in my eye, but I don’t stop. I don’t slow down. I keep up the punishing pace, my head bobbing faster at his command. Rebel’s fingers spear my hair, and he forces my face down as he thrusts his hips up. His cock fills my throat, and I gag. At the sound, Rebel’s takes over completely, driving himself down my throat with each brutal thrust. The more I choke on it, the faster and harder he goes.

Despite my inability to breathe and the sloppy sounds of saliva dripping from my mouth, I feel him thicken against my tongue, taking up any negative space there might have been. Tears leaking from my eyes, all I can do is brace myself. With one final thrust, Rebel shoves my head down. His cock fills my throat, forcing it open, and I hold my breath as a hot wash of semen pours down the back of it.