<div class="floatright">(https://d1w8cc2yygc27j.cloudfront.net/-4775790966004882767/3676961250335161489.jpg)</div>The whiskey both cooled my rage, letting my eyes continue to burn over your form, and fueled it. I was aware that not only had I just thrown down a gauntlet with my words, but I’d basically slapped you twice in the face with it as well.<br/><br/>You were supposed to be my host, a business probability… and yet I hadn’t been able to help myself. I was so deep in powerful ire that I couldn’t control my tongue or my urge to rise to your challenge.<br/><br/>Apparently, you<em>loved</em>that.<br/><br/>For other men - lesser men, smarter men - would have walked away far before I’d finished taking a drink from the glass I’d refilled. You, however, came closer. You weren’t burned by the fire in my eyes. Watching yours, I knew you were drawn to it. That surprised me enough to keep me pliant to your touch as you spun me in front of you.<br/><br/>One of your hands takes control of me by wrapping around my neck. The other tugs the whiskey glass from my own grasp and sets it aside as my feet shuffle between yours, thighs grinding together with immediate need as your words drift over my skin. You wanted my spark, my fire. We’d barely spoken two civil words to each other and you already had bigger plans for our future.<br/><br/>The hold you have on me, however, isn’t absolute. Not yet. It might be knee-wobblingly dominant and maddeningly erotic, but I wasn’t about to give in just because you knew how to spin pretty words and your touch sent sparks igniting across my skin. You wanted me, and I wasn’t going to be easy.<br/><br/>The rest of the party fell away, however. Our audience could have been blades of grass for all the attention I paid them. Reaching up to cover your forearm with my hand, I kept your grip on my neck as I spun away from your body and turned around to face you again. Stepping into your body, your hand still around my neck and arm now trapped between my breasts, I turn my blue eyes up to yours.<br/><br/>“I’ve never broken anything but hearts, Fontana.” My words matched yours. Low, cadenced. Like the kind you whisper to a lover in the middle of a bed big enough to hold a dozen of you. “And I haven’t even said yes to a date yet. Or a contract. We're still in the middle of your party. I don't see any sort of bed. What makes you think I’ll be doing any kind of fucking with you??”