“Uh…fuck yeah?” The fact that he actually sounded surprised nearly made me laugh. Sheesh. What kind of women had this guy been dating that he really thought withholding his name would be in any way acceptable?

“You must not take it personally,” he said finally. “It is simply a precaution required by the…organization I’m a part of.”

Shit.

That could only mean one thing.

He really was a fucking crook, and yes, I am aware that some girls think it would be all kinds of sexy to date someone whose family was featured in Narcos. And that’s fine. No judgment. We all have our own favorite ice cream flavors, and it just so happened that those girls liked theirs mixed with bits of blowfish, just to spice things up. Nothing more exciting than knowing there was a one percent chance your next spoonful could poison you, right?

Me, however…

I just wanted my ice cream nice and regular, and honestly, with all the Dahlia-related trauma that I had yet to recover from, even something as basic as butter pecan or cookies and cream even felt too adventurous.

I just wanted to go vanilla all the way, and this sheikh?

Everything about him screamed trouble and danger that if he were an ice cream flavor, he wouldn’t even be on the fucking menu. Wouldn’t even manage to get certified by the FDA, probably. He was that kind of bad news…and it was just my luck that I ended up on his radar.

“What about yours, Ms. Teller?”

The question threw me off, and I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I never actually asked for your first name from the lawyers—-”

“Asshole.”

“I never thought I’d care enough to know.”

“God, you really are such a fucking asshole.”

But because he was an asshole, I might as well have been insulting him in Kiswashili, with the way none of them even managing to leave the tiniest scratch on his bullet-proof ego.

“Well, Ms. Teller?”

Knowing that this was yet another thing that was pointless to withhold, I said reluctantly, “Story.”

And then I started counting.

One…two…three…

The sheikh threw his head back with a laugh.

99.9% of the time, that was the reaction I would get, every time people found out what my name was.

“Your parents named you Story…Teller?”

Feeling defensive on my dad’s behalf, I almost slipped up about Dahlia having it worse before her name change but was saved from doing so when the waiters came back to serve us coffee.

Phew.

When we were alone again, I didn’t give him a chance to pick up where we left off and instead changed the subject right away, asking, “Why do you have to do this?”

“Fucking you?”

My teeth gnashed as I counted to three.

“And filling your womb with my cum?”

I went on counting to ten…twenty…but when I saw him smirking, I simply couldn’t take it anymore. I took a deep breath, prepared to give him a good mouthful…but instead I found the wind knocked out of my sails when he suddenly spoke.

“I think I’ve forgotten to inform you, habibti. The apartment I’ve arranged for your use is ready, and I’ll need you to move in within the week.”

I nearly ended up throwing my cup of coffee at his face. “Excuse me?”

He took the coffee cup out of my hands before answering, and wisely so, since his next words were pretty much designed to have me blow my top. “I’m working on a very tight deadline. It’s imperative that you bear my child as soon as possible.”

Deadline?

He needed to knock me up fast…because of a fucking DEADLINE?

My hand was up before I could think about what I was doing, and I would’ve slapped his face in the next moment if he hadn’t caught my wrist in time. I saw the gleam in his gaze and realized right away that he had been expecting me to try and hurt him…because he had been goading me.

YEARGH!

“No wonder you need to pay someone to bear your kid,” I raged. “Are you so fucking bored that you only get a kick out of degrading—-”

“It’s only with you,” he interrupted silkily, “that I’m like this.”

“Fuck you.” I tried yanking my hand out of his hold, but it was just impossible.

“I can’t stop thinking how angry sex with you would be amazing—-”

“God, you’re such an ass!” I made another attempt to free my right hand out of his grip, but when this failed, and I was still seeing red—-

Clomp!

I saw him wince as my kitten-heeled shoe landed hard on his foot, but my success was short-lived. I didn’t even have time to crow or snicker, and the only warning I had was his dark eyes glinting as he purred, “You will love paying for that, my Story.”

Did he just say I was going to love—-AAH!

The good news: he finally let go of my right hand.

The bad news: he only did so…in order to put his hand under my dress.


Tags: Marian Tee Romance
Source: www.StudyNovels.com