Free Filthy Gorgeous by Jodi Knight

seriousness, if you need to tie me up and continue with the questioning, I’d be completely down with that.”
    Ella forces a smile. “It says on your advert that you’re a qualified pastry chef. Is that true?”
    I shrug and take a swig of wine. “It’s true. I took evening classes, and I’m qualified enough to know that you’d look fantastic in a whipped-cream bikini.”
    She shoots me a don’t-mess-with-me stare, and my cock stiffens. It’s sexy as hell. I’m just about to pour another glass of wine when my cell buzzes. It’s Raj.
    “I have to get this,” I tell her, apologetically.
    “Petie’s new cage arrived,” he tells me. “Where should I put it?”
    “The cock cage? How big is it?”
    “Thirty-six inches.”
    “Thirty-six inches? That’s pretty wide. Put it in my bedroom. I’ll sort it later.”
    I hang up and look over to Ella. Her eyes are wide and she’s frantically tapping away on her phone.
    “I’m sorry,” I apologize.
    Her eyes meet mine. “No problem. I can think of a thousand things I’d rather do than be here interviewing you, anyway.”
    Yeah, right. Look at the twinkle in her eyes; that’s the green light I needed to make my move. I put my glass on the table. Drawing small circles on the back of her hand, I tell her. “You’re right. Let’s forget this whole charade, grab the bill, and head back to my place. There are much easier ways to get to know each other. I have a Dom Pérignon chilling in the refrigerator.”
    She blinks. “Excuse me?”
    “Oh, come on. Don’t go all shy on me.”
    Ella stands up, her body rigid with rage. Was it something I said?
    “You’re unbelievable!”
    I smile. “Believe it or not, you are not the first woman to tell me that.”
    Yep, now she’s breathing through her teeth like a bison in mating season. And it’s sexy as hell. And I’m hard, again . Nothing gives me wood like a beautiful woman filled with angst and rage.
    My father was right: I am a masochist.
    Most men tuck tail and run at the first sight of an angry woman. Not me. It’s a huge turn on. I like them volcanic, and if we don’t head to my apartment soon, there’s going to be one hell of an explosion.
    There are only three reasons as to why a woman could be this angry on a first date. Firstly, she feels like she doesn’t stand a chance with the guy. I think that I’ve made it pretty clear I’d love to do the horizontal hoopla with her.
    Secondly, she feels as though the man doesn’t care. Wrong again. I care enough to sit here looking like the fucking Hamburglar while chewing on the brain matter of a goddamn shrimp.
    Lastly, she’s horny.
    This is it. This is the reason.
    Women hate to say it out loud on a first date. They think it makes them seem promiscuous or easy. She’s playing the ‘Little Miss Reluctant’ act. I’ve seen it a thousand times over. Let’s get real here, under that flimsy dress, Ella Bryant is creaming up like the topping on a cherry sundae.
    “You’re very combative this evening, Miss Bryant. I have just the remedy for aggression …”
    “And what would that be?” Her eyes fall to my crotch. “Thirty-six inches?”
    Looking straight into those hazel eyes, I reply. “Better. A Slade special.”
    She throws a few bills on the table and I follow her outside onto the busy street. As Ella attempts to flag down a cab, I can’t resist one last dig. “You get all dressed up for me and now you high-tail it out of here. What gives?”
    She spins around in full-out combat mode. “You think I dressed up for you? If you must know, I’m going on a real date with a real man.”
    I take a step back and yell through gritted teeth. “Well good luck to him!”
    He’s going to damn well need it.
    I stand on the sidewalk, mulling over plan B.
    I’m done with crazies. I’ll head home, speed dial one of my Sladies, and give her the ride of her life. Perhaps Sabrina can cover the Friday shift until I find a replacement; that girl has the stamina