: Chapter 32

Weird, weird, weird. That conversation with Whit was freakin’ weird!

How did we get from growly declarations of I don’t like it and hot kinds of promises to apathy? How did we go from I’ll send you on your dates with my cum dripping between your legs to careful you don’t drink the anal lemonade!

He isn’t acting like my lover. Or my big brother. More like my pimp. My nonsexual pimp. I mean, he’s sexual, but—

Urgh! This makes no sense.

George, Whit’s driver, picked me up not long after we ended our call, and I spent the ride into the office scanning the dating app on my phone, making “connections” that I’m really not interested in. But if he’s going to start vetting my dates—like, did I even agree to that?—then I’ll have to be prepared. Prepared to tell more lies. It’s like the more I feel I need to tread carefully, the more the universe conspires against me.

The afternoon passes quickly. I check in with Jody again and listen to her complain about her being the size of a bus. Brin calls but doesn’t mention our missed lunch date to the canelés place. I can’t say I’m surprised or disappointed, and while yesterday was great, I could do without feeling like I’m undertaking a deposition. I also don’t think we’re fooling anyone about me and Whit being employee and boss. Not that I won’t still insist on the charade playing out.

I’m really not looking forward to going back to Whit’s to get dressed for my fictitious date. Worse, I’ll have to leave and find a coffee shop to sit sad sack and alone in. So I’m pretty happy when I’m hit by a wave of genius.

That might be overstating it a little, but it works for me.

I don’t go home. Well, not until it’s gone eight in the evening. My grand plan? I didn’t have to go through the motions—my fake date could be straight from work! And so it is—a date with myself! No preening or priming, no effort at all, in fact!

I’d called George and told him I didn’t need a ride home, then I caught the bus into town and spend some time wandering around Liberty London, which is this funky department store that isn’t like a department store at all. It looks like something out of the Tudor period with its black and white façade, and while I’m sure there are buildings in London that are from the Tudor reign, I’m guessing Liberty’s isn’t. It’s still pretty old, though. And I love it. I’d sprayed myself in different perfumes, wandered along the cosmetics counters, and drooled over a couple of ridiculously priced purses. Then I wandered up and down the ornate staircases and perused the shelves at my leisure, but ultimately, I’d left the place empty-handed.

I didn’t need anything after Whit’s spontaneous shopping extravaganza.

I spent another hour soaking up the atmosphere as I’d strolled around the theater district. As the light begins to change, the evening rolling on, the theaters began to shimmer and shine, and it was wonderful.

It feels freaking awesome to be in London. I’m so buzzed to be here and went on to congratulate myself on my good life choices by treating myself to a bowl of katsu fries and a fancy lemonade (minus the occurrence of surprise anal) at a nearby cocktail bar. I even gotten hit on, but that wasn’t the highlight of my day because that comes when I’d keyed in the code to get back into Whit’s apartment, finding him already at home…

My smile literally stretches across my face when I see his fancy Rimowa cabin bag in the hallway. Slipping off my coat, I practically skip into the living room. Doesn’t seem to matter what the head says, the heart (and libido) want what they want. And what they—I—want, is standing in the middle of his living room, dressed more like someone who robs banks for a living than the CEO of one.

“You’re back!”

“I am.” My heart feels like it an elevator that drops a floor as I notice the lack of warmth in his tone. Oh, yeah. I’ve been on a so-called date. I guess that’s why his gaze falls over me, like he’s looking for some change.

“If I’d known, I would’ve come straight home.”

“What about your date?”

I shrug. I would’ve fake cancelled my fake date, I don’t say, relieved when he doesn’t demand more. “How come you’re home early?”

“Things got sorted quicker than I thought they would.” He pulls out a black beanie from the back pocket of his tight running pants, throwing it to the couch. Judging by the color in his cheeks, he’s recently come back from a run, rather than about to head out for one.

“Cool.” God, this is awkward. As excited as was to open the door and realize he’s home, it’s not like I could’ve launched myself into his arms. Sort of, hi, honey, I’m home! So what do I do now? Just stand here, making it more awkward than it already is?

“How was Garrett?” Despite his mild tone, his eyes glitter heatedly.

“Meh. He was okay.” I can do this, I tell myself. I can sell it. I sold him on the idea of us in the first place, didn’t I?

“Well, that’s nice.”

“Nice. That about sums my evening up.” It’s time to get this show on the road, I decide, as my feet begin to move again. Whit tracks my steps across the living room, and I drop into an armchair with a sigh. “But you know what no one ever told me?”

“That you make the hottest sounds when I’m balls deep inside you?”

My mouth drops open in shock, and my insides seem set to throb. That wasn’t the direction I was going in. Shouldn’t I be used to his smutty segues by now?

Apparently, I’m not.

“Was that not it?” he asks, all innocent eyes as he crosses his arms at the hem of his fleece sweater.

“No, it was not.”

“Then I give in.” He gives a quick shrug before quickly pulling the sweater up his torso then over his head. “Sorry for interrupting, but you were saying?”

“I was saying…” something before this dizzying visual assault. Does the man not own T-shirts? But I guess that’s the point, like his words, the whole tan, toned and lickable sight of him meant to provoke. And it does. It provokes all kind of sensations as pleasure spirals its way through me, his muscles rippling and flexing as he sets his bottle water on the floor next to a rolled towel.

“Something that that no one ever told you,” he prompts as he gracefully lowers himself to the floor. He swipes a hand through his ruffled hair before resting his wrists on his bent knees. “Now that I think about it, it couldn’t have been the conversation we had about the noises you make.”

“What’s wrong with me?” I give my head a tiny shake. It can be hard to follow Whit’s conversations at the best of times, but when he’s shirtless… “I mean, what’s wrong with the noises I make?”

“There’s nothing wrong with them.” He reaches for what I thought was a wrapped towel but is actually a foam cylinder. “Quite the opposite.”

I startle a little as, in one fluid motion, he drops to the floor in a push-up position, swiping his legs behind him.

“What are you doing?” My voice is a little high as I watch him readjust the foam thing under the front of his left thigh.

“Stretching my quads.” His explanation sounds so reasonable as he slides the opposite knee to hip level. But the way he’s poised is not so reasonable—he looks like he’s about to show the foam a really good time. I startle as he suddenly glances up at me. “They’re a little taut.”

I know that feeling.

“I’ve never…” seen him deliver from this angle. Positioned over the roller on his palms, veins, tendons, and muscles pop in his toned arms. And his ass? Is it any wonder my thoughts go straight to the gutter.

“Never what?”

I give my head a sharp shake as though to rouse myself. Was I even speaking? I thought I was just perving. Whit’s response to my non-response is ripple of motion as his hips dip and he grinds—yeah, grinds—working himself over the foam cylinder.

Absolutely like he was doing it.

He flexes and the thing rolls forward and back with his movements. But that’s not the important part to note because this vantage point must be the reason people install mirrored ceilings.

“You seem deep in thought,” he says, without lifting his head.

“Yeah. Thinking,” I answer like a lady Neanderthal. Where is there a club and a cave when you need one?

“Thinking about what?”

Thinking about how this must be what you look like doing me. “Sorry, what?”

“Maybe this will refresh your memory.” His words are a groan of pleasured agony as he slowly undulates as though intent on hitting the roller’s pleasure spots. Lord knows he’s certainly hitting mine. I’m not sure about my memory but I might need to refresh my panties.

What in the world and, “How?”

He lifts his head, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip. My insides begin to pulse and tighten, reacting as though I was that roller.

“I was doing something a little like this when I said ‘you make the hottest little moans, has anyone ever told you that?’ And you said—”

“We weren’t doing that.” My words fall quickly, a snapshot of memory flashing overwhelming me suddenly. “We were in the elevator, and you were—” I roll my lips inward, catching the words just in time.

“Oh, that’s right,” he says with a faintly evil-looking grin. “My mistake. I wasn’t inside you. My cock wasn’t, at least.” He drops lower to the ground, his golden eyes still focused on mine. “I suppose it can’t be classified as a conversation unless you count ungh…”—he gives the earthiest, most porn-worthy moan as his body surges over the roller—“as a coherent response.”

I blink. Swallow. Then the denials begin. “I’m not sure I’ve ever made that noise.”

“I’ll have to record you next time. Do you have a preference between audio and video?” he asks with so much incitement, my cheeks heat hotter than the sun.

“That’s not happening.” I reach out and swipe up the newspaper, unfolding it with a decisive thwap. I stare at it. Through it. Okay, I peek over the top just in time to see Whit lower his head, giving me a stellar view of the muscles in his shoulders, back, and lats. He laughs softly, the gorgeous, horrible man. I shake the newspaper again, turn the page and stare unseeingly as I try to calm my riotous insides.

“Amelia?”

“Yeah?”

“What is it you’re doing?” he purrs.

Trying not to watch you giving that roller a really good time. “What, you’ve never seen anyone read a newspaper before?”

“I didn’t know you were interested in current affairs. French current affairs.”

“What?” A sinking feeling seeps through me.

“When did you learn to speak French?”

I’m still chuckling to myself as I strip off my track pants. The roller was a stroke of genius—the way her arms had dropped as though they’d suddenly turned to concrete, crushing the newspaper. The priceless look on her face.

She was so fucking riled watching my incitement—so ready to go. I know if I’d slipped my hand into her underwear, she’d be dripping wet. It’s like a sign from the heavens that this is what I need to do. Seduce her. Not just sexually. I need to get her to let her guard down, to step away from whatever fears she’s clinging to, and I’m going to do that by delivering the woo. Big time.

I’d left Zurich full of plans for a confessional. I was going to tell her that the thought of her wandering around museums and art galleries with some other fuck was driving me insane. That I wanted to be the one next to her, carrying the program, reaching for her hand. Stealing kisses in secluded corners. But then George has picked me up from the airport and mentioned how Miss Mimi hadn’t needed a ride home from work. She’d told him she was “going out.”

My heart sank like a rock from a thirty-story building. Then came the venom. She’d done it. She was out with another man, and I had no one to blame but myself for allowing that to happen. I wasn’t sure of my plans when Beckett booted me from the afternoon meeting, but I was certain they would involve making sure she didn’t go on her date. By any means at my disposal. But she was already out.

The apartment felt strangely hollow without her. I’d found myself wandering around it, looking for signs of her existence. Her duffel coat hanging in the cloaks closet. A half-eaten bar of Godiva chocolate in the fridge, not with squares snapped off, but with teeth marks. The scent of her perfume in the hallway drifting all the way to the spare room. A wave of displeasure roiled up my body as I’d spotted bags and boxes with the name of Sunday’s boutique stashed in the room. She’d slept in my bed last night, but her shit was still in this room. I’d stalked to the closet, summarily squashing a bunch of hanging garments together, swiping them up before hanging them in my walk-in robe. I’d made a couple of trips before I’d whipped out drawers full of underwear and the slinky bits of nightwear I’d chosen for her, before dumping them to my bed.

Fuck the idea of her sleeping and getting dressed elsewhere.

And then, as I didn’t have another phone to smash, I decided a run through Hyde Park might get rid of this churning, pent-up displeasure. It turned out to be a long run, and I’d ended up passing by Serpentine Lake. I usually avoid that stretch of the park thanks to the heavier foot traffic, both tourists and the webbed-feet kind. Flocks of swans and geese that make their home on the lake and can be a little unpredictable to navigate. But finding myself there, my strides had begun to slow as I’d watched people out on the water in bright-blue pedalos. Tourists, probably. It struck me that Mimi would enjoy the experience. It would probably appeal to her sense of fun and ridiculousness. I couldn’t quite see myself pedaling through the water, but a rowing boat might be an option. It was hardly going to be a gondola on Venice canals, but it could be a possibility. I’d set off once again, a plan forming in my head, and by the time I’d gotten back to my apartment, I didn’t want to smash my phone anymore. I felt resolved. I had a plan. I was ready to pull out all the stops, whether she was ready for it or not.

And then I’d dug out the roller. My quads were stiff after my punishing run, but I’d usually just do a few stretches. The fact that I’d pulled it out of the gym feels like a form of divine intervention, I think with a smug-feeling grin.

She doesn’t want to date me but looks at me like I’m the juiciest piece of mango, the most decadent piece of cake.

I drop my track pants to my bed, on top of the piles of underwear and nightclothes I’d dumped there earlier, then pad naked to the bathroom. How long before she finds them there? Before she asks why?

Switching on the shower, I relish the burst of cold water against my chest as I step under it. The water heats instantly as press my hands to the tiles and tip my head under the spray, allowing the water to sluice over me. I am going to woo Mimi, woo her so fucking hard she won’t know what’s coming for her. I’m going to kill her with kindness—render her helpless by orgasm overload. I’ll make her beg for it, beg for me. And then? I suppose we’ll see what truth comes out. For both of us. We’ll see what the future holds, because the way I feel right now, fuck six months. Sixty years won’t give me my fill.

Suitably soaked, I slick my hair back from my face and reach for the bodywash, slicking it to my hand. I smear it down my chest, then farther to where my cock is still semihard at the thought of her watching earlier. Her mouth softly open, her eyes dark. I bet she’s wet after my filthy little show.

“Fuck.” I abandon all thoughts of washing and make a soapy stroke along the hard length. It feels so good. Better still when I close my eyes and imagine her in front of me. On her knees. Her pink-painted nails digging into my thigh muscles, her full lips stretched wide around my girth.

“Ungh.” As with any kind of pleasure, the first touch is sublime and melts through my body like sugar on the tongue. A sugar addiction isn’t a thing for no reason. I swipe my fist over my thick crown, one touch blending into another. The weight of my cock is a comfort, hard and slick against my palm, and the soapy upstroke a satisfying second best to her mouth.

I want to come. To come in her. Come on her. Have her on her knees in front of me. I find myself smiling at all the ways I’m going to have her as I indulge in this little prelude.

She’ll be so wet for me.

Fuck, I want it. I want to feel her on my tongue, feel her squirming to get away as I make her drip between her legs.

I swirl my palm over my glans as I let the water fall down my body in a teasing cascade. Another layer of sensation. Another flicker of memory as I tip my head back and groan her name. The rough sound echoes over the noise of the shower, but there follows a tiny gap—a divine interference or a tiny stutter in the flow, I’m not sure. What’s important is how I hear that feminine gasp. Fisting my cock, I turn my head and spot the object of my obsession on the other side of the bathroom. Her golden hair is piled on top of her head, her slim fingers clutching a downy towel at her chest.

“Have you come to join me?”

Her head moves from side to side. “My drawers were empty.”

“What was that? You’ll have to come closer,” I taunt. “I can’t hear you.”

“My pajamas have been dumped on your bed,” she says a little louder as though this is reason enough for her to be standing in here. Her eyes dart between my face and my hand as I give my cock another experimental tug.

She releases a physical, shivering breath, then ducks her head. “I was looking for my clothes.”

“In my bathroom?” I throw back my head as I force myself to keep my hand light. “Fuck, yes. This feels so much better now that you’re watching.”

“I—” She looks frantic for a moment as her fight-or-flight instinct kicks in, but when I groan her name again, she releases a stuttering breath.

“You’re thinking of me?”

“Like you’re on your knees in front of me.”

“You are so bad.” She shakes her head again as though denying my words.

“You say that like it doesn’t turn you on. Your clothes are on my bed, which is where you should be. Get in it or get in here,” I growl, still working my cock. My abs flex, my thigh muscles as hard as steel. “Then I won’t have to imagine.”

She hesitates but ultimately responds to my goading by dropping the towel where she stands. Her hand slowly rises to her hip, her expression suddenly full of incitement.

“Amelia.”

“What? I’m just giving you a little something to work with.”

“Get. The. Fuck. In here.”

Her smile rises slowly, then she turns on her heel as over her shoulder she mouths, “Make me.” And then she’s gone.

I flick off the water, grabbing my towel with a grumbled, “This is how accidents fucking happen,” as I hurriedly step onto it so as not to break my neck. “You’d better make good use of your head start,” I yell, whipping the cotton up to wrap around my waist. “Because I’m coming for you.” In response, there comes a peal of giggles and the patter of fast feet out of my bedroom. “And when I get you, there’s no mercy.”

The giggle turns to a shriek as I stalk out into the hallway, a blur of skin and blond disappearing around the corner.

Tension and exhilaration expand in my chest as I follow her, my tone very fi-fi-fo-fum as I call after her. “Amelia…”

“Ha, that’s not gonna work today.” She laughs, her bare feet pattering against the wooden floor.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I can barely keep a straight face as I round the corner and spot her on the other side of the open-plan space. In the kitchen, her back is to me, the island blocking the rest of my view. As I get closer, the sight of her just takes my breath away. Long and lithe through the leg, her arse is shaped like a heart and her hips softly flared like an instrument begging to be played.

“Looking for protection.” Her head swings briefly over her shoulder, her eyes a bright flash before she returns to hurriedly opening and closing drawers.

“You’re out of luck if you’re looking for a shower cap.”

“I can totally see you wearing one.” She giggles her answer, letting out a small “Eep!” as she slides another look my way before returning to rummage again. As I reach the island, she pivots to face me, her hair coming loose in wispy blond waves. “Don’t come any closer,” she warns. She slides the hair out of her face with the back of her hand, and in the other, she brandishes a copper spatula.

“How can I not, Amelia? How can I resist so much temptation.” My gaze roams over her. She doesn’t miss my meaning.

“Rude!” She presses her left arm across her breasts, her fingers curling inward.

“Need a hand?” I take a step closer, and another, Amelia matching each for another backward.

“Not even.” She brandishes the spatula my way again.

“That’s an interesting choice of weapon,” I say, ignoring her warning.

“I mean it—don’t come any closer!”

“I mean it too, my gorgeous little brat.” Exhilaration floods my chest as I dash froward and make a grab for her. Squealing, she pivots and runs in the direction of the dining table. Chasing Mimi would be a pleasurable experience any day of the week, but a naked Mimi? It’s fucking awesome.

“Stay away!” From the other side of the table, she laughingly wields her spatula. “Oh, my gosh, I can’t believe you’re chasing me!”

“I can’t believe you’d defy me in such a brazen manner.” I glance at the wall of windows. “Not to mention giving the good people of Kensington such a show.”

Her gaze follows mine. “But this is privacy glass, right? No one can see in—we’re high up!

“Hussy,” I say with a frown I won’t hold. “Can’t hold weapons and hide everything.” My gaze dips pointedly. “Not that I’m complaining. Come over here and let me see that pussy better.”

“Hey!” She presses the spatula over the area in question. “No fair—you have a towel.”

“Because you dropped yours like a checkered flag.”

“It’s only fair you drop yours, too,” she demands laughingly.

“I’m all for equality, but do you know how hard it is to run with a hard-on?”

“Why don’t you show me.” She tilts her head provocatively, her lips a tempting little moue.

“I’ll show you my hard-on any time.” I put a little swagger into my step as I make my way to the end of the table, refusing to give in to the anticipatory thrill rolling through me. “But not when you’re armed.”

“I would never!” She enunciates her denial like the most puritanical teacher in the school.

“It’s a pity you don’t like the rest of me as much as you like my cock.” My tone is taunting and silky as I slip my thumb into the towel at my waist as though to loosen it.

“I like you more than I should,” she answers, her avid eyes not sure what to watch first.

She feints left, and I follow, our stalemate a game of who dares wins as I lunge around the table after her. She shrieks and whirls away, but in a few steps, I’ve caught her elbow.

“Gotcha,” I rasp, pulling her against me, wrapping my arm around her waist. Her excited squeal vibrates through me as I lift her feet from the floor as she kicks and flails ineffectually, her bones turning to jelly at the shock of being caught.

Shock and excitement, I’m sure.

“What are you going to do?” Her words are panting and breathless.

“Do?” I shake my head like a wet dog, shaking off the droplets of water dripping from my hair to my face, making her laugh. I use the opportunity to wrestle the spatula from her hand.

“What are you going to do with it?” Is she excited or worried? Probably a bit of both.

“That’s two questions,” I murmur, pressing my mouth to her ear. Her breath hitches as I press my teeth to the shell. “Which do you want the answer to?”

“Both, of course.”

“So greedy.” I can feel her heart beating as I carry her over to the sofa. The fight having drained from her body, she’s compliant as I bend her over the back of it.

“You won’t—”

Her words halt as I slide the copper edge up the back of her thigh. “Won’t what, Blondie? What do you think I’m not capable of?”

“Cruelty,” she whispers, as her fingers curl over the sofa, and she presses her temptation of an arse out.

“Do you think I should punish you?” I purr as the edge of the copper implement reaches the crease between her thigh and her buttock. I notice the tremor in my hand. My heart hammers in my chest. There’s exhilaration and excitement, yes. But that’s not all I feel. I won’t say love is a stranger to me because I’ve felt love and I have love for my family. But the romantic kind of love? I’m not entirely sure what that is. And while I won’t say I’m in love now, whatever this is, its will is stronger than my own.

A droplet of water rolls around my bicep, dropping to the floor as I lift my arm. I swing my arm wide and bring the spatula down on the right buttock.

“That’s for defying me,” I growl as she cries out a needy sound. For going out on a date when she knows I can give her everything she needs. The next swipe comes from underneath and without the same kind of intensity. “And that’s because you drive me to the brink of insanity.” Copper thuds against the wood as I drop it, bending to paint a wet stripe along the offended cheek. She moans as I slide my tongue along the crease.

“And that one?” Her words are a slide into hope as she tips up onto her toes.

“Because I fucking need it,” I rasp, dropping to my knees like a penitent before burying my face in her pussy.

She cries out, her desperation sending a prickle of sensation across my skin. I make an anklet of my fingers, sliding her leg wider, burying my tongue into the very center of her.

“Oh God. Whit, no. It’s too much.” She squirms as though trying to get away when I bring my hand down on her backside. “Oh!”

“Stop wriggling.”

“It feels so dirty.”

“Stop wriggling.” I spank her again, one stinging swipe that makes her pussy pulse. “Before I bury my tongue in your arse.”

“No!” But there’s a hint of something there to explore later as her clit throbs around my fingers, as I drive my tongue against her again and again. I feel like a starving man let loose at a feast, not sure where he wants to start, only that he wants to gorge.

“You’re so wet for me, Amelia. So shiny and your arousal sweet.”

She whimpers, the anticipation of her falling like a tiny explosion of delight deep in my chest. Her honied whispers turn to cries, her knees locking as the waves of her orgasm begin to pull her under. I don’t let up. I can’t touch enough, kiss enough, be enough. I want to taste every inch of her silky skin. Make her see that there is no one on this earth who could make her feel this way. That only I am meant to.

Shit.

Shit. Oh shit!

I lean back on my heels, the thoughts in my head running free now, unable to be ignored. I love her. I love her, and I’m so screwed.

What the fuck am I going to do?

I look up as she begins to turn; it might be minutes or an hour after she’s come. It’s hard to tell.

“Wow. I feel like a foal,” she says, her limbs slightly uncoordinated. Meanwhile, I just sit there, staring at the woman who ought to belong to me.

Who will belong to me. I’ve just got to figure out how.

“Whit? Are you okay?”

My mouth hooks up in one corner as my gaze slides over her. “Yeah. I’m good.” I’m terrified but, “Actually, I’m amazing.”

“Oh yes, you are.” She tilts her head to hide her smile as I push up from the floor.

“Can I?” Her words are tentative as she gestures to the towel. Without waiting for an answer, she pulls the edge free.

She stares at me, I stare at her, and my cock between us grows impossibly hard.

One minute, Mimi is pressed against the sofa, and the next, I am. The downy towel is around my ankles, and my brain is melting down the back of my neck as her eyes and her fingers trail over my chest. My abs react under the tips of her fingers as she follows the trail of dark hair to where my cock juts between us, hard, ruddy, and so ready. She stares for a moment, watching as it jumps in response to her touch, my thighs tight, my balls tightening, my whole being ready to explode.

“I want to kiss you.” Her eyes rise, following the line of my bicep until they meet mine.

“Want to kiss me where?” I ask with more wit and feeling than I currently possess because my wits are blown at the prospect. As for feeling, every inch of my skin cries out for her touch. When she wraps her hand around the base of my shaft, I almost combust.

“Here.” Her whisper is tremulous as she leans closer, licking at a trail of shower water that drips from my hair down my chest. “And here.” I groan and tip my head back as she circles the flat of my nipple with her tongue. As good as it feels, it’s not quite as special as the way her hand gravitates to my cock. She slides her fingers along the length, palming to the crown the way she’s watch me hold myself in the shower. I growl a little as the point of her tongue flicks the hardened bud of my nipple like a kitten lapping milk. I press my hand to the back of her head, encouraging her closer with one whispered word.

“Bite.”

She presses her teeth to my chest at the same time as I press my hand between her legs and swipe my middle finger through her wetness. I feel her startled gasp against my skin, her fingers tightening on my cock.

“I love kissing you here.” My thumb slides over the soft rise of her still swollen clit. “I’d crawl between your legs and make your pussy my home.”

“You have…” But that’s all she manages as I slide another finger inside her. Her free hand finds my bicep, her fingers almost piercing. And there we stand for breathless beats, my fingers inside her, my thumb petting and sliding over and over again as I force her onto her tiptoes to feel the full effect, our mouths all hot slides and breathlessness.

“I want…”

“Tell me. I’ll give it to you.” Again and again.

“I want to taste you.” She rocks against me, breasts pressed to my chest, so lewd and so lush as a chuckle rises from my chest, dark and sort of frantic.

“Then get on your knees, darling.”

“First, tell me who Kerry is.”

“What?” I pull back a little to better see her face, not quite sure of her meaning.

“Kerry,” she purrs as her hand slides between us, wrapping her dainty fingers around my cock in a surprisingly firm hold.

“The number on the newspaper,” I murmur, trying to keep a straight face.

“Yeah. Who is she,” Mimi repeats as she begins to slowly and methodically jerk me off.

“Beckett,” I almost grunt, the rest of the explanation leaving my mouth in a rush. “Gave me the number.”

“Oh. Right.” She angles her face away, but not before I see a flash of disquiet.

“A massage therapist.” I’m a bastard, but what’s good for the goose is definitely good for the gander as her tongue returns to my nipple and her free hand cups my balls. Her hot breath pools against me, and I’m glad I have something to lean against as she works me. This feels so good.

“Oh, look. You’re a little wet.”

I glance down at her words. Her thumb pressed to my slit, she pulls it away, pre-cum suspended like a tiny spider’s web between us. Until she brings her thumb to her mouth, where she sucks.

“Wet just for me.” Her gaze lingers almost speculatively before I bring my hand to the back of her head.

“Just for you. All for you, and there will be nothing left of me when you’re through.” I add a little pressure when her knees bend, her body bowing gracefully before me. “That’s right, little fly. Get on your knees for me.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Her smoky eyes watch my reaction as she paints a wet stripe of pleasure across my cock head, making me groan.

“You’re so silky here,” she whispers as she wraps her fingers around the base and her lips to my crown. Breath halts in my chest as she tongues the glans, licking and swirling like I’m an ice cream on a hot summer’s day. “And here.” Her solemn gaze watches as she licks along my length, making my toes curl against the towel, my hands finding themselves in her hair.

“Put me in your mouth, darling. Suck me off.”

Her eyes sweep up, her look bold. “You can’t put bad things in my mouth.”

My laughter, fuck, it’s loud. At least until she presses her lips to my crown. “This isn’t bad.” She swirls her tongue. “This is you, and I have wanted you for a very long time.”

“And now you have me. I’m all yours.” In more ways than I’m prepared to admit. In more ways than you’re prepared to hear.

“Not Kerry’s?”

“No more than you are Garrett’s.”

She seems satisfied by my answer, putting her lips to me in a tight kiss, her lips widening as she slides her way down. It’s some show, watching my cock disappear into her mouth.

“Fuck, yeah. That’s it.” My head drops back, the sight of her dark-painted lashes like the sweep of an angel’s wing. Her lips, pink and full. The remains of her messy bun. She looks like and angel, but she sucks cock like a professional as she holds me there, deep in her mouth, hollowing her cheeks for a slow return.

I hiss out a curse at her next return, my hands encouraging her as I cradle her head.

“Fuck, yes.” My compliment is a shallow moan as I ease her closer. “Deeper, darling. Take me all the way in.” My fingers tangled in her hair, I give a couple of tentative thrusts, power seeping deep into my bones as, to my surprise and delight, she presses her fingers to my thighs, offering me her mouth. Ceding control.

Her eyes are penetrating, her lips sensuous, and her mouth like velvet as I slide myself deeper. My thighs tremble and my brain turns to porridge as she begins to moan soft encouragements.

“You’re so beautiful on your knees for me.”

She moans softly as I tell her how beautiful she looks, and tears fall from her eyes as I press against the channel of her throat. She doesn’t fight me as I hold her there. She just stares up at me with such trust.

“I fucking love—” My heart feels like it’s about to burst, and not just because of the blow job of the year. The way she trusts me. The way she bends. This shit she’s doing so we can pretend. It’s her—it’s all her. We’re fighting the inevitable, can’t she see that? When will she realise?

I’m trembling as I withdraw from the wet confines of her mouth, my emotions a heavy layer over this ecstasy. I have to control this. I can’t fall apart. So I give her another experience, one she’s said she’d like to see.

“—this.”

My insides light like fireworks as I use her saliva as lube, my first slipping wetly up and down my length, my other still tangled in her hair. And her expression? I want to kiss it. Fuck it. Come on it. Which is fortunate, because that’s what I’m about to do as I angle my cock down and with an almost plaintive sounding curse, I lash her neck and her chest in hot, wet bursts.