by Nicola Marsh
He’s right, damn him.
So I need to get this back onto an even keel, by doing something we both understand: focussing on our sexual attraction.
‘Don’t sweat it. We both know you coming here and sustaining a dent in your alpha armour is your warped version of foreplay.’
‘Dammit, you’re making this difficult,’ he growls and only then do I allow a smile.
The moment he sees my smug grin his shoulders relax and he slumps back in the sofa. ‘You’re toying with me.’
‘Just a little?’ I hold up my thumb and forefinger an inch apart and he chuckles.
‘Am I forgiven?’
‘Yeah, but only because I’m too hungry to continue this conversation.’ I pad across the room to where he’s set up the trolley. ‘You hungry?’
‘I’m good.’
‘Great, because I’m too ravenous to share. Here’s the plan. I’m going to shovel this ravioli and strawberry parfait into my mouth as fast as humanly possible, then I’m going to do some work.’
‘But what if you feel like sorbet after eating all that?’
His tone is silky smooth, rippling over me like a caress. My skin pebbles into tiny goose bumps and my nipples harden to tight peaks, immediately drawing his gaze.
‘Some of your ice-cream cones seem to have a cherry on top,’ he says, with a wicked smirk.
I laugh and he joins in. ‘Okay, you can stay.’
‘Good.’ His eyes darken as they sweep over me. ‘Because you’re not the only one with a sweet tooth and I have a sudden hankering for some ice cream.’
Heat flushes my cheeks as I remember exactly how good he is at licking. ‘You know, we’ve never had sorbet in bed. It might be fun.’
‘That’s what I’m thinking.’
He’s thinking a lot more than that by the lascivious glint in his eyes.
I swoon a little. I’m light-headed from hunger. My excuse and I’m sticking to it.
‘Eat,’ he commands and I do as I’m told while he slouches on my sofa and flips through the magazines on the coffee table.
The ravioli is divine, succulent slivers of Moreton Bay bugs encased in handmade pasta and covered in white wine sauce. The deconstructed parfait is just as good, with strawberries, meringue, cream, lemon curd and a berry coulis artfully arranged on a triangular white plate.
Only when I’m done do I glance up to find him watching me, his gaze riveted to my mouth.
‘What? Do I have something on my lip?’
‘Not yet, but you’re about to.’ He launches himself off the sofa and I yelp, pushing back from the trolley and skittering around the work desk. The villa isn’t small but it’s not built for chasing either and I’m soon cornered by a big, hulking, brute of a man with one thing on his mind.
Luckily it’s the same thing that’s on mine.
‘I know a good way to work off that meal,’ he says, leaning forward to brush a kiss across my cheek.
His lips are like a feather grazing my skin, barely there but making me shiver with the slightest touch. He trails butterfly kisses along my jaw towards my ear.
‘By the way, that blowjob blew my mind,’ he whispers, flicking my lobe with his tongue so his warm breath fans it and makes me bite down on my bottom lip to stop from whimpering. ‘You give great head.’
‘So do you,’ I manage to say. It comes out a high-pitched squeak as he places his hands on my waist and lightly guides me towards the bed.
I’m taking mincing steps backwards but he’s not in any hurry, every step punctuated by a kiss: on the point of my shoulder, on my collarbone, on my jaw.
It’s pure exquisite torture because I want that talented mouth on me in other, more sensitive areas.
The backs of my knees hit the bed and he steadies me when I fall backwards.
‘These really are very cute,’ he says, plucking at the hem of my pyjama top.
‘Wouldn’t you prefer sexy?’
‘What’s underneath is all the sexy I need.’ He tugs at the hem and peels the top off, his gaze zeroing in on my breasts. ‘Oh, yeah, so fucking sexy.’
I don’t move because I sense he wants to take this slow and I’m rewarded when he places his hands on my shoulders and slides them lower. Over my biceps, my elbows, my forearms. He reaches my hands and covers them with his. He guides them towards my breasts.
‘I want to see you do this.’
His thumbs and forefingers are over mine, guiding me, rolling my nipples. I’m doing it under his instruction and it’s so damn hot I feel dampness between my legs.
‘Don’t stop,’ he says as his hands slide lower, fingertips fluttering over my ribcage, dipping in at my waist, skirting my hips before delving into the elastic of my shorts.
He pushes them down and they fall, pooling at my feet. I kick them away and suck in a breath when his hands palm my ass. He kneads while watching me play with my nipples, his lips slightly parted, his breathing shallow.
I throb with wanting him but he makes me wait. Dipping a finger into the cleft of my ass while sliding the other hand around to the front.
I arch my pelvis forward and he tut-tuts. ‘Not so fast.’
‘I need...you.’
‘And you’ll have me, but I want to play first.’
He slides a finger into me and I moan.
‘So fucking wet.’ His voice is rough and he stares at me in a daze as he continues to finger me. In and out. A slow, leisurely pace like he has all the time in the world to make me come.
I’m not that patient.
I’ve never done this before, tweaking my nipples while a guy tries to get me off and it’s super hot. But I’m naked and he has too many clothes on. I want to feel his skin against mine. I want it all.
I unbutton his shirt with fumbling fingers and he shrugs it off without stopping what he’s doing, expertly swapping hands.
‘My, my, you’re talented.’
The corner of his mouth kicks up. ‘I thought you would’ve already figured that out by now.’
‘I figure flattery will get me everywhere so the more I pile it on, the better you’ll be.’
‘High expectations. I can live with that.’ He watches me unsnap his button and unzip.
My heart pounds as I take him in hand and squeeze. He growls in response and I feel it all the way down to my toes. He lowers me onto the bed and I’m left hovering on the edge, cloying at an orgasm that’s just out of reach.
‘Patience,’ he says, reading my mind as he shucks off his boxers and trousers. ‘We’re taking it slow tonight, remember?’
‘Get back here.’ I scoot backwards up the bed and pat it. He doesn’t need to be asked twice.
He lowers himself over me, propping himself up on his elbows and caging me with his impressive biceps. I arch my pelvis, so needy. He chuckles and nips my neck, his bite treading a fine line between pleasure and pain.
‘I love how you smell,’ he murmurs, trailing his nose against my skin.
‘And taste.’ He swipes his tongue from my collarbone to my ear, a long lick that sends a shiver of desperation through me.
‘I need you inside me now.’
When he looks at me with an amused quirk of his brow, I add a demure, ‘Please.’
He pushes off me momentarily and that foil ripping is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. We have all night to do slow. But he’s driven me mad with his push-pull behaviour and now I want to show him exactly how good we are together—between the sheets, of course.
I watch him roll on the condom. It’s beyond erotic because I know what taking him in my hand feels like. The strength of him. The length. The breadth. Magnificent.
But he’s not done toying with me yet. He rests his hands on my thighs and gently pries them apart. My legs fall open willingly. I know what’s coming and my nerve endings zap
in anticipation. He’s very, very good at this.
His stubble tickles the inside of my thighs as he kisses his way towards where I want him most. I wriggle impatiently and he murmurs something that sounds like ‘fuck me’.
‘Believe me, that’s all I want to do,’ I whisper, ending on a moan when he swirls his tongue over my clit.
He lifts his mouth. ‘Better?’
‘More,’ I demand, and give a little shimmy for emphasis.
His impish smile tells me I’m about to get exactly what I wish for, as he dips his head and devours me.
Little teasing licks, stronger swipes, nips and kisses and then he starts sucking. I’m gone, my body winding tighter and higher until I’m flying, the power of my orgasm blinding me to everything but him.
Before I float back to my body he’s inside me. A long, smooth thrust that’s decadent and divine.
‘You feel so good,’ I murmur, grabbing onto his shoulders, winding my legs around his waist.
‘Right back at you.’
Our gazes lock as he starts to move. Exquisitely, torturously, slow. I never knew I had a G spot until he slides his hands under my ass and lifts me slightly, so I’m locked around him with my legs in the tightest fit possible.
He’s taking his time, hitting that damn spot with every single thrust and I’m starting to go a little crazy, the pleasure so intense it borders on pain.
I dig my nails into his shoulders when he changes the angle again, the slightest shift making me gasp. I want to plead with him to end this exquisite torture and he must see something in my eyes because he moves faster. Pounding into me until I can’t breathe, the tension clawing at my body is that great. It builds and spirals until I’m blown apart in a detonation of pleasure so intense I feel tears burning my eyes.
Thankfully he doesn’t see because he lowers his head the moment before he comes on a bellow that makes the hairs on the back of my neck snap to attention.
Neither of us speak.
There’s nothing to say.
Besides, how can I articulate the most terrifying thought?
You’ve ruined me for other men.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Hart
I’VE NEVER SPENT the night with a woman.
It’s disarming to discover I want to despite every self-preservation mechanism in my body telling me to do the opposite and run from this villa as fast as humanly possible.
Daisy asked me to stay and after the way I treated her earlier today I can’t say no.
‘I didn’t pick you for a cuddler,’ she says, glancing up at me from the crook of my shoulder where her head currently rests.
‘I’m not.’ I sound gruff and temper it with. ‘But I can’t get enough of you and I’ll be ready for round two shortly.’
‘Only twice?’ She whacks me playfully on the chest. ‘Don’t forget you’re spending the night, mister, so I expect you to double that tally at least.’
‘Done,’ I say, tightening my hold on her.
She snuggles in tighter and, surprisingly, that insistent urge to bolt fades.
What’s so bad about staying the night, ensuring I wake up with an armful of hot woman? It’s not like she’s slipping a gold band on my finger or anything.
‘Want to hear something funny?’
I’m not a talker in bed either. Once the deed is done I’m out of bed so I can get home, usually to a hotel room. But that’s another anomaly tonight: I don’t mind her ramblings.
‘Sure.’
‘I’ve never had a holiday fling.’ Her chuckle borders on a girly giggle. ‘And even though technically I’m working, I’m at a fabulous resort with a hot guy so it feels like a holiday.’
‘You won’t say that when I make you work overtime to get my campaign out to the masses ASAP.’
She waves away my concern. ‘You know I’m good at what I do so let me have this indulgent fantasy for a while.’
I drop a kiss on her forehead. Man, I am such a sucker. She tilts her head up and flashes me an approving smile that makes me feel like a god.
‘Can we play twenty questions?’
‘No.’
I’ve already revealed too much and I don’t like the way she looks at me when I do, like she can see all the way down to the dark part of me where I lock away my innermost shame.
‘Too bad, because I want to play.’ She tweaks my nipple and I swat her hand away. ‘What’s your favourite colour?’
‘Pink.’
Her nose scrunches. ‘No, it’s not.’
‘It is.’ I trail a fingertip from between her tits to her navel. ‘The gorgeous blushing pink of your skin after you come.’
The same pink suffuses her cheeks now. ‘You’re not going to turn every question into a sexual innuendo, are you?’
‘Possibly.’
Especially if it saves me from revealing any more.
‘What’s your favourite car?’
She’s not going to be deterred so I decide to play nice for a while. ‘I don’t own one but if I did it would be a Ford Mustang.’
‘Convertible?’
‘Of course.’
She nods in approval. ‘Nice choice. How old were you when you lost your virginity?’
‘Now who’s turning things sexual?’
She shrugs and the sheet covering her top half dips. Bonus. ‘I’m curious.’
‘Fifteen.’
‘That’s young.’
‘An older woman took advantage of me.’
A frown appears between her brows and I smooth it away. ‘Not in the way you’re thinking. I was living in Melbourne at the time, in a really great foster home. The parents had a kid of their own and fostered another three for a time. The eldest foster daughter was seventeen and one of her friends in the same year at school...well, let’s say she found me rather appealing.’
‘So you like older women?’
‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-seven.’
‘Then the answer is no.’
Her smile is cute and coy and utterly irresistible, like the rest of her. ‘What’s your biggest regret?’
The lightness of the last few minutes fades as I recall the exact moment I’ll regret for the rest of my life.
Pa called me the night before he died. We talked sport, the economy and an upcoming car rally. He never pressured me into returning to work alongside him but that night I heard something in his voice, a fatigue that tainted everything he said. I felt like shit and didn’t sleep much after that call—an insomnia that only intensified when I got another call the next day, informing me Pa died.
Not telling him I’d planned on coming home to surprise him the following week was the biggest regret of my life.
But I can’t tell Daisy that so I settle for a lame, ‘Not being drafted to play for the Sydney Swans.’
‘Were you that good at playing footy?’
‘No.’
‘Idiot.’ She whacks me again on the chest but this time her palm rests there, directly over my heart. Too close. Way too close. ‘If you could wish for one thing, what would it be?’
Inexplicably, my throat tightens. I’ve never liked the ‘what if’ game. What if my mum had stuck around? What if my dad hadn’t abandoned me? What if one of my foster parents had seen past my angry exterior and understood I was inherently good? What if Pa had found me sooner? What if I could’ve been the grandson he wanted, to stand by his side and rule his empire and tell him how much he really meant to me?
I hate what ifs. They’re for suckers.
‘I’d wish we could stay in bed all night long.’
She patted my chest. ‘I already intend on making that wish come true.’
‘Good. Then let’s start now...’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Daisy
&n
bsp; I’M EXHAUSTED. I feel hung-over when I haven’t had a drop to drink. I blame Hart and his insatiable sexual appetite.
The guy is a sex god.
Even now, at ten past nine after a scant three hours of sleep, I remember the feel of his hands and mouth on me, the rasping of his stubble against my inner thighs, the hardness of him inside me.
I am in no shape for an impromptu meeting with Alf.
He landed on the island an hour ago and texted me to meet him in the conference room at nine. While I dragged myself out of bed leaving a sated Hart sleeping and made it here two minutes early, Alf hasn’t appeared. Typical.
I slick a coral lipstick over my lips, check my calf-length navy shift is respectable and sit at the conference table. I’ve brought my notepad and laptop because I have no idea what this meeting is about. I’m used to these senseless meetings where he’ll try to reassert his control when we both know I’m the one doing all the work and keeping his company afloat. It’s one of the major reasons I’m contemplating resigning to start my own business.
If only he’d give me a well-deserved promotion, I’d be happy. Quitting isn’t high on my priority list but if he leaves me no choice... I hate thinking about walking away from a second commitment in a year.
I flick through the latest campaign update for Hart, loving how it’s all coming together.
Alf blusters into the room at nine-fifteen, no apology for his tardiness. ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘What about? I sent through the latest campaign specs—’
‘I know what you’re up to and I won’t stand for it.’ He jabs a pudgy finger in my direction before collapsing into a nearby seat. ‘It’s unprofessional.’
My heart stalls before I give myself a mental kick. He can’t know I’m contemplating leaving. I’m not dumb enough to sabotage my job even if I am tiring of the lack of recognition. He’s fishing.
Mustering my best acting skills, the ones I use on a daily basis to pretend I actually respect this doofus, I fix a polite smile on my face. ‘I don’t understand what you’re referring to.’
He slams his palms down on the table so hard I jump. ‘Don’t act so damn naïve. You’re up to something with my clients.’