One more time. And then it’ll be over, forever.
Chapter Nineteen
Sebastian
I follow Colette to my car and we get in. The enclosed space doesn’t help. The blood’s already racing around my body from the kiss, and her shapely thigh in the tight gray pants is only inches away from mine. I want to pull her onto my lap and slip my hands beneath her white blouse and slide my tongue into her mouth, but I make myself start the car and pull away, and soon we’re in the heavy rush-hour traffic, heading for my apartment.
I should feel euphoric that I talked her into coming with me, and I do, but I also feel a faint aura of disappointment, which both surprises and alarms me. How can I be disappointed that she only wants sex? I don’t have to worry about calling her afterward, or about having one of those talks that Harry mentioned about Where This Is Going. That should put her at the top of my list.
Resting my elbow on the ledge, I run a finger across my bottom lip and frown at the road.
“You want to pull over and let me get out?” Colette says.
I stare at her. “What?”
“I thought maybe you’d changed your mind. You’re glowering.”
I glance at her, and warmth fills me. She’s gorgeous, and I managed to talk her into coming with me. I should be singing at the top of my lungs, not sulking. She must have a good reason for not wanting more than a physical relationship. Maybe she’ll tell me, maybe she won’t. Either way, I’ll have to deal.
And besides, there’s still time. I have great faith in my ability to get my own way.
“I haven’t changed my mind,” I tell her. “I’m thinking about the positions I’m going to fuck you in when we get to the apartment.”
I smirk when she rewards me with a widening of the eyes and her jaw drops.
“Jeez,” she says.
Her eyes are bright with excitement, and it makes me smile. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you,” I say honestly.
“Beautiful, elegant, and accomplished?”
“Cheeky, rebellious, and with such a smart mouth.” I look back at the road. “Makes me want to fill it with something.”
She tips her head back onto the rest with a groan, and I laugh.
“You’re a bad man.” She covers her face with her hands. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”
“It’s not your fault. I’m irresistible.”
“Yes,” she says, “you are. And I’m very, very weak.” Her lips twist, and she looks out of the window.
We don’t talk again for a while. It’s the winter solstice—longest night. The light’s fading, and rain is falling lightly. People scurry along, heads down, caught up in their own lives, and it strikes me how nobody’s interested in us at all. Nobody else cares that we’ve only known each other for four days, or that we’re going back to my apartment for sex. We’re two consenting adults, and whatever we decide to do in the privacy of our own home is nobody else’s business.
I glance at Colette again. She’s still looking out of the window. On impulse, I reach out and take her hand. She turns her surprised gaze to me, and closes her fingers around mine.
“How was your day?” I ask her.
Her lips curve up. “Okay, I guess. How did your meetings go?”
“Yeah, good. Got several investors lined up for the ALD. I can’t wait for the outcome of the trial. I have a feeling it’s going to be amazing.” I feel the usual swell of pleasure at the thought of the work we’ve done at Hearktech, and the people we’ve been able to help. I’m sure the new ALD is really going to make a difference to people’s lives.
Colette nods, but her smile is fleeting, and her gaze returns to the window. “I’d rather not talk about work,” she says.
I frown and signal to take the next right. Is she worried because of Elen’s ‘rule’ about no banging the temps? Maybe I should tell Colette how Elen’s been pushing me to go out with her. Unsure what to say, I remain silent, returning my hand to the wheel, and we don’t speak again until I park and turn off the engine.
Colette sits there, studying her hands in her lap. She’s going to say this is a mistake. I unclip my seatbelt, turn in the seat, and cup her face. I gently turn it so she’s looking at me. Then I kiss her.
I take my time, closing my eyes, and letting my lips move slowly across hers. I try to push everything else to the back of my mind except the beautiful woman I’m lucky enough to be kissing. Her lips are soft, and I can taste cherry—it must be the lip balm she’s wearing. I like cherry. I touch my tongue to them, wanting more, and she sighs and opens her mouth, granting me access. First, though, I tease her lips with the tip of my tongue, from one corner to the center, then across to the other corner, and only then do I dip my tongue inside. It slides against hers, sensual and erotic, and the little darts she gives send fireworks off throughout my body.
I move my other arm behind her, and she takes the hint and shifts into my arms, letting me tighten them around her. She’s tall for a girl, but she still feels small, and I like how she’s so soft, from her breasts to her thighs and even her arms and hands. I’m tempted to lift her onto my lap and take her right here, but occasionally a car draws up, and even though I don’t mind being seen through the window across the city, I’m not sure I’m up for a display of affection that public.
Reluctantly, I lift my head, and I kiss her nose, her cheeks, her eyelids, and then her mouth again. “Come up with me,” I whisper. “I want you, Colette. Let me make love to you.”
Briefly, I wonder whether she’s going to comment on my use of ‘make love’ rather than ‘fuck’, but she doesn’t, she just nods, and so we get out of the car and head for the elevator.
In the carriage, we’re the only two people there, and as it rises, I pull her into my arms and kiss her again. I can’t get enough of her—I can’t bear it when her mouth isn’t on mine. Her kisses are growing hotter—I’m firing her up. She slides her hands into my hair, clenches her fingers in the short strands, and pulls my head back, and when I’m looking at the ceiling, she presses kisses down my neck, lacing her tongue over my Adam’s apple.
I turn her and thrust her back against the wall of the elevator, tug her blouse out of her pants, and slide my hands underneath. Her skin’s warm and soft, and I release the catch of her bra and slip my hands up to her breasts, which are even warmer and softer than the rest of her. Her nipples are swollen, but when I rub the pads of my thumbs across them, they tighten into buds, and she moans.
The elevator dings and I pull back hastily, but we’re at the penthouse—we’ve ridden all the way up without being interrupted. She’s all mine now, for as long as I can keep her, and I pick her up, wrap her legs around me, and carry her out with a surge of excitement at the thought of the pleasure to come.
Chapter Twenty
Colette
Oh Jesus, it doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself I shouldn’t be here—I want this man, and I’m fooling myself if I think I can resist his strong magnetic pull.
I can’t deny that his sometimes-arrogant assumption that I’m going to fall into his arms is attractive, but this time it wasn’t that which made me follow him into the elevator. It was his gentle seduction, his soft kisses, his tender plea, I want you, Colette. Let me make love to you.
When did we start ‘making love’? It’s a dangerous path I shouldn’t even set foot on, but Sebastian’s like a double chocolate fudge brownie ice cream with whipped cream and sprinkles. Once I’ve had a nibble, there’s no way I’m not going to be able to eat the whole lot.
He carries me into the living room, leaving the lights off this time. It’s dark, and the room is shrouded in shadows. He’s kissing me while he’s walking, and I have no idea how he isn’t bumping into anything, but I don’t care, because I feel as if I’d die if he lifted his mouth from mine. I live for his kisses, for the slide of his tongue against mine, for the hungry way he seems to want to devour me.
We reach the sofa, and he lowers m
y feet to the ground. I’m wearing high heels, but I toe them off now, so now I’m about six inches shorter than he is. He does the same with his shoes, and then, still kissing, we push each other’s jackets off our shoulders and onto the floor, then start with our buttons. I remove his tie and then his shirt, and he tugs my blouse down my back and removes my bra, which is already hanging loose. Our pants follow just as quickly, and then our underwear, and now we’re both naked.
Sebastian sits in the middle of the sofa, takes my hand, and pulls me down, and I sit astride him. It’s warm in here, I notice—he must have the heating come on before he gets home, and I’m grateful for the warmth, because the rain’s starting to come down properly outside. It coats the windows with a marbled film, and it gives me a strange sense of isolation, as if there’s been an apocalypse outside, and we’re the only two humans left alive. Last time, with the lights on, I felt as if the whole world was watching us. This time, it’s just me and him, private, safe. It makes me shiver.
He cups my breasts and lowers his mouth to my right nipple, and I arch my back and close my eyes, reveling in the sensation of his warm tongue washing over the sensitive skin. He does the same to the other nipple, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, and then he sucks it into his mouth, hard enough to make me cry out.
“Tell me,” he says, bringing my head down so he can look into my eyes. “Tell me what you like. Tell me how to pleasure you.”
“I don’t think you need any guidance,” I say honestly. “You seem to be doing pretty well on your own.”
He strokes his hands down my back. “Do you prefer slow and sensual? Gentle and tender? Or hard, fast, and rough?”
I shiver. “Yes.”
That makes him chuckle, and he rocks his hips, grinding against me, arousing my clit with the base of his erection. “Which one, Colette?”
“All of them. Any of them, with you.”
He sighs and kisses me, then returns to paying attention to my breasts for a while, but I’m so keyed up that it’s not long before my breathing is coming more quickly, and I want him inside me. I lean over and pick up my purse, take out a condom, tear off the wrapper, and roll it onto him. I lift and move my hips until I feel the tip of him enter me. And then I lower down, sheathing him up to the hilt.
He groans, his fingers tightening on my waist, and I shudder at how full I feel—God, right to the top. I’m close to an orgasm, and I know he can sense it, because he drops a hand between us and circles his thumb over my clit, and after only ten seconds of that, I come, clenching around him, and panting against his mouth as he holds my head and kisses me fiercely.
“Sorry,” I say when I’m done, sinking my hands into his hair. “I couldn’t wait.”
“Never apologize for an orgasm,” he advises. “We’ve plenty of time yet.”
I study his face, my lips curving up as I begin to rock my hips again. We return to kissing, and he strokes my back, my thighs, my breasts, my nipples lightly, sending ripples of pleasure stirring inside me, and gradually I begin to feel pleasure rising once again.
“What are you doing to me?” I moan against his lips, feeling as if I’m losing myself in his hot hands.
“Loving you,” he says. Then his lips smile beneath mine. “Fucking you.”
I groan and tip back my head, turned on by his filthy language, and he laughs, holds me tightly, and twists on the sofa until miraculously I’m lying on my back and he’s on top of me.
“We’ve done gentle and tender,” he advises, a wicked glint in his eye. “Now it’s time for hard, fast, and rough.”
“Oh Jesus.”
He lifts my legs high around his waist, and this time, when he thrusts his hips, he plunges deep into me. I cry out, and he gives a sigh of pleasure. Grabbing both my hands, he pins them on the sofa cushion above my head, shifting until he’s comfortable above me, supporting himself on his hands. Then he starts to move.
I’ve never been fucked like it, and I descend into a hazy sensual dream, where all I’m aware of is Sebastian’s mouth on mine, his tight hands holding me down, and the slick sound of him repeatedly filling me. He’s so heavy that I can’t do anything except lie there, and I let him delve his tongue into my mouth and tease me closer with each thrust toward an orgasm I know is going to blow my mind.
He lifts his head a little and looks into my eyes, and his are hot and passionate, his expression telling me that he’s moments away from his own climax. “Come for me,” he demands. He grinds against my clit with each thrust, and I know I’ll have to do as he asks. “Come on, Colette, I want to make you come. I want you to cry out my name as you clench around me.”
“Mmm… oh…” I suck my bottom lip, my eyelids fluttering as my muscles begin to tighten.
He thrusts harder. “Yeah, come on, baby, give into it, you know you want to.” He kisses me hungrily, and I have no choice, no resistance. I’m entirely his at this point, and we both know it. As if he senses my complete capitulation, he grunts, “Fuck, yeah, Colette…” and stills, pushing forward hard as if he’s trying to stretch me as far as he can.
There’s a glorious sweep of sensation, spiraling in from my tummy and thighs as everything tightens, and then it all focuses deep inside while I clench in strong pulses, so powerful that I think I’m going to pass out. And he’s coming, his hot mouth on mine, his hips jerking, and it’s so fucking amazing I want to cry, and I think I do, a little bit, because I feel his tongue on my skin, kissing away the tears.
“Yes,” he whispers, kissing my mouth, gentle, so gentle now the wave of passion has receded. And it’s all he can seem to say, as our bodies slowly relax, and we float gently back to earth.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sebastian
I stay inside Colette as long as I can bear, but eventually I have to withdraw, and we both groan. I shift on the sofa behind her, and fold her in my arms so she doesn’t fall off the edge.
“Mmm,” she mumbles, and then that’s all either of us says for a long while, as we let our bodies relax, and we bask in the bliss of shared pleasure.
When she finally wriggles in my arms and turns to face me, I’m almost asleep.
“Come to bed with me,” I murmur, tracing a finger up her thigh.
“No.” She kisses my nose. “I should go.”
My fingers tighten on her hips, and I glare at her. “I don’t want you to go.”
“It’s not all about what you want, Sebastian.” She tries to roll off, but I tighten my arm and pin her to me.
She struggles for a moment, then gives in and goes limp. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“I’m not staying the night.”
“Fair enough. But don’t go yet. I like a quick fuck as much as the next guy, but even I sometimes like more than that.” It’s tough to admit, but it’s true. “Have a drink with me. Let’s sit and talk—it doesn’t have to be about work—or just look out of the window if you can’t bear to speak to me.”
She rolls her eyes. “What’s the point?”
“It’s polite?”
“You care about being polite?”
I’m at a loss. It’s always, always the other way around after having sex—with me trying to get away as soon as possible, and the girl doing her best to get me to stay. Now I know what it feels like.
“Are you going to tell me why you don’t want to stay?” I ask her. “The real reason,” I add.
She meets my gaze, her blue eyes wary.
“Are you married?” I try.
“No.”
“Seeing someone?”
“No. I wouldn’t cheat on a partner any more than you say you would.”
“Okay. But it’s not because you don’t want to spend time with me?”
Her expression softens. “Come on, Sebastian, I thought this was what you wanted. Hot sex, a bit of fun. You’re not looking for anything else, are you?”
“I might be.” I surprise myself by meaning it.
Her eyes fill with light, a
nd then, just as quickly, it dims, and she looks away, toward the window. She gives a small ironic laugh. Then she shakes her head and kisses my cheek. “I’ll stay for a bit,” she promises. “Come on, let’s have a drink. I bet you have some terrific whiskies in your cupboard.”
“I do, as it happens.” I follow her into the kitchen and find an expensive bottle of a thirty-four-year-old Glenmorangie. I pour us both a glass over ice, and she agrees to come with me to the bedroom, if only because it’s comfortable there and we can get warm beneath the duvet. I lean back on the pillows and she curls up by my side, and we sip the whisky, studying each other quietly.
“Talk to me,” I say, puzzled as to why she’s not chatting away like most girls.
“What about?”
I’m going to have to pick a subject. Women usually like talking about their family, so I opt for that. “Are your parents alive?” She nods cautiously, but doesn’t offer any information. “Siblings?” I ask.
“I’d rather not talk about my family,” she says.
Strike one. I sip my whisky. “Where did you grow up?”
She pushes herself upright. “Sebastian…”
Strike two. I only have one more chance, I’m sure. “What was the last movie you saw?”
Ah, that’s worked. She chews her lip, then slowly smiles, and names a thriller I saw a few weeks ago. I know better than to ask her who she went with, so I start talking about my favorite parts of the plot, and she joins in.
That leads to talk about other favorite movies, then books, and soon we’re talking like normal people. Colette lies back down, and she drinks one whisky as we chat, then doesn’t complain when I top up her glass, so I know she’s starting to enjoy herself.
I learn that she likes action movies and horrors—no chick flicks for this girl—and she reads detective stories, and her favorite author is Arthur Conan Doyle. Once she’s certain she’s not going to let any personal details slip, she relaxes, and turns back into the cheeky, sassy lady who stunned me at first sight in the office.
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