Forbidden to Touch

by JC Harroway

  Fuck. I’m toast. This woman is almost too hot for me to handle. ‘Oh, I’m going to want to see that some time.’ I reward her with a second finger and revel in the cry snatched from her throat.

  Her head falls back and I scrape my lips along the column of her neck, sucking in the essence of her soft skin. ‘So you came to my office this morning with this very intention. Hoping to get what you wanted, to get me hard and get yourself off.’

  ‘Yes. Oh...yes.’ Her honesty slays me, her willingness to boldly and ruthlessly claim what she wants weakening my knees so I need to spread my feet wider to support her on the table’s edge.

  ‘Tell me you want to get off here, now, in my boardroom, where anyone could find us.’ I tongue her earlobe, flicking at the dangling pearl.

  Her hips gyrate faster and she grips fistfuls of my shirt so tightly, I wonder if I’ll need to explain the missing buttons.

  ‘I want to get off.’ Her huge eyes are dark with arousal, clinging to mine. Begging. ‘It’s been so long.’ She gasps. ‘Reid, make me come.’

  Fuck, she’s magnificent. I can’t stop now. I want to worship her, to witness her orgasm and how it undoes her put-together appearance. I want her as frantic and desperate as she’s made me. And more than that, I want to fulfil her fantasy.

  ‘Every time I have a meeting in here, I’m going to think of you, sexy as fuck on my conference table, taking what you want, your sexy mouth demanding an orgasm. No deal, no meeting will ever be the same. Understand?’

  She whimpers, dragging my mouth back to hers with desperate tugs around my neck and shoulders. I kiss her and talk around our kisses, although her mouth is so wild, it’s a struggle to get coherent words out. But my mouth runs away with itself, perhaps encouraged by the new deal we’ve struck. I can’t seem to shut up.

  ‘Next time you wear a dress, I want you to forget the underwear. I want to know that, if you’re horny, there’s nothing to get in my way. Nothing to stop me going down on you and tasting all this delicious sweetness between your legs.’ I twist my wrist, scissoring my fingers and pressing down on her clit with my thumb.

  She’s there. With a sexy moan she throws her head back and comes, her tight muscles gripping my fingers while she rides my hand through the body-racking tremors. I kiss her through her climax, swallowing up her cries, each one a bolt of victory through my chest.

  Spent, she collapses forward, her head heavy on my shoulder as her breathing settles. And then she looks up, vulnerable and breath-stealing and more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her.

  I take my hand from between her legs, not ready to let her go just yet. I scoop my other arm around her waist, tugging her closer so we’re nose-to-nose and I’m still sandwiched between her glorious thighs, what she does to me evident in my strung-taut body and my steel-hard dick. Stringing out the fantasy with my own erotic twist, I raise one wet finger to her mouth and trace her full bottom lip with her own desire. Her warm breath gusts over my fingertip and renewed excitement flashes in her eyes.

  ‘Taste yourself.’ My command, whisper-soft, murmured against her swollen lips makes her eyes widen.

  She obeys, her tongue tracing where my finger has been. This time I trace her top lip and then I kiss her, every sense full of her—her scent, the vision of her flushed from her orgasm and the taste of her. All of her.

  ‘Mmm...delicious...’ I say around our kiss. ‘I can’t wait for more.’ Then I step away and adjust myself, my own breathing ragged as I get myself back under control. If I don’t stop there, we’re at serious risk of being caught full-out fucking in the Faulkner Group’s boardroom.

  She frowns as I shrug into my suit jacket.

  ‘What about you?’ Her voice croaks as she slips from the table and pushes down her dress before loosely finger-combing her hair to conceal what has just taken place.

  ‘I have a ten o’clock meeting.’ Regret makes my voice a little gruff. I scoop up the signed paperwork and straighten my tie for something to do with my hands besides touch. She’s way too tempting. And now I’ve had a brief taste...the roar in my head tells me how close I am to taking more. Taking everything. Blair Cameron could become an overwhelming addiction without careful management.

  ‘Okay.’ She turns away from me, head down, and busies herself with her bag.

  Oh, no. She wants to live out her fantasies. Well, my first tactic is anticipation. Sure, I could clear my diary, take her home right now. That’s what my body screams at me to do. But by the next time I touch her we’ll both be so primed...the reward will multiply exponentially.

  I press up behind her once more, reminding her with the prod of my erection in the small of her back that, sadly, it’s business as usual. The scent of sex and coconut shampoo lingers as I nuzzle her hair, seeking her soft, silky earlobe and the delicate pearl, which I tug between my lips. ‘Are you free for dinner tonight?’

  She gasps, melts back into me and then corrects herself, standing tall as she nods.

  I allow my lips to linger, just below her ear—a sensitive spot if the trembles jolting her shoulders are any indication. ‘I’ll call you later. Have a good day, Blair.’

  Her head snaps around, her eyes teetering on the edge of a glare. I wink and she smiles. How could she not? I’m pretty certain I just rocked her world. Her legs are obviously still a little unstable, because she’s swaying on those heels she favours.

  I leave the room, leave her to compose herself, while I ignore the wants of my own body and get back to my day. Who knew this deal would become so...rewarding?

  I temper my wide grin. No one likes a smug bastard.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Blair

  Wear a dress, no underwear.

  I READ THE text again for at least the hundredth time while tiny ripples dance down my abdominal muscles and everything below my waist tightens. I cover my face with my hands, threatening my carefully applied make-up, and groan.

  What am I doing? What did I do?

  My breath shudders into my lungs on a surge of shame. I confessed my long-held crush to Reid Faulkner. I negotiated sex into my Faulkner contract. I propositioned him and then I rode his hand on his boardroom conference table. And, of course, I agreed to play by his rules, the reason I’m in my current underwear predicament.

  A hysterical giggle escapes past my fingers as I reread the text. I never believed Reid would go for my sexy proposition. I clutch my stomach, reliving the cascade of emotional turmoil I felt over our negotiations. Navigating the currents and rips of keeping my Faulkner contract solid while broaching the elephant in the room of our chemistry. The lingering niggle of fear I was wrong about our mutual attraction. The possibility he’d think our age difference insurmountable, or still see me as an easily ignored and mopey teen.

  I slip my phone inside my bag to stop myself from reading the text again.

  I’m over thinking. Reid was clearly on board with the sex-only arrangement. As long as he sticks to his side of the bargain and stays out of my plans for the Faulkner, I need only sit back and enjoy our fling.

  Why, then, am I still wearing my underwear?

  I sigh, applying another slick of gloss to my bottom lip for good measure. I’ve spent the year following Josh’s betrayal working long hours, clawing back a client list, rebranding C&L Interiors and putting my personal life on hold. Now it’s time to have a little of what I want and truly put the past behind me.

  But with Reid, of all men?

  He doesn’t trust easily, that much is clear from some of the comments he’s made. And I understand. I trusted Josh even after the cheating, accepting his seemingly heartfelt apologies, even counselling him through his confusion over his sexuality. I snort at my own stupidity. I spent hours ignoring my own needs while listening to his assurances that we could stay friends, still work together even though we were ending things as a couple.

  My stomach pi
nches as I recall the shock of arriving at the office the Monday following our break-up to find no sign of him, current client files wiped from the computer and the business account stripped of funds.

  I hover near the laundry basket, debating the pros and cons of following Reid’s sexy request. I don’t need his trust to enjoy this. I can make the most of our mutual attraction, reclaim my personal life as fiercely as I’ve fought to rebuild my business. Surely I’ve done the hardest part—admitting I fantasised about him and demanding he play the starring role as I live out those fantasies.

  I close my eyes, recalling his kiss this morning in his boardroom...my pulse speeds and my internal muscles clench just thinking about the way his lips commanded mine just as I’d always imagined; the way he touched me, his big frame holding me; the way my body felt vibrantly alive for the first time in a year, reality outstripping every Reid fantasy I’ve ever had.

  My stomach flips, excitement winning.

  Before I can change my mind, I hike up my dress and slide off my lacy thong, tossing it in the laundry basket with a liberating finality. I smooth my palms over my hips, the sensual chill of the fabric lining my dress of choice joining the cool air between my legs—a sensual promise that makes my breath catch as if Reid is already in the room. Just like the promise of his text, the promise of his words.

  ‘Expect to come a lot. Expect my very enthusiastic and frequent attention. Expect to have all your fantasies fulfilled.’

  His car is waiting outside my ground-floor flat in Parson’s Green when I emerge, determined to embrace the arrangement I set in motion. He steps from the back and greets me with a chaste kiss to the cheek. But his mouth twists in the rare but astounding smile I’ve always adored, his scruff-covered jaw scrapes against my skin, sparking my nervous system alive as if he has the unique key to my erogenous zones, and his warm breath tickles my neck as he whispers a gruff, ‘You look beautiful.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I stifle my body’s uncontrolled judder of pleasure that he, Reid Faulkner, wants me. My eighteen-year-old self would flip cartwheels down the street.

  I stroke the lapel of his jacket, this one navy where this morning’s had been charcoal. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself.’ He’s wearing a fresh shirt, the subtle scent of his cologne and undertones of something soapy telling me he’s taken time out of his day to prepare for our ‘dinner date’.

  I slide into the car and press my thighs together, the cool leather on the backs of my legs going some way towards counteracting Reid’s appearance, which floods my pelvis with gooey heat and hijacks my pulse with anticipation.

  He settles beside me and signals to his driver but leaves the privacy screen down, and I try to hide my disappointment that he’s not going to ravish me before we even make it to the restaurant.

  ‘How long have you lived in Parson’s Green?’ he asks, setting the tone to polite conversation.

  I answer, my hands clenched in my lap. I don’t want to talk about the house I once shared with Josh. The house he encouraged me to remortgage to bolster our growing business and the debts he could so easily ignore when he walked away with our most lucrative clients.

  ‘Where do you live?’ I’m helpless against the way his mouth moves as he answers, remembering the decadent way he kissed me this morning—full pelt, like he’d been dying to do it since I stepped into the Faulkner Group offices the day before.

  I half listen to him talk about Chelsea and how he and his brothers all live within a mile of each other, and close to Graham. I remember how close-knit they were growing up, although Kit and Drake seemed to squabble a lot, dragging Reid into the occasional argument on the rare occasions he was home when I visited.

  ‘You’ve drifted—everything okay?’ Reid’s voice draws me back to our date. ‘Nervous?’ he asks, and I want him to touch me, to shove my body into that heady euphoria of this morning.

  I latch onto the lifeline of his dark blue eyes and nod. ‘A little. This is my first date—’ I make air quotes to let him know I’m not shifting the goalposts ‘—since Josh and I broke up.’

  His hand lifts to push some hair back from my face but his fingers make no contact with my skin, to my endless frustration. ‘That didn’t end well for you, I’m sensing. Tell me about this dickhead of a fiancé who let you go.’

  I grip my clutch bag and stare out of the window while I organise my emotions on the subject. Funny that admitting I was duped romantically is easier to confess than how naive I was businesswise, perhaps because, with the exception of Reid’s father, no one in my life ever really believed I was capable of running my own business. Even Josh, when I first suggested we start our own company, baulked at the idea, only coming around when I offered the small nest egg I’d inherited from my grandmother as the necessary start-up capital.

  ‘I caught him cheating, so no, it didn’t end well. Does it ever?’

  Shock registers on his face and I take comfort from it for a few flattering seconds.

  ‘What an idiot.’ He takes my hand, the simple gesture incendiary to my body temperature and soothing the sting of admitting past humiliation I should have dealt with by now, but clearly have simply shelved while working to rebuild my business every waking hour.

  I clear my throat, seeking the same bravery I found in his boardroom this morning. ‘I know it’s going to sound naive, but after the initial shock of my discovering his betrayal we parted on good terms. Tried to stay friends for the sake of the business we’d started together after university, which was where we met.’

  Reid’s beautiful mouth twists. ‘That’s incredibly mature of you. I’m not sure I could have taken that attitude in your position.’

  His compliment warms me, the years between us shrinking away for the first time. I change the subject, too close to admitting more and disabusing him of his regard.

  ‘What happened with you and Sadie?’

  Shutters seem to cover his eyes, reminding me this apparent closeness is an illusion—we’re still virtual strangers. I know his father better than I know him.

  ‘Also didn’t work out, although not for the same reasons.’ He shrugs. ‘I dodged a bullet and it sounds like you might have as well. At least you hadn’t married the guy.’ His hand tightens around mine, his thumb swiping the back of my hand. ‘It must have been hard though, losing your fiancé and your business partner in one fell swoop and having to go it alone.’

  I half nod, half shrug. If only he knew...

  ‘I channelled all my energies into the business—put in long hours, rebranded, raised the profile of the company. It’s made me stronger and cured me from ever wanting a business partner again.’

  His smile is layered with respect, causing heat to unfurl inside me. ‘I can imagine, although being self-employed isn’t easy—that’s quite a burden of responsibility. At least I have Kit and Drake, and Graham taught me everything he knows. You’ve completely sidestepped from your family, branched out alone.’

  I don’t need the reminder of how irrelevant what I’m doing is to my large, self-absorbed family, who, as I’m the youngest, have always completely underestimated me. ‘Well, it’s all about scale, isn’t it? You employ hundreds of staff. I have an office manager and a list of subcontractors. And Graham helped me out, too.’

  ‘He did?’ His surprise turns to what looks like awe. And I smile for their father-son bond. Of course, Reid and Graham must be close, working together all these years.

  ‘Yes. I’ve always valued and respected his opinions—he’s given me some valuable advice over the years.’

  ‘Such as?’

  I stall, dozens of memories crowding my mind, most of them linked in some way to the man sitting beside me. ‘He always seemed to have time for me, even when he talked business with my dad—he once spent an hour explaining the way the stock market works to a fifteen-year-old me. When I earned a place at university he sat me down and told
me to chase my passions, whatever they were, even if it was the path less travelled. He even came to my graduation ceremony—did you know that?’

  Reid’s eyes widen. He seems shell-shocked, as if I’ve told him something about his father’s warm and giving personality that he didn’t previously know.

  I continue. ‘When I qualified, I started work for a big company in the city—I hated it; I was creatively stifled and felt trapped. I’d chosen this career, against my own family’s advice, and for a moment there, I thought I’d have to admit they were correct and go back to Dad for a job with my tail between my legs. Then I talked to Graham about the idea of starting C&L Interiors. Of course, he knew little of the creative aspects, but he offered plenty of sage business-related advice, put me in touch with a great business-mentoring organisation and was so enthusiastic and encouraging I felt I couldn’t fail. But then, I’ve always found him generous like that.’ I swallow hard at the sickening reminder that, of course, I could fail and almost had.

  ‘Yes. Yes, he is.’ Reid looks at me as if with fresh eyes. ‘I was unaware you two were that close. I guess I’ve been a little out of the loop, socially.’

  I can’t hold back any longer—I have to ask, for my own peace of mind. ‘Is Graham’s confusion likely to be temporary?’ The backs of my eyes burn and I have to swallow repeatedly to keep myself in check.

  Reid glances out of the window at the passing traffic, perhaps looking for a distraction. ‘The doctors say it’s dementia.’ He turns back to face me, his sculpted jaw tense. ‘We’re awaiting a second opinion.’

  I cover my mouth in shock, my mind racing with the implications. ‘I’m so sorry, Reid. That must be very hard for you, Drake and Kit, and, of course, Graham.’ My eyes burn anew as I recall all Graham’s kindnesses and considerations over the years. ‘He’s a lovely man.’

  I want to pry some more, to ask about Graham’s prognosis and what it means for him and the family. But the car pulls to a halt, ending our conversation and giving me a few seconds to pull myself together.