Easy

by Donna Alam

  ‘You don’t?’ Her green eyes stare up at me, guileless. So trusting. Silly girl.

  ‘A couple of hours might be enough for me.’ I stare down at her. ‘But I suspect after your hiatus, once you get your claws into me, you won’t be satisfied until I’m left a husk of a man.’

  ‘You’re so funny,’ she grouses good-naturedly, though I don’t miss how she presses her body closer.

  ‘Is that a compliment?’ God, I want her. Want to sink my cock into her and leave marks with my teeth.

  The lift chimes open, and we step in, but we’re not alone as others suddenly shuffle in behind us.

  I step straight to the back, pulling Sadie in front of me. Taking advantage of our proximity, I run the knuckle of my index finger down her spine. She shivers, leaning back against me when suddenly, her whole posture changes, her body going quite rigid as the doors are prevented from closing by a last-minute couple stepping in. The woman giggles as the doors whoosh closed, and she steps closer to her companion, who just happens to be Julian.

  I place my hands on Sadie’s hips, but her body’s responses have been dialled from red hot to corpse, as she stares resolutely ahead at where the pair stand.

  Much like Julian, I don’t have a type—a specific kind of woman my dick follows like a heat-seeking missile. Tall, short, black, white; I like them all. Unlike Julian, however, I do have a turn-off. And that would be the woman he has his arm around.

  Everything about her screams fake—from the soccer balls she’s encased in a toga, which appears to have been made from a napkin, to the improbable white-blonde of her hair, and her mouthful of piano key teeth. The white keys, at least.

  ‘I still owe you a birthday present, Juju,’ she whisper-giggles. ‘I had no idea what to get you.’

  ‘I have an idea,’ Juju returns. His eyes are wild, his irises tiny pinpoints. He’s as high as a kite. ‘You can just get naked when we get back to the room.’

  ‘You’re so bad!’ One limp hand slaps his chest, though it’s not a chastisement as much as encouragement. One that works, too, as the fucker plants his face in her cleavage. Classy.

  Jesus wept. I cast my eyes heavenward rather than be faced with the sight of my second cousin, I think he might be, making out with silicone. This is what happens when families inbreed.

  ‘Really!’ someone complains, but as the doors ping open on the next floor, the pair stumbles out to find their room. And relief.

  Sadie releases a breath as the doors slide closed once again.

  Fuck him and the horse he just rode out on.

  ‘You’re so beautiful.’ I pitch my words low as I place a kiss on her bared shoulder.

  My fingers still wrapped around her hips, I pull her against me. Beyond allowing me to, she doesn’t offer any further response. So I take a lock of her hair, no doubt left free of the intricate braiding for artistic purposes, and rub it between my fingers. She shivers as my breath caresses her neck, relaxing a fraction more as I slide it behind her ear, deliberately stroking the shell as I lower my hand again.

  ‘Can you feel it?’ I whisper, pulling her tighter against me. My words might be audible in the tiny square of space we’re in, but I find I don’t care. And neither does Sadie as she shivers again, this time nodding slowly. ‘You’ve done this to me. Just you.’

  She exhales a jagged breath, her shoulders rising and falling a little rapidly. Someone clears their throat, another exhaling a feminine sigh, but no one complains.

  ‘I wonder what sounds you’ll make when you lose yourself to me? I wonder how deep your blush will go?’

  At another floor, the lift chimes and the doors open, people spilling out. As I glance up, a pair of older women who’ve just stepped out look back. One waves her hand in front of her face as though flushed, and the other looks on a little scandalised. As the doors slide closed, I send them a wink as I lower my lips to Sadie’s shoulder.

  ‘Will,’ she whispers as the lift intones the number of the next floor. ‘Please, people can hear you.’

  ‘They should hear. They should know how much I want you. And secretly, Sadie, I think you want them to hear that, too.’ Her head shakes almost infinitesimally. ‘I think you want them to hear you moan as I slide into you, hear you cry as I make you come.’

  The lift chimes again, the tinny voice announcing we’ve reached the ground floor. As the doors slide open, I grab Sadie’s hand and step out into the foyer, unsure of my exact plans. I just need to feel her—need a taste. Just like Sadie needs to feel my desire for reassurance, if nothing else.

  If you’ve spoiled this for me, Julian, I’ll kick your arse.

  The foyer is vast and impersonal, all glass and marble. I stop and glance around. Restaurant. Bar. Reception. A hallway leading to a couple of function rooms—my eyes double back to the hallway as I notice a member of the hotel crew pushing a trolley or cart out of one such room.

  ‘Trust me?’ I ask as I walk backwards, pulling her with me.

  ‘Not an ounce.’ She laughs in return. Her countenance flushed, she wobbles on her heels a little, but at least she isn’t sad.

  The liveried member of staff edges between the door and her trolley, swinging it into the hallway without once lifting her head. We only have a couple of seconds before the door swings closed, locking once again.

  Letting go of Sadie’s hand, I catch it with the toe of my shoe. A quick glance over my shoulder tells me we’re in the clear, so I turn back and hold my index finger over my smiling lips.

  ‘You want to bang me in the conference room?’ Sadie folds her arms, her expression a little twisted. But see her feet? They’re still moving in my direction, even if a little vodka confidence aids them.

  Score one for Will.

  ‘Sweetheart, I would’ve fucked you in the lift with all those people given half a chance. I should warn you, I’m not shy.’

  ‘No, I can see that.’ Her eyes flick to my crotch, but it’s not my fault my pants are currently so tight you can tell whether I’m circumcised.

  Wouldn’t you like to know . . .

  ‘But no, I’m not going to fuck you. At least, not yet.’ She looks a little sceptical. And turned on as her gaze flicks south again. ‘Hurry,’ I urge. ‘I promise I don’t bite.’ Much, at least.

  She places her hand in mine, and I pull her through the open door.

  The room is pure corporate bland and more of a meeting room than a conference suite. An oval boardroom table sits at the centre, an interactive whiteboard at one end and a discreet coffee station at the other. The walls on either side are entirely glass—a dark tinted one overlooks Edwardian buildings and the other frosted glass one leads into the hotel. With night having fallen, the room is mostly dark with only a small lamp at the coffee station that’s presumably just been restocked.

  ‘Girls in pale dresses with plum-coloured lips.’

  ‘What?’ As she lifts her gaze, she looks delighted, recognising my intentions immediately. I might not be singing, but the intonation’s there.

  ‘My tongue in her mouth, my hands on her hips.’ I follow my impromptu lyrics with the same action of my hands.

  ‘Pretty pink bottoms, girls tied up with string . . . These are a few of my favourite things.’

  ‘Cute,’ she says, laughing a little nervously as her eyes dip to where I hold her.

  ‘Cute?’ I tug her body tighter into mine, forcing her to tip her chin. ‘Do I look cute to you?’

  Her green eyes darken, and she swallows. ‘No. I’d say you suddenly look a little serious—’

  My mouth is immediately over hers, and the intensity is all her doing. If she hadn’t licked her lips—one flick of her raspberry-coloured tongue—my mouth wouldn’t be devouring hers. End of conversation.

  My hands cradle her head while my mouth pillages and my tongue fucks. I press harder, deeper, until her hands are sliding under my jacket and grasping at my shirt, her moans desperate and sweet.

  ‘I am serious, plum.’ So fucking serious
. I spin her body, her back to my chest, to stop her hands from stripping me. We don’t have time for that.

  ‘Please,’ she whispers, trying to twist back, her hands as frantic as a dozen pairs instead of just one. And, fuck, if that doesn’t make me harder.

  Julian’s loss is absolutely my gain.

  ‘Wait,’ I rasp, pressing my mouth against the slope between her shoulder and neck, testing the soft skin with my teeth. Sadie’s legs almost buckle, and she releases a stuttering moan. ‘Shush, love. We have to be quiet,’ requested no man ever, unless . . . you fancy finding yourself in the local nick facing a charge for public indecency. Wouldn’t that go down well with the fam.

  ‘But I want you.’ She reaches around, palming my cock, and I grunt a hard curse. ‘I want this. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.’

  Her words are like a shot of pure adrenaline through my veins. She can’t know what they do to me, how they call to me, or how many physical experiences I could put on that list. But this is just a taste. It wouldn’t be fair to fuck her here.

  Because I’m no fuckers second choice,’ she growls.

  ‘Christ.’ I grate out, pulsing into her. ‘The fuck you are, beautiful. You’re a queen.’

  ‘Tell me more,’ she demands breathily, making me work for it as her fingernails drag over my dick—making me hiss out a curse.

  ‘You’re a fucking queen.’ If my voice sounds rough, it’s because my need is immediate, and my grip tenuous. ‘And your throne is my face.’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘And I’m going to give you this cock so hard. So fucking hard.’ My mouth finds her neck again where I lave and lap, working my fingers over her shoulder, along with one thin dress strap.

  As the fabric falls away, I take the weight of her pert, exposed breast into my hand, my thumbs and forefinger pinching the tip.

  ‘You like that,’ I tell her as she begins to pant. Her whole body trembles, taut and humming with need. ‘You’re so beautiful. Look at yourself, sweetheart. See through my eyes.’

  Sliding my hand under her chin, I tilt her face to the darkened window as I slip off the other strap of her dress. She looks . . . amazing. Her dress caught on her hips, she is the vision of Aphrodite, half undressed.

  And on the brink of falling apart.

  Taking her hands in mine, I lift them above my head, clasping them around the back of my neck. ‘Don’t let go until I tell you to.’

  ‘Or else?’ she whispers.

  ‘Or else I’ll won’t let you come until I get you to a bed. Maybe not even then.’

  ‘I thought I was the queen,’ she whispers. A little laughter colouring her words.

  ‘Sweetheart, you are the queen, and I’m your private secretary. Your very private secretary.’ I run my fingers along the sensitive skin of her arms, brushing past her pebbled nipples. ‘And the queen always listens to her advisors. Which means, your body is mine to position, and your mind is mine to bend.’ Sliding my hands down her stomach, I push them further over the front of her thighs. ‘And my queen would like to come, wouldn’t she.’

  She exhales a breathless but hesitant, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then tell me, who does this pussy belong to right now?’

  Her breath hitches, her reflected expression all wide-eyed as I begin to gather her dress between my fingers and her thigh, like a theatre curtain reveals the wonders of a stage.

  ‘Y-you. It belongs to you.’

  ‘And you’re going to show it to me, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ The word hits the air as a sigh.

  Slowly, so slowly, her reflection reveals toned and creamy thighs. A little more gathering and a triangle of pale satin appears. The sight is a delightful surprise.

  ‘I was sure you weren’t wearing any underwear.’

  ‘What kind of girl goes out without wearing panties?’ she whispers, genuinely shocked.

  ‘One who wants to be fucked.’

  She inhales sharply at the hard fricative, her whole body trembling as I fist the material of her dress in one hand, my other running the gauntlet of her silky knickers.

  ‘You look a little keyed up, love. Sort of desperate.’ My words are little more than a low rumble as I slip my hand down the front of her panties, my middle finger finding her crease. ‘I’m going to put my tongue here; would you like that?’ She nods quickly, her breath coming in sharp, choppy bursts. ‘I’m going to lick your pretty plum pussy until your sweet juice is dripping down my chin.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ she whimpers, bucking up into my hand.

  I think I could make her come like this—just a couple of fingers and my palm over her cunt. I could wrap my arm around her waist and let her do all the work, her hips frenzied, her tits bouncing in the window’s reflection. Hold her still as she hits her pinnacle, hold her as tight as any rope as she spills over the edge.

  I could do all that . . . except I want to taste her.

  The silk of her knickers is damp from my finger as I turn her, backing her up against the oval table in the centre of the room. A jagged dose of adrenaline courses through my veins at the thought of what I could do given a little time, a little rope, and a little room.

  ‘That is a dangerous looking smile,’ she breathes, still stepping backwards. That apparent smile deepens as I stalk towards her. ‘L-like you’re a big cat and I’m the gazelle for breakfast.’

  Sadie comes to a stop as her bottom makes contact with the table, shivering as I drag my hand over the contours of her body.

  ‘Funny you should mention eating . . .’

  She groans her appreciation as I kiss her hard—kiss her thoroughly. Bite her jawline and neck. Suck her tongue into my mouth as I imagine sinking into her.

  ‘Shush, now,’ I whisper, kissing my way down her body. I drop to my heels, sliding the bare whisper of damp silk down her legs. As I help her step from the scrap of fabric, I grab one ankle, place a kiss on the inside, and lower it to widen her stance.

  Barely standing, Sadie wraps her fingers around the edge of the table. A sound of some semblance of a prayer stutters from her lips as I blow a breath of warm air over her pussy, my thumb stroking the strip of hair between her legs. Then, I slide both thumbs into her slit, breaking her apart like a peach. Or a plum.

  ‘Will,’ she whispers, adding my name to the list of her prayers. Bared to the waist, she lowers to one forearm. Her hair has begun to come undone, and hardly a trace of her lipstick remains on her lips. She is the most beautiful thing. The most beautiful mess. And a picture of pure wantonness as I bury myself between her legs.

  With one long swipe of my tongue, she’s crying out, her fingers scrabbling at the edge of the table and pulling at my hair.

  ‘Lord, oh, Lord,’ she whimpers. ‘I didn’t know . . . I couldn’t . . .’

  ‘Get your arse up on the table,’ I growl, not bothering to move from between her thighs. ‘You taste just as I knew you would.’ And I can’t get enough. ‘So sweet and so fucking ripe.’

  I devour her like the delicacy she is, on my knees now—like a penitent. The muscles in my thighs are tight, my cock aching for relief. But as she squirms, as she spreads herself so wide and so shamelessly, as she tightens her fingers in my hair, riding my face for her pleasure, all I can think is how I want her. On my face. On my lap. How I need to fuck her. Sink deep inside and leave my mark there.

  Sweat glues my shirt to my back, my fever purely for the taste of this girl. I lick her. Suck her clit into my mouth. Fuck her tight little pussy with my tongue and my fingers—one at first, then two, then three—revelling in the sweet satisfaction of her cries and the taste of her on my lips.

  ‘Will, I can’t . . . ’ Her cries are loud enough to cause alarm, but I can’t give a fuck. ‘It’s too much! Too much!’

  ‘Give it to me.’ I growl against her pink, wet flesh, the first fluttering of her orgasm hot against my face. ‘You’re going to come. Give it to me now.’

  From between her legs, my eyes travel the length of
her body. Her spine arched, her head thrown back, and one hand on her breast; she has the other knotted in my hair. The sight of her is fucking obscene, and as she begins to grind against me, crying out my name again and again, it’s a sight I know I’m not likely to see ever again.

  I kiss my way up her body, whispering words against her skin.

  ‘You’re so stunning . . . I can’t wait to get you in my bed . . . ’ I take her silence for agreement. For assent. ‘Watching you come was like seeing poetry come alive,’ I whisper into the soft skin of her neck.

  ‘Will?’ she says, raising her hand to her head. The word wobbles, and her tone is watery. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’

  Chapter Eight

  WILL

  She didn’t vomit, which is just as well. I doubt I’d have managed to get a cab to take us home. I’ll come back for my car tomorrow. She did, however, have the complexion of a three-day-old pastry by the time we pulled up outside.

  Vodka, definitely. Because I prefer to think of the strength of her orgasm as a lovely surprise, not a nasty shock. And now the gorgeous Sadie is lying on her front, spread out like a silver starfish across my bed.

  ‘Sadie, your bag is ringing.’ Flipping open her clutch, I slide her phone under her outstretched hand.

  ‘Iz Kallie,’ she murmurs.

  ‘I imagine she wants a debrief. Though not the kind that happened in the conference room.’ I pat my jacket pocket and the silky contents within. ‘Do you want me to answer it?’

  ‘Kallie’s my shero,’ she mutters beatifically, nestling her head into the downy white pillows. ‘S’love her.’

  I pull the phone back from under her fingers. Because I don’t fancy the front door being broken down by armed police, especially when she finds her “paid companion” didn’t pick up her friend.

  ‘Hello, Sadie’s phone.’

  ‘Who’s this?’ a strident voice asks.

  ‘Will. And I can tell by the magic of caller ID that I’m speaking to the one and only Super Bae.’ I pull the phone away from my ear and check I’d read correctly as Super Bae’s laughter rattles down the line.