She smiled. "This?" She licked the end of his finger again, her eyes twinkling.
"That and the fact you're holding an erect cock between your breasts."
She laughed and glanced down in surprise. She turned away and put the strap-on back on the table where it belonged.
"Although I would much rather it was my cock in your hands."
When she turned back, she returned his stare with candor. "That's not beyond the realms of possibility." Her gaze dropped to the place where his cock was hard in his pants.
Any iota of self-control that might have been within his grasp vanished. He stepped against her, taking her face in his hands, his fingers sinking deep into her hair.
She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with pleasure, her lips parted in anticipation. He bent to kiss her, running his tongue along her lower lip, tasting her.
She responded, her hands on his shoulders, her mouth opening. She was lush and supple, her body moving against his in the sexiest way. He moved one hand to press her closer still, resting it in the small of her back. They were body to body. His cock sensed warmth, softness. Willingness. His balls thudded insistently.
A cough issued behind them.
Drawing back, he glanced round and saw Nathan, his right hand man, standing by.
"The journalist from the Arts Bulletin is ready for you."
Reluctantly, Zac released her. "Bad timing," he explained. "I've agreed to give an interview about the venue and the autumn line up." Maybe it was just as well. Their involvement was far from clear cut.
She looked from him to Nathan and back.
Zac raised a hand. "Cheers, Nathan. Take him up to the office and offer him a drink. I'll be with you in two minutes."
Nathan nodded and departed, amusement apparent in his expression.
Surprise lit her face. "Are you the manager or something?"
It was a timely reminder of who they really were. "No title as such, but you could say that."
She gave a startled laugh. "And you moonlight as a courier?"
Coming from her that comment tickled him no end. "It's always wise to have a backup plan when it comes to careers, don't you agree?"
She nodded.
"In fact, I bet you've got a few skills to fall back on, should your receptionist work come to an end." She had the decency to blush, he noticed, but she didn't correct him with her true job status. Why?
"A receptionist can always find work. As I suspect couriers can."
Her mouth was so inviting. He wanted to kiss her again. And the rest.
"Tell me," she added, "do you rent the venue out for functions? I'm only a receptionist, but the company I work for might be interested."
"Anything is possible," he stated, ambiguously.
What was she up to, playing the role over again? Why didn't she want him to know she was an investment expert? He couldn't resist the bait though—even if it did mean giving her his name and the possibility of her making the connection. He'd much rather that was avoided.
He slipped his hand into his inner jacket pocket and handed her his personal calling card.
She read it with interest. "Zachary Bordino?"
He nodded. "Call me Zac. And I don't believe you've actually told me your name."
"Abby. Abigail Douglas, but everyone calls me Abby."
"I'm sure we'll meet again, Abby."
"I do hope so." The invitation in her eyes almost made him forget the interview, but he needed the time to figure out why she was masquerading.
"I think we can bank on that." He pushed her loose hair back over one shoulder, his hands itching to hang on to her instead. "Call me or drop by, any time."
What the hell—he wanted her.
"Make it soon."
Chapter Three
The following morning Abby walked into the Heathrow European arrivals lounge seconds before Ed emerged, waving his folded newspaper at her, his suit carrier resting over one arm. He kissed her cheek while he talked about the flight and the atrocious tea he'd had to drink.
It reminded her she was ravenous. "You promised me breakfast."
He laughed. "So I did, let's go."
As they sat chatting over croissants and steaming black coffee, Abby found she could barely focus on what he was saying to her. She was looking beyond him, remembering her encounter with Zac the night before. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, trying to concentrate on what Ed was telling her about the problems with the Pascal account.
"It's a complete mess. There's so much paperwork that Tom hadn't been given access to in the early days. We only discovered it yesterday." He looked at her sheepishly. "We're going to have to be in Geneva for at least a couple of days a week."
She nodded, wishing he didn't feel as if he had to explain to her. They were good friends, not lovers. Not any more. "Have you organized a schedule yet?"
"Yes, we plan to divide the time equally if at all possible. A few days in London, then back out, probably Thursday."
She nodded.
He seemed to take her silence as disappointment. He covered her hand with his. "I'm sorry. We were timetabled to play squash this week."
"Hey, you don't have to explain to me." She looked down at his hand. He seemed unreal, distant, she could barely feel him. She was still being touched by Zac.
She dropped him at his Islington terrace, declining his invite to stay for lunch, and drove back to her own apartment, parking up her mini for the week. Mostly she traveled by tube or taxi, but she loved having the car nonetheless.
She began to look at the files she had brought home from work. One of the criteria of the Ashburn account was to invest in property. Ed had already targeted a development of apartments around a large marina along the south coast. Abby was looking for something a bit more adventurous.
As she leafed through the upcoming auctions her hands kept leading her back to a castle that was located in the west coast of Ireland. The photographs that accompanied the profile showed a gothic tower and ramparts that were architecturally outstanding, but begging for restoration. It would be a real gamble investing in something like that on behalf of a client, but it was also a rare property opportunity and Abby couldn't help being drawn to it. She certainly liked the idea of being locked up in the tower with a dark prince who kept her there at his mercy, playing out some wild idea on a big white bed. I wonder why? When she closed the file the castle remained on the top of the heap.
She worked on but turned to the window every so often to watch the curtains drifting on the warm breeze. As they were sucked out through the window into the heat of the afternoon she felt herself being drawn out with them. Her restlessness was getting the better of her. She was being inextricably drawn towards the lure of the enigmatic Mr. Bordino.
He'd made her blatant. She couldn't resist flirting with him. And the things he'd said, about people needing diversity and challenge. It was if he'd been reading the words from her soul. Then there was the no-small-fact that he was a total turn-on. She'd barely managed the taxi drive home from Marcy's the night before and had masturbated herself to sleep, bringing herself off several times, imagining herself captured in his arms again, his mouth on hers, his suggestive voice inviting her back. Soon.
She headed for the shower, and gave herself up to it. Closing her eyes, she thought about the way his hands had felt on her body. Her skin wanted contact. She leaned her back up against the tiles and let the water pour down over her breasts. It pounded against her skin. She turned against the wall, letting the water slide down her back. Her breasts rode up against the wet tiles but the cool, sleek surface couldn't respond to her warm, full flesh. She wanted contact, desperately. Her hands flickered restlessly over her body, but they were an insufficient panacea. She wanted him. When she stepped out of the shower, she knew she was going to take up his invitation and she was going to take it up now.
She dressed in knee-high suede boots and a black jersey mini dress. After she'd ordered a taxi she pulled on a long
raincoat and left the apartment.
It was twilight by the time she got to the venue. Standing in front of the closed glass vestibule, her mind ticked over frantically. She hadn't even considered that the place might be shut, which put a bit of a kink in her resolve, but then she noticed a small illuminated bell on one side set back and hidden from general view. She walked over and pressed the bell.
Seconds ticked by. There may not be anyone here on a Sunday, she told herself, but her body refused to believe it. Nerves were beginning to take hold of her when the interior doors flashed open and a big beefy man, with short spiked hair appeared. It was the man Zac had called Nathan, the night before. He looked at her with amusement, apparently his constant expression.
"Is Zac around?"
He swung the door wide and she stepped inside. "There's a band rehearsing. He's in there." He gestured down the corridor and glanced down at her long coat. "Help yourself."
When she emerged into the auditorium the place looked different. It was more brightly lit, exposing its quite large and gaunt interior. The seating from the night before had been neatly stacked away at the back of the space. A handful of people drifted about, only glancing at her as they moved boxed equipment towards the stage at the far end.
Zac was working at a microphone stand, adjusting the height and rearranging its position. Her heart rate responded immediately. He was wearing a tight black T-shirt and jeans. He was smiling and chatting to a woman in front of him. She was tall and elegant, her blue-black hair cut in a dramatic bob. She talked animatedly while fiddling with a guitar that hung across one lean hip.
Of course, Abby thought, there would be a string of women in his life. She was no doubt one of many that he expressed interest in. Just as she began to wonder if she could escape unseen, Zac reached over to a mixing desk on one side of the stage and flicked several switches. When he turned back he glanced over and saw her.
His eyes flashed immediately. He said something to the woman in front of him then jumped lithely from the stage, strolling over. "Abby, what a pleasant distraction." He looked her over with undisguised appraisal.
She smiled. "I thought I'd call over to find out some more details about hiring the venue for an office function." How blatantly feeble an excuse was that?
"Did you, indeed?" He gave her an indolent smile. "And this would be on behalf of your employer?"
Abby laughed. "Oh, absolutely."
He put his hand inside her coat and slid it open. His gaze fell to her boots, to the flash of naked thigh between them and the hem of the dress. He lifted his head. His eyes glimmered, their irises crystal azure. "You look as if you are dressed for something entirely different."
"It's the weekend."
"It is, and I don't think you came here to discuss a business function at all, did you?"
She smiled and shook her head. Her heart was pounding.
"Seems like that would be above and beyond the call of even the most hard-working receptionist." There was an insinuating tone to his voice that made her feel edgy with need and unsure. He stepped closer still, resting his hand on her hip, inside the coat. His other hand slipped to the light jersey of her dress where it clung to her shoulder and he lifted it lightly, tugging at her breasts with the movement. Her nipples were hard, and the movement of jersey across the taut surface tightened them again.
"I think we both know what I'm here for." She whispered, her body leaning into his, her lips parted.
He gave a dark chuckle. "I can't wait to see what you're going to say next." He glanced down at her nipples where they broke the smooth surface of the material.
Why did it feel as if he was teasing her? "We're adults aren't we?"
"Yes, we are." He breathed in, appreciatively. "And I can smell how aroused you are, just like I could last night."
His words thrilled her. His face was millimeters from hers. He wanted her too.
"Yes," she whispered, "I am aroused. And so are you." Her lips parted with pleasure, the knowledge of reciprocated desire, and anticipation of the event that could follow.
Capturing her hand, he led her to a door stage left, punched a sequence of numbers into the keypad and pulled her through the doorway. It slammed shut behind them. He backed her up against the wall. Grabbing her wrists, he pinned them above her head, his hips pressed hard against hers.
They kissed, their hungry, open mouths locked together. Barely contained animal lust traveled between them, as palpable as electricity crackling across a stormy night sky.
He pulled her toward a door close by and into the room beyond. He fumbled in his pockets, drew out a ring of keys and locked the door behind them.
She glanced around. A dressing table stood against one wall, mirrors over it and on the wall behind. A sink and clothing rails were fitted to the back wall. It was a dressing room.
Zac dropped the keys loudly on the floor and walked over to where she stood. Music stirred through the walls from the auditorium. It was muted, but its dense throbbing sounds reached Abby at the same time as Zac pulled her body to his. He took her coat off, dropping it to the floor, and ran his hands over her breasts.
She breathed out as the light jersey beneath his hands heightened the sensation of skin reaching for skin.
He kissed her neck, brushing the surface lightly, and breathing along her throat. Sensation flew through her from the place where his lips moved on her bare skin. In one long, slow stroke he bent and moved his hands up, from the top of her boots, under her dress, and around the back of her thighs. His hands traced the line of her g-string, pulling at the skimpy line of material.
She moved her hips, responding to the sounds that reached them through the walls. As a woman's voice flew up in a scream of song, Zac moved his fingers into the humid spot inside her. Her head fell back in ecstasy.
She looked into his eyes and moved her hips on his hand. She was burning up, she was so hot for this.
"What is it that you really want, Abigail Douglas?" It was a whisper.
She couldn't reply, because the contact with him had taken away logical thoughts.
He drew back and looked into her eyes with a curious stare, his hot breath covering her face.
"I want you," she murmured. "I wanted you the moment I saw you." Her hips moved, begging for him to take control of them.
He nodded then turned her in his arms, pressing against her back, his cock hard and defined against her buttocks. The movement was so sudden and sexy it knocked the breath from her lungs. Reflected in the mirror, she saw them molded together. He looked over her shoulder, admiring the image too.
"I like these boots," he murmured. "They make you just the right height." He stroked his hand up the line of her spine and slowly but firmly pushed her over until she was bent at the hip. His cock was hard against her buttocks, her heels lifting her against him. She gasped, wriggling in his grasp, her sex clenching with need.
He lifted the hem of her dress and pushed it up to her waist, the bulge of his cock resting between her buttocks as her bottom was revealed to him. She glanced left and saw them reflected in the mirror, blatantly, provocatively. Animal.
He lifted her G-string to one side. She struggled against him, turning away from the image she saw in the mirror. It was hot, shocking. Too much.
"No, keep looking." His tone was demanding, making her quake with lust. "I want you to see how good you look while I'm fucking you."
A low moan escaped her and her hands grappled for support. Her fingers met the cool porcelain of the sink. She gripped onto it and pushed her hips back against him, looking at the mirror as she did.
His fingers plucked the G-string from his path, tightening it against her clit as he did so. The pull of the fabric on her clit made her throb, hot waves of pleasure condensing in her groin.
He stroked her swollen folds and it was such sweet, sweet torment. Bent over like that, every part of her was on display to him, every quivering, damp bit of skin, and each lusting orifice. She whimpered quie
tly, desire and humiliation raging inside her. She whimpered again, louder, when he reached down and rocked one finger over her clit. She tossed her head back, her hair flying as she looked back at him with. His eyes were dark, shining. His lips were pressed together, his mouth hard and determined.
"Zac, please," she whispered, her voice quiet and strength less.
"Hush, I intend to have you right now. I'm going to do what I should have done last night and bury my cock inside you."
"Dear god, yes," she uttered, her legs spreading wider, her sex pounding furiously at his words. She heard the merciful sound of his zipper, the rip of a condom pack. She watched in the mirror as he rolled it on, his fist anchoring it over the base of his cock in the sexiest way.
When he began to drive himself slowly into that oh-so-sensitive place, she groaned. He filled her completely. The fabric of her G-string was tight between her pussy lips, capturing her clit. She felt wild, yet tethered. "Fuck me hard," she begged.
"Believe me, I intend to." He said the words through gritted teeth. He pulled her roughly into position on him and began to drive his cock in and out, his hands holding her hips.
She pressed back, meeting each thrust with a low cry from deep in her throat. She braced her arms against the sink.
"You're a wild creature, Abby, aren't you? I could see it the moment we met."
She drove back onto him, her feet spreading wide to hold her upright when she began to feel the heat of her climax building. "I'm going to come… I want to come." Fevered and anxious, her voice wavered.
Her fingers tightened on the porcelain. Her head hung down and her hips worked quickly against him. She felt him slide a hand up her throat and stroke her neck from her chin downwards, lifting her torso upright, taking her weight and crushing her entire body down onto his cock. Her toes barely scraped the floor. She screamed with pleasure. She felt his cock there, in her throat, beneath his hand. Hot, hard, ready to burst and flood. They both felt it.
He groaned deeply and she felt his cock grow harder still, wedged against her cervix, then the leap and surge of flesh as he came. She wriggled and flexed, desperate for the release. A flash of divine heat traveled through her body. As the heat blossomed and spread outward she gave a long low moan, her body convulsing.
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