Naughty or Nice

by Rachael Stewart

  If I choose to sign with him.

  ‘You were amazing, Eva.’

  I drag my eyes away to smile at Clare. She’s a fabulous assistant—her excitement bubbles over as if it were my own. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘If anyone had the slightest doubt they’ll be utterly convinced now that they want it—even if it’s to gain a piece of you.’

  I know she means it professionally, but I can’t help thinking of Lucas, and again I’m distracted, my eyes hunting him out. And then a crazy urge takes over.

  ‘Clare, do me a favour and hold the room for five. I just need to take care of something.’

  ‘Sure.’

  I’m already heading for the exit, the restrooms, giving a polite ‘I’ll be back in just a moment...’ to anyone who pauses to speak to me.

  I know I don’t need to beckon him, that he’ll be hot on my tail. And he is. As soon as my hand presses into the restroom door he’s at my back.

  ‘Escaping?’

  I turn and smile up at him. ‘Wait here.’

  His brow pinches together. He’s unaccustomed to being commanded—that’s obvious. But he does as he’s told and I walk through the door, scanning the stalls. They’re all empty and I don’t hang around. I pull open the door and reach for the skinny black tie that reminds me so much of the defiant teen I loved.

  ‘Come.’

  I walk backwards and he moves with me, feeding the power swimming like liquid heat through my veins, my core.

  ‘What is this, Eva?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I hope it’s you calling in a ten-year debt.’

  I keep moving, ignoring the brief spike of pain, of heartbreak. Knowing I’m about to replace it with something far more satisfying.

  ‘Do you remember that night?’

  His jaw clenches, his eyes ablaze, and I know he’s reliving it.

  ‘Yes,’ he grinds out.

  His tension is palpable and I take conceited pleasure in it.

  ‘I remember.’

  I push open a stall door, thankful for the opulent finish, and nudge him inside. A toilet wouldn’t be my ideal place to feed this need, but it’s certainly the most convenient. And, as far as toilets go, this is designed for a certain clientele—a sleek private vanity area, with space for a woman’s multitude of possessions or her derriere, should the need arise. How very convenient.

  I back him inside, blindly locking the door behind me. ‘Do you remember how you left me?’

  He falters and shakes his head.

  ‘No?’ I raise my brow at him, my fingers toying with the slit in the silk that rides high up my thigh.

  ‘I do remember.’

  His voice is tight. It reverberates through my spine as I circle the exposed skin and raise the slit higher. ‘What do you remember, Lucas?’

  ‘I remember you wore a white number that barely covered your arse.’

  I can feel the effort it takes him to form the words and my confidence edges ever higher. I hook my fingers into the fabric of my dress and spread it open across my thigh, loving how his eyes track the move, his breath hitching.

  ‘What else?’

  ‘I remember how your skin felt beneath my palms...the taste of champagne on your tongue.’

  He gives a small shudder and his fists flex at his sides. I know he wants to reach for me, but something is stopping him. And I’m glad. I want to be in control. The one driving this...

  I lift the fabric until it exposes the lace of my nude thong and watch him swallow heavily.

  ‘Do you want to know what I remember, Lucas?’

  His eyes lift to mine, burning deep, and I don’t wait for his answer. I focus on the sex, the need, the desire that has lived on in spite of my shattered heart.

  ‘I remember aching for you so badly... I remember being wet and ready for you...’

  I ease my hand between my parted legs and he exhales sharply, his eyes falling away once more, his fists tight.

  ‘I can remember wanting to do just this...’

  I slip my fingers beneath the lace. Christ, I’m so wet. My thong is damp against the backs of my fingers. He does this to me. Without a touch he has me primed and ready.

  I catch my lower lip in my teeth as I pull my fingers back over my clit, pleasure ripping through me, my hips gyrating into their touch. His eyes flare and I lock onto them, getting off on his reaction as much as the skilful touch of my own fingers.

  I could come like this. I know it. Come and leave. Make him suffer. But it’s not enough.

  ‘Come here,’ I tell him.

  He doesn’t hesitate. He steps forward, his hands reaching to cup my face, but I lean away from him. I don’t want him to kiss me. Not on my lips at any rate. It’s too personal—too close to my teenage dreams.

  I press my free hand to his chest and look up into his questioning gaze. ‘Make me come.’

  He cocks a grin at me. ‘My pleasure.’ He lowers his hand.

  ‘No.’

  He frowns.

  ‘With your mouth.’

  His eyes widen. ‘You like being in charge now?’

  ‘Always.’

  I slip my hand out of my thong and gather up the skirt of my dress. ‘On your knees.’

  As he follows my instructions, surprise floods me. I didn’t expect this swift agreement. And then he’s upon me, his mouth encasing my mound through the lace, the heat of his breath making me shudder, and my knees go weak.

  He probes me with his tongue, his teasing through the fabric enough to make my legs buckle completely. He palms my behind. Holding me steady.

  ‘Why don’t you sit?’ he murmurs against me, encouraging me to the countertop. I go willingly, my dress hitched up to my hips, and the cold surface a shock to the cheeks of my arse. I spasm and he laughs. The sound resonates over my clit.

  ‘Easy...’

  I fork my hand over his head and draw him against me. My other hand clutches the edge of the countertop. ‘I don’t want easy.’

  This time his laugh is tight, and his eyes are now black with his own need. He catches the lace of my thong in his teeth and tugs. ‘These need to go’

  I am captivated by him. For all I want to be in charge, I would actually let him do anything to me in this moment. I nod my head, my hand releasing him to grip the countertop.

  He takes hold of the waistband just as the sound of people approaching reaches us—the unmistakable click of stilettos, women talking. The door opens and I tense. My eyes widen on to his, but he merely smiles as he continues with his task.

  A stall door opens, a tap runs. The women are still talking, but I’m not listening. I’m focused entirely on not giving us away, my knuckles white with the effort of holding everything in as well as keeping my perch upon the vanity.

  He shimmies down my thong, the thin cord stinging against my skin as he pulls it from underneath me. He brings it to my calves but doesn’t take it off. Instead he bends forward and lifts my ankles, ducking to position himself between my legs. The sharp points of my heels dig into his tailored jacket and for a split second I worry about damaging it—but then his eyes lock with mine and my brain empties.

  I am spread open and bare before his hungry gaze. Outside our stall the women talk and talk, but all I care about is him and the crazy tumultuous heat swirling through my limbs.

  His eyes lower as his fingers part me and I whimper. It’s a small choked sound that I cannot help and the women pause in their chatter. I have no idea if we’re discovered, but in that moment all I want is his mouth on me, drinking up the need I feel slipping from me.

  Yes, Lucas, now, I beg silently.

  And slowly he leans in.

  His breath reaches me first, warm and teasing, and then the probe of his tongue. Its very tip flicks against my clit. I buck wildly, the
whimper becoming a strangled squeal, and he breaks away, his eyes flashing in warning.

  I bite into my lip so hard I fear I may draw blood. But the women continue with their chatter, and whether they’ve heard or not I don’t care.

  He leans back in and this time I’m ready for it, my body set rigid as I anticipate the spasm, the pleasure, the—

  Oh, my fucking God.

  * * *

  She ripples beneath me, her muscles straining to keep still, and I can’t help the smile that lifts my lips. How I’ve wanted this. Dreamt of it, even. Working her is a pleasure like none other.

  Working her? My body mocks me. I am drowning in her. Her taste, her essence, her every reaction. She’s working me. And I don’t care.

  I surround her perfect pussy, my nose nudging, my tongue dipping into the place I so want to plunge, and my cock swells harder, thicker, in the confines of my trousers.

  She pants above me, her hands clawing at the counter. Everything about her urges me for more, to go faster, but I’m in my element...exploring, tasting, probing.

  She shivers as I run my tongue over her clit, her breath a hiss between her teeth. I repeat the move, slow and hard at first, lapping at her. Jesus, I could stay like this for as long as she would let me. And then she writhes and I sense her climax building. I change my tempo, make quick flicks of my tongue in tune with her movements, then faster as she tenses.

  I can’t wait to tip her over and start anew. To feel her lose it and then go again and again.

  I break away just enough to watch as I slip two fingers inside her, plunging deep and bringing them out wet and slick. She is so ready, so hot and needy, all for me.

  I hear her pant my name. The sound mingles with the noise of my fingers inside her and with the muttering taking place outside the cubicle door and my smile grows. I want her to scream my name. I want her to forget her place, the perfect persona that she presents to the world, and break...for me.

  I grow hungry...two fingers become three...and then her frenzied hands freeze, her knuckles flashing white at the counter-edge. I look up into her face, feasting on the desperate heat of her gaze, the fierce pinch of her teeth as she draws back her lower lip. I drop to her clit, sucking over her hard, and she cries out. The room stills but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. Not until she shatters under my hand, my mouth...

  ‘Lucas... Lucas...’

  I keep going, and then her thighs close around my head and her entire body convulses with wave after wave. She’s coming hard and my body is at bursting point, living it with her. For a split second I worry I might lose it too—and then a cough breaks the air from the other side of the door. A prim, what-do-you-think-you’re-doing? type of cough.

  I look up at her, my grin as reckless as I feel, but something in her eyes holds me still, robbing me of breath. It’s not their satiated blaze. There’s something almost vulnerable—something that takes me back ten years.

  And then she blinks. It’s gone. Did I imagine it?

  She releases the counter to comb her fingers through my hair. Her touch is like fire upon my skin and I shoot the thought down.

  The heels outside retreat, the restroom door opens and shuts. We’re alone, and I’m not wasting the opportunity. I throw my focus back to her, leaning into her warmth, her wetness, and I drink her down, cleaning up every last drop.

  She quivers around me, gives a small whimper. ‘I’m...sensitive.’

  I know she means in her body, the orgasm having left her raw, but I think of that look. I need to replace it with the wild heat of seconds before, so I soften my touch upon her, I tease... I can feel her shifting away from me, as if the moment is over, but I’m not ready. I’ve not had my fill.

  ‘We should be...getting back...before we’re missed.’

  Her words are hitched and I know I’m getting to her. Her hand in my hair has turned rough, and her body trembles with resurging tension.

  ‘I can’t...not again...not so soon.’

  Wanna bet?

  I hold her apart, my mouth and my tongue unrelenting. My body pleads for release. I know I should stand, take her now. But I can’t. I am lost to her pleasure.

  ‘Oh, God, Lucas!’

  This time she cries it so loud the sound echoes through the empty room—hell, it probably reaches the outer corridor too. This is madness. But I’m all for it.

  She grips me against her with both hands now, her hold fierce as her legs spread wide over the marble top. She’s clinging to me as if her life depends on it, but I’m not going anywhere. I catch each wave of her orgasm with my mouth. It’s perfect, heavenly, and as I get to my feet my cock spasms painfully.

  Now.

  I look down into her sparkling gaze. Her smile is soft, warm.

  ‘I didn’t think—’ She breaks off, her cheeks flushing deeper, her lashes lowering.

  Her sudden embarrassment makes me ache—and not with need, but with something I don’t want to acknowledge. I use my hands to stroke her inner thighs gently, holding her open to me. I don’t know why I’m waiting. I should bury myself in her and be done with it. With this.

  ‘It’s a well-known fact that women can enjoy multiples.’

  ‘In general—just not me.’

  So I’m the first. That feeling swells inside me and I drop my head. I need to kiss her. To taste those cherry-red lips. But she turns her head away. It’s a rejection. A shot of ice water in my face.

  ‘No kissing.’

  ‘Fuck me, Evangeline, what we’ve just shared goes a whole load further than kissing.’

  Her thighs tense beneath my fingers and her palms drop to my chest. ‘I must get back.’

  She has to be kidding.

  Her hands forcing me away tell me otherwise.

  I’m lost for words.

  Carefully she closes her legs and slips from the countertop, bending to retrieve her thong from the floor. I get there first. Scoop it up into my hand. Our gazes lock in silent challenge. Hell, if she’s leaving me like this I’m taking something. Even if it’s to reassure me that I didn’t dream it.

  She wets her lips, their glossy redness killing me. ‘Fine—keep them.’

  She smooths down her dress as she rises. I follow suit but make no attempt to leave. There’s something about her I just can’t shake. Call it too many years of absence, a need to make up for lost time, an opportunity to take what I’ve always wanted at last.

  I have a ridiculous urge to say something—but what?

  She reaches for the door latch and my hand covers hers on instinct. There are voices approaching once more and her eyes flicker in their general direction, away from me. I want so much to read her thoughts.

  ‘You need to go, Lucas.’

  Her voice is cold. Unsettling. And then she looks at me and I can’t work out whether it’s with hatred or sadness, or both. But it’s enough for my hand to fall back to my side.

  She pulls open the door, forcing me to move out of the way. It doesn’t matter what her eyes tell me now. She wanted me—and that doesn’t just die out on a simple tongue-fuck or two.

  She turns to me, her hand hot against my chest as she backs me out of the cubicle.

  ‘This isn’t over,’ I say.

  But she smiles—it’s soulless—and her hand shifts from me to curl around the edge of the cubicle door.

  ‘Yes, it is... Now we’re even.’

  I register her meaning, shaking my head. Like hell we are...

  ‘We’re not even.’ My grin is one of sheer arrogance. ‘Not by a long shot.’

  Her brow lifts into an elegant arch—I can’t tell if it’s in disbelief or challenge—and she closes the door in my face, the lock twisting into place.

  It’s a first for me. I should feel humiliated, cheapened—used, even. But I’m feeling none of those things.

  Fire burns i
n my veins—fire for the chase, the thrill of the conquest. She will be mine. My groin pulses and I adjust myself, lifting my hand to sweep it over my face as determination settles in.

  When I’m buried deep inside her—then we’ll be even.

  I turn and head for the door. I should clean up, but the lingering taste of her keeps me hungry. If I get my way, I’ll have what I crave before the night is out.

  And I always get my way.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I FEEL LIKE JELLY. It’s the only way to describe how my insides tremble and my legs are weak.

  Two orgasms.

  Two.

  I would have been content with one.

  Whatever. You want more already—more a thousand times over.

  And even then I know I’d still be wanting.

  Because it could never just be about sex with him.

  He’s dangerous. To my senses, my sanity—and, if I really dwell on it, my heart. All over again.

  I was foolish to even go there.

  I circle the room, talking with prospective partners, my business persona enough to hide my distraction.

  Him.

  I feel his presence with every word I say, every breath I take, every clip of my heel against the gleaming floor as I walk. I can feel his eyes following me and I purposefully evade him. My schedule for the next two weeks is filling up and I know he’ll be wanting his share. Perhaps that’s why I leave him until last. Because I’m goading him. Not because I still want him.

  He’s at the bar now. I know it without looking. I’ve been aware of his movements ever since he appeared.

  ‘Your feet aren’t going to touch the ground over the next fortnight,’ Clare tells me as she scans her tablet. ‘And we still have those few that weren’t able to make it tonight...’

  He’s moving. I can feel it.

  Don’t turn.

  ‘I can offer them Friday,’ she says, ‘or later the following week. Of course, we still need to schedule in Waring Holdings, but if—’

  ‘Good to see I’m on the radar.’

  Shit. He’s right behind me already.

  I don’t want him to know how I feel, and I don’t want Clare to read it. So I school my expression, turning to face him with a polite smile that I hope masks a multitude of sins. I took what I wanted earlier to get him out of my system. I need him to see that. To hell with what my body is still saying.