by JC Harroway
Her fingers trail through my chest hair, her eyes growing lazy with mounting desire. ‘Hot sex. Frequent hot sex with a man who pushes all my boundaries.’ Her hips begin to gyrate as she rubs her pussy over the head of my cock once more.
‘You like having your boundaries pushed?’ A slug of heat scorches through me at the idea of testing her limits, although the experience might just kill me, she’s that hot.
‘I’m happy to keep up with you.’ She tilts her hips, aligning her pelvis so just the tip of my cock slips inside her.
I stifle a groan, my hand dragging her hip closer, my fingers flexing into the deliciously round cheek of her ass until I sink in another inch. ‘So, sexual adventures are on the cards?’
‘Anything is on the cards.’ Her pupils dilate, swallowing the emerald of her exquisite irises.
‘Really? Anything?’ It’s hard to think straight when her pussy sucks at the head of my dick.
‘If you’re asking if I’ve ever done anal, the answer is no, but...’ Her breasts rise on a breathy sigh.
Excitement builds in my chest at the idea of taking her somewhere previously forbidden, of guiding her to explore something new, of extending her comfort zone.
Ruining her.
‘So that’s something you’d be open to—excuse the pun—not that I’m in any way pushing?’
She bites her lip and straddles me, sinking back on her heels until her hot sex swallows my length to the hilt. She stares down, levels me with that look—the one that reminds me she’s driven, successful, older and, outside of anal sex, perhaps more experienced. ‘I wouldn’t let you push me, but I’m not into pain.’
I clasp her rocking hips, trying to force words out past my tight throat as pleasure grips me. ‘Me neither, but pleasure...?’
She leans forwards, kisses me, her tongue surging against mine until I’ve not only forgotten my own question, but I’m also close to losing my mind. ‘Perhaps,’ she whispers. ‘But we’d have to start off small. There’s no way I’m ready to take this bad boy.’
I slip my hand between us, my thumb finding her clit, because all this talk about pushing sexual boundaries, the way she’s riding me, means I’m close and there’s no way I’m coming until she is.
I don’t miss the gush of moisture bathing my dick as she gasps her pleasure against my mouth. ‘I’m happy to explore anything, but only if you’re as accommodating...’ She trails kisses across my chest as she scoots back. ‘Let’s start with the bondage.’ She smiles, the expression wicked and self-satisfied.
I grip her hips, guiding her rhythm, but she untangles my hold and pushes my arms above my head. ‘Nuh-uh. I want to be in charge this time.’ She reaches for her discarded bra and binds my wrists with it before securing them loosely to the headboard.
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Before I can speak another word she starts the rocking again, this time cupping her breasts and rolling her nipples between her thumbs and fingers as if she’s determined to drive me insane, even more insane than the idea of testing her, taking her on an unexplored journey of pleasure, showing her that nice boys from nowhere can rock her tightly controlled world.
But I can’t enjoy it for long. She gasps as she rides me harder, sinking so deep there’s nowhere left to go. I hold still, splayed beneath her, watching her pleasure her breasts, my eyes drawn to the way she tugs her lip under her teeth. I want to move. To suck on that sensitive lip until she begs me to take her places no one else has. To see my dick rest there before she takes me to the back of her throat. To buck up into her and take us both over the edge into mindless oblivion, where I’m just a man and she’s just a woman—no differences, no complications, no expectations beyond finding the ultimate pleasure.
Her rounded hips undulate, finding the rhythm and angle she wants, that make her moan and start to chant my name. She looks down at me, her face rapt with pleasure and the hint of a feline smile on her lips. ‘I’m intrigued now. You have my mind thinking dirty thoughts, Cam North. You’re bad for me.’ She rocks back and forth, her head thrown back and her cries telling me I’m nothing but good for where she wants to go.
I’m speechless at her astounding willingness to embrace this, although my mind fills with all the filthy words I could use to describe such an amazing sight as this woman riding me while she fantasises about other pleasures to which I’m going to introduce her.
And then she fumbles with my restraints, her hands jerky in their desperation. ‘Do it. Do it now.’ She guides one of my hands to her ass, her fingers over mine slipping between her cheeks to lead the way. ‘Touch me like you did last night.’
She resumes her rocking, her hands returning to her breasts, and I grip both cheeks, thrusting up into her with her every down-stroke while my fingers explore her rear.
‘Oh, Cam, yes...’
Fuck, she’s incredible. How did I ever think she’d be too straitlaced for the kind of sex I enjoy? The kind with a woman who isn’t afraid to own her pleasure, to claim it, to heighten it any way she chooses? She’s glorious, a woman in her prime, taking her pleasure and then demanding a little more.
Her glazed eyes open, looking down at me through heavy lids. ‘I’m going to come.’
I grit my teeth, bucking harder underneath her and pushing the tip of my finger, which is wet from the arousal slicked between her legs, inside her rear.
Her orgasm tears a scream from her arched throat and I come seconds later, the thought that, sexually at least, Orla Hendricks could have been made for me filling my mind.
CHAPTER FIVE
Orla
I DON’T RECOGNISE the hotel suite, although I’ve only been away for a morning, on the second day of meetings at my Zurich office. The bed is covered with shopping bags and parcels, the floor littered with stacks of shoeboxes, and there’s a clothing rack filled with garment bags. I shake off the fatigue I felt when I found Cam absent and open one, my curiosity burning out of control; I find a beaded ballgown the colour of peacock feathers, the iridescent hues catching the light and changing colour before my eyes.
My first instinct, to roll my eyes at Cam’s extravagance, fades, replaced by awe. My fingers trail along the exquisite fabric. It’s exactly what I would pick out for myself, and I can’t believe his thoughtfulness. He hasn’t just mindlessly bought a year’s worth of clothes. He’s personally selected these, and I know because yesterday he told me how pretty I looked in my favourite green silk blouse.
With jittery fingers I open one of the parcels on the bed, the delicate tissue paper parting to reveal a filmy wisp of lingerie—sexy but comfortable and the right size. With the shoes—my one weakness—I’m a little less restrained, flipping off the lids to reveal pair after pair of exquisite, barely practical heels from all the biggest fashion houses. Just how I like them.
I catch my wide smile in the mirror, Cam’s gifts, no matter how excessive, forcing an ache to my cheeks. Cam never does anything by half measures, whether it’s making me come or reserving the best suite money can buy—the suite we’re currently occupying at the M Club, which has views of Lake Zurich with the Alps in the distance.
My phone pings, drawing my attention from Cam’s gift, which is enough haute couture to make a supermodel weep. I scan the message and fire off a quick response to one of my assistants, my gaze returning to the outfits with longing. When will I even have the opportunity to wear most of these? We’ve been in town two days, and despite my assurances that I can play as hard as the next person I’ve had no time to explore.
I sit on the bed and kick off my shoes, my tired toes protesting. I’ve promised I’ll take tomorrow off to go skiing—Cam has planned a day on the slopes. I try to recall the last time I had an entire day off. It’s been at least a year.
I glance at the exquisite gowns with longing. Why have I allowed my life to become so...insular? And why has it taken meeting a sexy Aussie guy to bring me out of my s
elf-imposed shell?
I text him my thanks and let him know I’ve arrived back at the hotel.
Thinking of Cam, I feel my pulse pick up, delicious fingers of anticipation curling around me.
Where is he?
I slip off my jacket and flop back on the bed, part of me wishing I’d been with Cam on his shopping spree—I rarely have time for visiting actual stores these days, preferring to purchase from my favourite designers online, but it’s not the same. I used to adore shopping, the thrill of finding something I loved, the reverence of bringing it home in a pristine bag.
The door clicks and in he walks, casually dressed, unlike me, in worn jeans and a black T-shirt. I sit up, hit with his delicious, freshly showered scent seconds before he leans over me on the bed, his mouth finding mine, and I’m lost in his now familiar, demanding kiss.
‘Good morning,’ he says, pulling away, his smile wide and warm and filling me with regret.
I laugh while I wrestle my heart-rate back under control. ‘It’s afternoon.’ I stand and wrap my arms around his neck, wanting to be closer.
He shrugs, holding my hips to his. ‘Well, you were gone when I woke, so I missed my good-morning kiss.’
I fight the urge to sweep the parcels from the bed and drag him back there so we can have a do-over—this morning was the only one since I met him that my day hasn’t begun with my waking to find him raising an eyebrow of enquiry before wedging himself between my thighs, coaxing my clit equally awake with his tongue.
‘Yes, I had a seven a.m. meeting.’ The only way I would be able to squeeze in what I needed to work on and spend tomorrow skiing the Zermatt with him before we leave the day after. ‘I see you’ve been shopping...’
He shrugs, one corner of his mouth kicking up at my gross understatement. ‘Just a couple of things. An extension of my apology for tearing your dress.’
‘A dress you already replaced. This is too much, Cam.’
His mouth twists in that sexy way of his, one usually preceding some sexy command or request. ‘I noticed that you travel light, so I thought you might need a few things, especially for the opera tonight.’
‘Cam, I’m a woman, a woman who loves shoes, but even I wouldn’t go this far.’ I look around the room, my financier’s brain totting up a dizzying sum.
‘That’s because you’re frugal. Indulge me,’ he says before I can take umbrage. ‘And remember the rules—you get to have your wicked way with me as often as you like, and I dictate the after-work itinerary and cover the costs.’
I nod, breathless because now I want to have my way with him once more. I could use a dose of Cam’s special magic after the morning of meetings, of hustling, of living up to my reputation as one of the industry’s global trailblazers.
A strange and unfamiliar restlessness infects me; it was there when I walked through the door. I probe the feeling so I can label it.
I’m jealous.
Jealous of the time he spends without me, even though I’m the one who’s leaving him to work. I’m jealous that he’s doing who knows what, while I have the same meeting over and over, only in different countries and different languages. And I’m jealous that living the high life seems to come naturally to him; wherever we are, he hunts out something fun to do. This is my sixth trip to Zurich, and I’ve never been to the opera.
I stroke Cam’s strong arms. He’s becoming an addiction—the more I have, the more I want. An edge of panic grips my throat. It wasn’t supposed to feel this way...
‘So what else have you been up to while I’ve been at work?’ I hadn’t thought about how he keeps himself busy when I’m not around—I guess I assumed he works out at the club gym or goes for a swim.
His expression turns shifty, pricking my curiosity. ‘You won’t approve.’
‘Why? Did you elbow an elderly lady out of the way to get to that ballgown?’
He laughs but his eyes stay wary. Then he sighs. ‘I visited a music store—I still play the drums.’
‘So that’s why you’re always tapping something?’
He pulls me in for another kiss and I sink into it, grateful he made the first move because the urge to kiss him is pretty constant. I’d practically zoned out during one of my meetings this morning, fantasising about him, what he might be doing, whether he was naked, in our bed, perhaps jerking off because he couldn’t wait for me to get back.
I’m drawn back to the present when he pulls away. ‘I bought a drum kit.’
I look around in confusion. ‘There’s no room here for a drum kit.’
He shakes his head. ‘More’s the pity. No, these weren’t for me.’ He turns serious and I hold my breath, certain he’ll show me a little piece of himself if only I’m patient.
‘There was a kid at the music shop. The sales assistant told me he comes in every week to pay off some money towards the kit he wants.’ He shrugs, his eyes taking on a faraway look. ‘I remember what that was like, how hard I saved for my first set—I worked surf lifesaving all summer.’
I smile and slide my fingers through his glorious hair. I can picture a teenaged Cam, all tanned, his hair bleached by the sun.
‘I couldn’t resist—I paid off the kid’s balance and had the kit delivered to his house.’ Suddenly he scoops me around the waist, hoists my feet from the floor and swings me in a circle. ‘You should have seen his face.’
I squeal and laugh, and then my feet touch down and I sober as I look hard into his eyes. ‘Cam, that was such a kind thing to do.’ I try to picture the man I know doing that, the one who tips everyone he meets and spends money with reckless abandon. It makes my stomach hurt.
He downplays his generosity with a shrug, but I can see that this means something to him, something more than purchasing exquisite gowns he thinks I’ll like. ‘Playing drums helped me through my teens. Music is a great hobby.’
He looks uncomfortable and I squeeze his biceps, because I’m still holding on to them as if I’m scared he’ll disappear. Were his teens difficult? Did he go through a rebellious phase? Butt horns with his father? My chest aches with questions but I bite my tongue, not only because it’s clearly a soft spot for him, but also because it’s personal. I know from the haunted look in his eyes that he once struggled and strived to buy things I would have taken for granted. I want to ask, to know this side of him, but it’s not what we’re about.
I take a shuddering breath as the restlessness returns, twice as fierce. I think about the meeting I have this afternoon with my Zurich chief financial officer and head of investments. I’d much rather spend time with Cam, break my own rules and get to know the drum-playing, sexy Santa side of him better.
‘Anyway,’ he says, releasing me and walking to the bed. ‘I see you haven’t had time to unwrap everything,’ he picks up a black box I hadn’t noticed and holds it out in my direction, ‘but I want to watch you open this one.’
I accept the change of subject, shelve my curiosity and take the box, which is heavier than it looks, black velvet, monogrammed with the M Club logo and slightly smaller than a shoebox.
‘What is it?’ I ask, the look of heated challenge in his eyes leaving me nervous and so turned on I’m hyperaware of every breath I take.
‘It’s for you—I couldn’t resist.’ His voice is deep, dark, and his eyes gleam, that sexy secret smile of his firing every pleasure centre in my brain so I want to abandon my own curiosity as to the box’s contents and jump him, to drag us both back to the safe place where we lose ourselves in each other, in pleasure.
‘Open it.’ It’s a husky demand, just like the ones he issues in bed.
I prise open the lid and gasp, and then laugh, locking eyes with his in time to see the excitement dancing there. Inside the box, nestled in deep maroon satin, is a matt-black vibrator, the base bearing an M Club logo encrusted with tiny diamonds.’ I finger the two rows of sparkling stones on t
op of the M.
‘Are these real?’ Pressure builds in my chest, as if I’m oxygen-deprived. Only Cam would buy such an extravagant and intimate gift.
He nods, slow, confident, sexy, and then he watches my tracing finger.
With a breathy shudder I can’t hold inside, I slide my fingertip up the length of the sex toy as slowly and sensually as I can, tracing the realistic ridges to the very tip, and then meet his stare with a challenging one of my own. ‘It’s not as big as you.’
His eyes darken with sexy promise and that hint of challenge he seems to love where I’m concerned, one I’m only too happy to meet head on. Can’t have him thinking he’s besting me in our little arrangement.
‘No, but it’s big enough. I thought you needed a sex toy for when I’m no longer around.’
Lust is a tangible aura around us, impossible after the amount of sex we’ve had this week, but there all the same. Lust and something else. Perhaps trust. A deeper awareness. I focus on the lust because that’s the only feeling I’ll allow myself, although Cam’s reminder that this is temporary dampens some of my excitement.
Because you want it to be temporary.
I latch on to Cam’s eyes to stop my head spinning with what-ifs. I see my own desire reflected. He too is turned on.
We’re both fully clothed, no longer touching, but his need is there in the husk of his deep voice and the avid way he’s watching my every move, like a predator about to strike.
And now I’m desperate to reschedule my afternoon and break in my new toy with Cam. Mmm... Perhaps I could make time for that.
I know exactly what I’m doing to us both when I abandon the vibrator and lift the second item from the box, holding it up between us with a questioning brow, because all I want to do is laugh, kiss the self-satisfied delight from Cam’s handsome face, and then drag him to bed and force him to introduce me to these gifts.
‘What’s this?’ I say, my voice low. ‘A butt plug?’