Her laugh is throaty. ‘I don’t need to talk about anything, least of all this.’
‘You should be sure...’
‘I’ve had weeks to make sure I’m sure.’ Her eyes run over my face, then drop to my body. ‘I want it to be you.’
Her confidence is a turn-on, so too is her professed desire for me. But she has no idea what this would be like between us. I told her she’s playing with fire; doesn’t she see that?
Without any sign of my intent, I drop my head and kiss her. I crush my lips to hers, curving my hand around the nape of her neck, tangling my fingers in her hair as I hold her there, exposed to my kiss, utterly mine.
I feel her moan and smile against her lips. There’s heat in this kiss. So much heat. At first she’s timid but, as desire takes over and instincts overrule any thinking she might be doing—any thinking I’m doing—we’re just two people who want to fuck each other, in the back of the blackened limo.
I’m not in the business of sleeping with virgins, but maybe it’s time I re-evaluated that. Maybe for Millie I can make an exception.
Maybe it’ll even be more fun than I’ve had in a long while.
‘Come up and talk,’ I breathe into her mouth, breaking the kiss with true regret. And then, bringing my hand between her legs, brushing my thumb over the seam of her jeans, ‘I promise I’ll make it worth your while.’
* * *
I was nervous in the bar but ever since I got into his limo—seriously, how rich is this guy?—I’ve been overtaken by some weird shot of power. I know what I want, and I know he’s going to give it to me. To be honest, I’m kind of glad he didn’t just acquiesce to my request. I love that he’s making me fight for this. It’s hot. Really hot.
The car pulls up in a high-rise basement. His parking space is the closest to the lifts and I know that’s not an accident—these things are always allocated by the value of apartments. This prime car parking space must mean he’s got the best apartment in the place, presumably a penthouse.
We haven’t spoken since he told me he’d make this worth my while. His hand rested between my legs, and I feel so hot and very, very wet. I feel... I’m so ready for this. It’s funny how I put all this on hold while Mum was sick, how I shelved so many parts of myself, how I gave all of myself to her, to her recovery and, when her cancer was terminal, to her comfort.
I cannot believe she’s dead. Some days I wake up sure it’s all just a bad dream. But she died, and it’s like losing her has pushed me off the ledge, dropping me into the real world. The waters are moving fast and I have to keep paddling to keep up.
I’m a sexual person. I thought I wasn’t. But the way I feel when Michael walks into the bar is... I know I want this. It’s just been stress that’s kept this part of me at bay for the last few years.
‘I want to fuck you,’ I say for good measure.
His eyes link to mine and something passes between us. A silent promise. A something that sets my pulse racing even as it relaxes me.
‘Come upstairs.’ It’s gruff. I’m glad. I like that I’m getting under his skin. I’ve only ever seen him be cool and in control, debonair and so sexy. But this is sexier still. Impatient and a little shitty.
The door opens, his driver holding it for us. I step out, shooting a cursory glance around myself. It’s all high-end vehicles, as far as the eye can see. I haven’t paid attention to where we are. I probably should have.
‘This way.’ He nods to the lifts. I walk beside him, my insides reverberating with absolute need. He presses a button for the lift. My heart is racing. I wait, watching the illuminated numbers count downwards. Waiting. Waiting. Each second drags.
Finally, the doors ping open and we step inside. When the lift shuts, I feel every single movement he makes, every exhalation, every inhalation. I turn to face him, watching him, and he’s looking at me, appraising me, wanting me, needing me. Desire flushes my body.
I need him.
‘Sex is...’
But I don’t let him finish. I don’t want to hear what he has to say. I’m done talking. I launch myself at him, smiling as our lips connect because I glimpse surprise on his face before I’m too close to see anything else.
And then his hands are on my body, pushing me back onto the wood-panelled wall, his own frame so big and strong, glued to mine, imprisoning me where I am. His leg slides between mine, separating my legs, and I break the kiss only so I can moan properly, swearing into the silence of the lift.
I honestly feel, in this moment, like if he doesn’t get his cock inside me right now I might die.
‘Please,’ I groan, need making the word strangled.
‘Please, what?’
I have no idea what he means.
‘Please fuck me, Michael.’
‘Here? Now?’ he asks, and I vaguely register, in the back of my mind, that he’s teasing me.
How dare he? I tilt my head back, glaring at him, and then reach sideways, pressing the emergency stop button on the lift. Okay, it’s dramatic and—for the briefest of seconds—I hope not illegal, but hell, if he’s not going to take this seriously then I’m going to damned well make him.
And the impulsive gesture does have him straightening, his expression tightening, his eyes locking to mine.
‘Yeah. Fuck me. Here. Now.’
A muscle jerks in his jaw.
He looks around the lift, then back at me. His breath is forced, rushed, tortured. Good.
I shouldn’t be the only one struggling for air.
‘See that camera up there?’ he mutters, jerking his head over his shoulder.
Belatedly, I realise that there’s a familiar little globe in the lift. I blush. So maybe this wasn’t my best thought-out plan. Not the sex, just the stopping the lift part of it.
But then he angles my body, pushing me into the corner of the lift, his large frame concealing me from the camera’s view.
And his hand slides into my pants, his eyes watching mine as he pushes his fingers past the elastic waistband of my underwear. He touches my clit and I whimper. He drops his head, sucking my lower lip into his mouth, between his teeth. I whimper louder. His fingers move faster.
‘You’re wetter than the ocean, baby.’
I am. For him, I am. ‘Please.’ I say it again, simply but desperately.
He kisses me then, his head pinning mine to the wall of the lift as his fingers move over me. I thrust my chest forward, my nipples throbbing inside the lace of my bra, my whole body trembling. He slides a finger inside my pulsing core and I cry his name, breaking the kiss and moving my head over his shoulder. But he turns his head, catching my mouth in his, obscuring me from the camera’s view once again.
The lift beeps and then begins to move.
We’re going upwards but I don’t care. I’m flying up into the sky, like a bird or a meteor. I am on fire.
I dig my nails into his shirtfront, clinging on for dear life. I grind my hips down, needing more, needing so much more. His tongue duels with mine. The doors ping open. Neither of us makes a move to leave. He pulls his finger out of me and then runs his hand over my clit again, faster, harder, and my knees buckle. If it weren’t for his weight against me I think I’d collapse to the floor in a muddle.
I explode.
There’s no other way to explain it. I feel like my every cell has become a bolt of lightning, searing through my skin and zapping out into the