I ran my tongue over the tiny slit, planted a wet kiss on its silky cap. Big as he was I was going to take him in my mouth and suck him. I wanted to hear Thorne’s cry, taste his come pouring into my mouth. Turning him or any man into putty always made me wild with desire.
I lifted my head to see his face. He returned my look with glazed eyes, his mouth wet and open. He wanted me as much as I wanted him. I took his penis in my hand, squeezed. Thorne let out a small cry and arched his back.
‘This is mine,’ I said and stretched my lips open.
Thorne pulled me back by my hair. ‘No, you don’t. My house, my champagne, my way.’ He pushed me down on the pillows and pulled his vest off me. I was naked except for the thong which was now drenched with want. He kneeled down, his legs inside mine. I wanted him so badly I didn’t care whose way it was.
I threw my arms over my head, spread my legs wide. ‘Split me open, Thorne.’ It was an order, not a plea.
‘With time.’ He tucked his fingers inside my thong. I fought back a moan as his fingers skimmed down to my lips, my clitoris. He pinched softly, then pushed two fingers deep inside me. I cried out as though I’d been stabbed. ‘More,’ I whispered, wanting that delicious feeling to keep coming.
‘No.’ His fingers, wet with me, rolled my thong down to my thighs. ‘You’re not wet enough.’
‘I’m drenched. What more do you want?’
‘This.’ Thorne lifted my untouched glass and carefully poured champagne over my bush, my stomach, navel, all the way up to my breasts.
Thorne bent over me and started licking the champagne off my skin. He sucked my nipples and when I cried out for more he moved down, his mouth descending so slowly I was ready to scream. ‘Please, Thorne, I’m wet. I’m wet. Please do me.’ Yes, I was pleading, but I didn’t care. I had become a churning volcano ready to explode. ‘Eat me, Thorne. Suck me. Fuck me.’ Shuddering with desire, I grabbed his head, pushed it down between my legs.
He pulled my hands away, straightened up. ‘You’re cold.’
So cold I would have melted glaciers. ‘Cover me then,’ I said.
Thorne rolled my thong back on my hips and lifted me up.
What next? Bed? Sofa? That plush carpet my heels sank into before?
He wrapped me in his bathrobe and kissed me lightly. ‘Get dressed. I’ll drive you home.’
‘What the hell, Thorne?’ I slammed my fists against his chest. I felt insulted, humiliated. No man had ever rejected me. I always slipped away before they ever got a chance. Now rage was hitting me like thunder. ‘I’m not good enough for you? Is that it?’ I wanted to kick his naked balls to a pulp. I don’t know why I didn’t.
Thorne took hold of my wrists, pressed them tight against his chest. ‘You’re too good, Nicole.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean? Too good to fuck? Is the big important man afraid of losing control?’
‘No, you are.’
I laughed. ‘You’re full of it.’
‘I read people, Nicole. I buy and sell companies for a living and I’m good at spotting strengths and weakness. You’re a one-fuck-and-run woman. I want us to last.’
I pushed at his chest again. ‘I’m not some company and I’m not for sale.’
Thorne let go of my wrists and wrapped his arms around me. My furious heart pounded against his ribs. I hated him for rejecting me, even more for reading me so easily. I could have pushed him away. The grip of his arms was gentle.
I didn’t move. I wanted to hear him out.
‘I’m not letting go of you even if it’ll take the longest foreplay in history to wear you down and stop you running.’
I looked up at him. The lighting was dim and I couldn’t read his expression. Was he smirking? ‘Mr Thorne, your arrogance is mind-boggling. Tonight’s great performance is it. You’re never going to see me again.’
‘You’re right, I am arrogant. It saves me from feeling too much. And that is something I’ve never said to another woman. Maybe I’m the one who should stay away from you.’ His finger pushed a stray strand of hair from my face. ‘Look, I’m not offering love or marriage. I’ve got my reasons for that which have nothing to do with you. I think you have your own reasons not to let a man get a hold of you romantically. What I’m offering is good sex and good times. No strings attached.’
That’s what Close Encounters offered.
‘There are always strings. Expectations.’
‘I just need you to stick around for a while.’
‘Sure.’ I grabbed my clothes from the chair where he’d dropped them. ‘I should stick around until you get bored.’ I dressed quickly. ‘You know what I say to that?’
‘No need to spell it out.’ His beautiful face and body seemed to go limp. Something tugged at my heart. Whatever it was I fought it off.
‘I’ll get dressed and drive you home.’
When he disappeared into his bedroom I let myself out.
Nine-thirty in the morning. I had just stumbled out of my bedroom, barely ready for a new work day, when Leila walked in. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said. We start our work day at 8.30. ‘My subway got held up while workers tried to catch a kitten wandering on the tracks.’
‘Did they get it?’
Leila glanced my way, then stopped in her tracks. ‘Hey, what happened to you?’
‘Didn’t sleep much.’ I’d come home so mad at myself I hadn’t been able to sleep. Or masturbate. I’d finally dropped off just as the sun was edging in under the blinds.
She cocked her head. ‘Was Geoffrey’s open house that bad?’
‘There were too many people to see what he’d done to the place, but I had a great time.’
Leila strode to the small kitchen behind the office, making a point of hitting the heels of her lace-up ankle boots hard on the floor in protest. She can always tell when I’m lying.
I followed her. ‘It’s not your turn to make coffee.’ We alternate days. On Fridays, to celebrate the upcoming weekend, Leila brings in doughnuts and coffee from the Dunkin’ Donuts around the corner. My treat.
‘You don’t look like you could handle the task.’
‘I’ll take tomorrow then. Did they get the kitten?’
‘There was nothing about it on my phone yet. What did you decide about Bergdorf’s?’ Her voice was clipped, annoyed.
‘Hey, slow up.’ How could I tell her about Thorne? It was too humiliating. ‘Let’s have that coffee first.’ I opened the fridge, took out a tray. ‘Want one of those little apple tarts left over from the presentation?’ Leila was a sugarholic and still a size 6. I waved the tray under her nose. She pushed me aside to reach for our mugs. She had a bad-weather look that probably had nothing to do with my lying to her. I waited until we sat down in my living room/show room with our coffees. The apple tarts had gone back in the fridge.
‘How was your date with Melissa?’
‘It wasn’t a date.’ She checked her e-mails, slammed the phone down on the table and picked it up again, her thumbs doing a fast dance on the minuscule keyboard. ‘Kitten’s safe.’ She didn’t look happy about it. It looked like last night had been bad for her too.
‘That’s