whisper-soft, murmured against her swollen lips makes her eyes widen.
She obeys, her tongue tracing where my finger has been. This time I trace her top lip and then I kiss her, every sense full of her—her scent, the vision of her flushed from her orgasm and the taste of her. All of her.
‘Mmm...delicious...’ I say around our kiss. ‘I can’t wait for more.’ Then I step away and adjust myself, my own breathing ragged as I get myself back under control. If I don’t stop there, we’re at serious risk of being caught full-out fucking in the Faulkner Group’s boardroom.
She frowns as I shrug into my suit jacket.
‘What about you?’ Her voice croaks as she slips from the table and pushes down her dress before loosely finger-combing her hair to conceal what has just taken place.
‘I have a ten o’clock meeting.’ Regret makes my voice a little gruff. I scoop up the signed paperwork and straighten my tie for something to do with my hands besides touch. She’s way too tempting. And now I’ve had a brief taste...the roar in my head tells me how close I am to taking more. Taking everything. Blair Cameron could become an overwhelming addiction without careful management.
‘Okay.’ She turns away from me, head down, and busies herself with her bag.
Oh, no. She wants to live out her fantasies. Well, my first tactic is anticipation. Sure, I could clear my diary, take her home right now. That’s what my body screams at me to do. But by the next time I touch her we’ll both be so primed...the reward will multiply exponentially.
I press up behind her once more, reminding her with the prod of my erection in the small of her back that, sadly, it’s business as usual. The scent of sex and coconut shampoo lingers as I nuzzle her hair, seeking her soft, silky earlobe and the delicate pearl, which I tug between my lips. ‘Are you free for dinner tonight?’
She gasps, melts back into me and then corrects herself, standing tall as she nods.
I allow my lips to linger, just below her ear—a sensitive spot if the trembles jolting her shoulders are any indication. ‘I’ll call you later. Have a good day, Blair.’
Her head snaps around, her eyes teetering on the edge of a glare. I wink and she smiles. How could she not? I’m pretty certain I just rocked her world. Her legs are obviously still a little unstable, because she’s swaying on those heels she favours.
I leave the room, leave her to compose herself, while I ignore the wants of my own body and get back to my day. Who knew this deal would become so...rewarding?
I temper my wide grin. No one likes a smug bastard.
Blair
Wear a dress, no underwear.
I READ THE text again for at least the hundredth time while tiny ripples dance down my abdominal muscles and everything below my waist tightens. I cover my face with my hands, threatening my carefully applied make-up, and groan.
What am I doing? What did I do?
My breath shudders into my lungs on a surge of shame. I confessed my long-held crush to Reid Faulkner. I negotiated sex into my Faulkner contract. I propositioned him and then I rode his hand on his boardroom conference table. And, of course, I agreed to play by his rules, the reason I’m in my current underwear predicament.
A hysterical giggle escapes past my fingers as I reread the text. I never believed Reid would go for my sexy proposition. I clutch my stomach, reliving the cascade of emotional turmoil I felt over our negotiations. Navigating the currents and rips of keeping my Faulkner contract solid while broaching the elephant in the room of our chemistry. The lingering niggle of fear I was wrong about our mutual attraction. The possibility he’d think our age difference insurmountable, or still see me as an easily ignored and mopey teen.
I slip my phone inside my bag to stop myself from reading the text again.
I’m over thinking. Reid was clearly on board with the sex-only arrangement. As long as he sticks to his side of the bargain and stays out of my plans for the Faulkner, I need only sit back and enjoy our fling.
Why, then, am I still wearing my underwear?
I sigh, applying another slick of gloss to my bottom lip for good measure. I’ve spent the year following Josh’s betrayal working long hours, clawing back a client list, rebranding C&L Interiors and putting my personal life on hold. Now it’s time to have a little of what I want and truly put the past behind me.
But with Reid, of all men?
He doesn’t trust easily, that much is clear from some of the comments he’s made. And I understand. I trusted Josh even after the cheating, accepting his seemingly heartfelt apologies, even counselling him through his confusion over his sexuality. I snort at my own stupidity. I spent hours ignoring my own needs while listening to his assurances that we could stay friends, still work together even though we were ending things as a couple.
My stomach pinches as I recall the shock of arriving at the office the Monday following our break-up to find no sign of him, current client files wiped from the computer and the business account stripped of funds.
I hover near the laundry basket, debating the pros and cons of following Reid’s sexy request. I don’t need his trust to enjoy this. I can make the most of our mutual attraction, reclaim my personal life as fiercely as I’ve fought to rebuild my business. Surely I’ve done the hardest part—admitting I fantasised about him and demanding he play the starring role as I live out those fantasies.
I close my eyes, recalling his kiss this morning in his boardroom...my pulse speeds and my internal muscles clench just thinking about the way his lips commanded mine just as I’d always imagined; the way he touched me, his big frame holding me; the way my body felt vibrantly alive for the first time in a year, reality outstripping every Reid fantasy I’ve ever had.
My stomach flips, excitement winning.
Before I can change my mind, I hike up my dress and slide off my lacy thong, tossing it in the laundry basket with a liberating finality. I smooth my palms over my hips, the sensual chill of the fabric lining my dress of choice joining the cool air between my legs—a sensual promise that makes my breath catch as if Reid is already in the room. Just like the promise of his text, the promise of his words.
‘Expect to come a lot. Expect my very enthusiastic and frequent attention. Expect to have all your fantasies fulfilled.’
His car is waiting outside my ground-floor flat in Parson’s Green when I emerge, determined to embrace the arrangement I set in motion. He steps from the back and greets me with a chaste kiss to the cheek. But his mouth twists in the rare but astounding smile I’ve always adored, his scruff-covered jaw scrapes against my skin, sparking my nervous system alive as if he has the unique key to my erogenous zones, and his warm breath tickles my neck as he whispers a gruff, ‘You look beautiful.’
‘Thanks.’ I stifle my body’s uncontrolled judder of pleasure that he, Reid Faulkner, wants me. My eighteen-year-old self would flip cartwheels down the street.
I stroke the lapel of his jacket, this one navy where this morning’s had been charcoal. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself.’ He’s wearing a fresh shirt, the subtle scent of his cologne and undertones of something soapy telling me he’s taken time out of his day to prepare for our ‘dinner date’.
I slide into the car and press my thighs together, the cool leather on the backs of my legs going some way towards counteracting Reid’s appearance, which floods my pelvis with gooey heat and hijacks my pulse with anticipation.
He settles beside me and signals to his driver but leaves the privacy screen down, and I try to hide my disappointment that he’s not going to ravish me before we even make it to the restaurant.
‘How