Mr. Temptation. Rachael Stewart
small, so ‘boy-like’, according to darling Charles.
‘Happy to see me?’
The heat to his voice, to his gaze, made it clear he wasn’t bothered by her teeny assets and had her hunger swelling thick and fast in return, any inadequacy on her part promptly and joyously forgotten.
How could he do that so easily? Make her forget the insecurities that plagued her?
She tried to respond but her throat had closed tight, leaving only the ability to nod, and as she did she wet her lips. His eyes rose in tune with the move, something incoherent escaping under his breath, and then he strode forward, reaching out to crush her to him as his mouth claimed hers, ravenous and brutal, and everything she wanted.
‘The feeling’s mutual,’ he rasped against her lips before devouring her whole, his tongue fencing with her own, his hands shifting to fork through her hair, his body walking her back until she hit the wall.
He tore his mouth away, his fingers smoothing around one side of her neck as his mouth attacked the other, a crazy mix of swirling pressure, nips and sucks that had her going out of her mind. Her head pressing into the hardness of the wall as she arched for him, her breasts desperate and aching as they thrust upwards.
‘This afternoon was torture,’ he grumbled against her skin, his hot breath tormenting the dampness he’d created. ‘Had I known you’d been braless it would’ve been even more so.’
His fingers dropped with his words to stroke over one pleading peak and the electricity that ripped through her made her cry out, her body arching further.
‘Fuck, yes.’
He repeated the move and she positively writhed. She couldn’t remember a touch so potent, so thrilling. Her breasts ached with maddening intent, desperate to be bare, desperate to have him pinch, flick, suckle, anything and everything. Charles hadn’t done this to her, driven her to the edge of reason. They were in the office, for fuck’s sake, not a private room, not a bedroom.
He leant back, his gaze burning down into her. ‘Kristus, baby, I could take you right here, right now, to hell with dinner.’
She couldn’t respond, she just wanted him back, crushing away every thought, every sense with the all-consuming lust curling its way through her, knowing the crescendo would be worth every debauched second.
She drove her hands through his hair, pulling him back to her hungry mouth, telling him with her move that the only dinner she craved was him. But then the sound of gossipy chatter in the outer corridor invaded her senses, a semblance of clarity with it—the cleaners.
She swallowed a curse and edged along the wall, taking him with her.
‘My office,’ she managed to get out, shoving the door further ajar and stumbling through it. She hit the lights off as he spun her back against the wall, kicking the door closed.
‘The lock,’ she blurted, reaching for it and twisting it in place. Her hands returning to him, twice as hungry, twice as confident. She slipped them beneath his jacket, uncaring of its obvious expense as she shoved it from his shoulders. He let it fall to the floor as she pulled at his shirt, tugging it out of his trousers while his hands reached for her blouse, doing the same.
As the cool air swept over her exposed torso, she froze, a second’s hesitation as Charles came back to haunt her anew, the evening light illuminating her boyish body in all its glory. It was one thing to find her clothed and sexy, but would he feel the same when he saw...
Her blouse swept over her head and she dared to look up at him. All hesitation evaporated as lustful heat bore down into her, etched in every taut line of his face, the thin amber rim of his dilated gaze burning fierce.
‘I want to worship every last bit of you.’ His palms now gentle as they cupped each small mound, her sensitised peaks nesting at their heart, his thumbs caressingly soft. ‘You are beautiful.’
Sounds from the outer office had his gaze flicking to the doorway, beyond which the cleaners were going about their job.
‘You think you can keep quiet while I drive you crazy?’
The undulating ache in her lower belly swelled with glee, her head nodding, her eyelids fluttering as she struggled to breathe.
‘Good girl.’
She clenched her tummy tight as he dipped his head to nuzzle into her neck, picking up on her pulse point and toying with it. ‘I’m going to make you wish you could cry out.’
She pressed her palms into the wall either side of her, not knowing where to put them, wanting to rake them all over his body, through his hair, but feeling immobilised, caught in a web of his creation.
He rolled each nub with his thumb, making her pant as they swelled obediently. ‘You’re going to come so hard.’
She whimpered. She knew it. She could feel its promise already building.
The rolling caress became a tweak and she bucked, a cry she couldn’t suppress erupting as she realised she could come from this attention alone. She was that desperate, that deprived, that wanton...
‘You’ll need to do better than that.’
Better?
She tried to focus through the haze and he looked to the door pointedly—Christ, there was no way she could do this quietly.
‘You need me to help,’ he said softly.
How? She frowned.
He raised one hand, his fingers brushing over her lips, her plump and swollen flesh moving helplessly beneath his touch and relishing every teasing bit of it.
‘Use me,’ he said. ‘I’ll make you forget Charles ever existed.’
Forget fucking Charles, God, yes!
An exciting tremor rippled through her as she nodded against the wall and manoeuvred her head to nip into his palm, getting him where she wanted him. And then his head dropped, his mouth sucking in one desperate peak before releasing it from his teeth, and she cried into his hand, her nails scraping into the wall as she clawed at it.
‘So responsive,’ he muttered against her, his teeth grazing her swollen flesh as he spoke. ‘So addictive.’
His free hand joined in the attentions, his touch wild with his own mounting need.
‘More,’ she pleaded softly.
He gave a muffled growl in response, dropping to his knees, his tongue gliding over her navel as he dropped both hands to her trouser fastening. He popped it undone, the zipper following suit, the fabric dropping to the floor, cold air hot on its tail, and then came his hands brushing up her bare legs, their palms hot, fingers caressing. He locked his teeth around the small bow at the centre of her thong’s waistband, plucking at it, the elastic stinging her skin as her eyes dropped to his.
‘Fuck...’ she whimpered.
He was too hot, too seductive; her head was dizzy on it, intoxicated even.
He slid his fingers beneath the waistband and she bit her lip in anticipation, watching as he pulled it down, pushing it to join her trousers at her ankles. She was about to step out of them all when his head dropped, his tongue sweeping inside her seam and making her cry out. She clamped her jaw shut, her knees buckling, and he gave a deep chuckle.
‘Seems you can’t keep quiet.’
She looked down at him, his head cocked back, his chin resting teasingly above her strip of hair and her need took over, driving out the order, ‘Rather than criticise me, put your mouth to better use.’
His eyes flashed and she rammed her fingers through his hair drawing him against her, absorbing his appreciative growl in the cluster of chaos between her legs. She was losing it in every way possible, her knees turning to jelly as she opened herself up to him,