The Proposition. JC Harroway
our goals are aligned and all about pleasure.
The lift pings and we quickly straighten our clothing to perform the hurried walk to her top-floor suite. Inside, a quick glance confirms it’s a carbon copy of mine—the best money can buy—but then, I’m too focused on the woman in front of me to care about décor or square footage.
While I shrug out of my jacket, she tosses her bag, turns to face me and begins to undo the clasp of her dress at the back of her neck, but before she gets anywhere, I grip her waist and back her up against the wall once more—I have plans for Miss Buttoned-Up and they don’t involve staid missionary position with the lights off.
Let’s see how much she wants to let go.
I kiss her, coaxing more of those greedy little whimpers from her throat as my hand travels under the dress once more to find her drenched and scorching hot.
I break free from the kiss as I slide my fingers past the crotch of her underwear to the silkiness beneath. I rub one fingertip over her clit, watching her eyes grow unfocused.
My other hand grapples with the tiny, frustrating clasp at the back of her neck. It feels like a bra clasp but the hooks may as well be welded together for all the luck I’m having. I reluctantly remove my hand from the delicious, soft slickness between her legs and try with two hands, my frustration to see what the dress conceals building and making my fingers clumsy. On my third attempt, while she’s given up waiting and is clearly intent on driving me insane with the kisses she’s pressing over my neck, jaw and mouth, I say, ‘Are you particularly attached to this outfit?’
Confusion registers, chasing away the lust, but she shakes her head. ‘No, why?’
I press my mouth back to her arched neck—I can’t seem to get enough of her taste and scent. ‘I said I’d ruin you.’ I look up. ‘I wasn’t joking and I’m afraid this dress is going to be the first casualty.’
‘I don’t care. Hurry!’
I grip the low neckline of her dress, tearing the fabric clean in two from neck to waist so her fantastic, braless breasts spill free.
She gasps, but the sound turns to a low moan because I cover one bare breast with my mouth, sucking hard on the firm, pink nipple. While she twists handfuls of my hair between her fingers as she cradles my head and watches my mouth devour her breast, I hoist up her skirt and perform the same trick with the crotch of her underwear, tearing it in two so I can access my reward unhindered.
I pull back, surveying my handiwork while my knees grow weak. She’s perfect. Mouth red and swollen from our kisses and the three-day scruff I couldn’t be bothered to shave earlier; her clothing bunched around her waist so all that creamy skin dotted with golden freckles is on display; my hand wedged between her pale thighs, the strip of reddish hair on her mound a beacon guiding me to paradise.
Fuck, I’m not sure who will ruin whom. Her willingness to ride this storm with me spurs me on to keep pushing… Perhaps I’m wrong about her being straitlaced.
‘Put your legs around me,’ I say, my strangled voice gruff. But she doesn’t seem to care that I’m giving orders, any more than she cares that I’ve torn what must be an obscenely expensive outfit. I fully intend to replace it, of course. In fact, tomorrow I’ll buy her a whole new wardrobe in compensation.
I carry her the short distance to the suite’s living area to a wide armchair, where I deposit her delectable ass. She tries to tug me down on top of her but I resist. I want to look. To gorge my fill of this incredibly sexy woman, who’s smashing all my assumptions to bits.
She’s still debauched, her hair mussed as I wanted it and spilling free of the uptight chignon she wore, her eyes glassy with desire.
‘Fuck me,’ she says, still in control.
I quickly strip off my shirt while she watches, her tongue wetting those lush lips as her eyes trace the ink on my shoulder and across one side of my chest. But she can’t have everything her own way.
‘All in good time.’ I drop to my knees and spread her thighs wide open so she’s completely exposed to me and my own greedy stare. ‘First I want a little taste.’
She nods, then her head drops back. ‘Oh, my God, yes.’
I chuckle at her enthusiasm. ‘Cam will do.’ But then I’m done talking because her pink, wet pussy calls to me and I dive in.
The erotic scent and taste of her drags a growl from deep within my chest, but it’s her thighs clamped around my shoulders and her hands tugging at my neck and head as if trying to urge me closer that thrill me. If I wasn’t already there, she’d bring me to my knees with her passion and honest desire.
My dick is dying to be buried in the tight, warm haven greedily sucking at my fingers, but she’s fully embracing this, watching me eat her out, her mouth slack with pleasure as she rides my face. Orgasm number one is going to have to happen right here for Orla, and I’m going to enjoy every second of watching this woman detonate. She may not remember my name, but I’ll make it my mission to ensure she’ll remember every orgasm of our night together.
I add another finger and suck down on her clit, grinning when her thighs begin to judder and eyes widen with ecstasy.
‘Cam, yes…oh.’
So my put-together princess is not above begging or riding my face to get what she wants. She comes, her sex squeezing my fingers and my name a protracted cry on her lips. I milk every spasm from her and then withdraw, leaving her sprawled and spent on the chair while I loosen my belt, unzip my fly and take a condom from my pocket before lowering my trousers and briefs. All I want now is to be buried inside her, to forget my woes for a few mindless minutes, and just be the old Cam.
She sits up and takes my cock in her hand, tugging my length and then helping me with the condom. When I’m sheathed, I take her hands and yank her to her feet, spin her around and bend her over the wide arm of the chair.
‘Hurry,’ she says as she braces her arms on the cushion and spreads her feet wide, staring back at me over one shoulder. My knees weaken at the exquisite sight, her red hair splayed down her pale back, her post-orgasmic flush staining her cheeks and her ruined clothing bunched around her waist—a sign that neither of us had the patience to do this primly or properly.
Who knew the poised woman delicately sipping her drink hid such a sensual being? Such an unexpected siren?
I position myself at her entrance and grip her hips, every cell urging me to rush while my brain clamours to go slow and enjoy every second.
But we have all night.
Patience spent, I surge forward, my cock swallowed by her tight pussy. I fist the fabric of her dress and thrust in the last inch until our joint moans tell me I’m as deeply seated as possible. For a few glorious seconds I suck in calming breaths and simply enjoy the view. Her skin is like porcelain, her pale ass cheeks round and her hair a wild, tousled mess across her bare shoulders. The dress ruched around her waist gives the impression of bonds, a reminder that, despite being the most put-together woman I’ve ever met, Orla was as impatient to let go as I was to help her.
I grip the dress and her hip tighter and begin to thrust, every slap of our flesh together and every gasp of her pleasure riding me harder until sweat stings my eyes.
‘Touch yourself,’ I say, because I’m not going to last much longer and I want her coming with me. I want to make her come all night. I want to prove to her that we’re the same on one level. That, like this, we fit together perfectly.
She whimpers but complies, her hand disappearing between her thighs, where I feel her stroke my balls before she sees to herself. I grit my teeth, the drugging pleasure sucking me down. ‘Are you close?’ I grit out.
She cries out but doesn’t answer, and I’m running out of time.
I widen my feet, still thrusting at a punishing pace, abandon my grip on her dress and slide my finger along her crack to tickle her asshole. That does the