He was so tense and she really could help him, if not to sort out his maths, to fix his attitude, to show him he was missed, wanted, loved. She kissed him and he resisted, pushing into the chair back to get away from her. She went with him, hands to his shoulders. He didn’t touch her and he only just met her lips. Stubborn. Deliciously so. He was a hostile and she was going to unmake him. She put her hand to the back of his neck and tickled up through his hair. She wiggled forward and felt under the base of the chair for the lever that released the back. She pushed it and the chair tilted, opening out, sending her forward into his chest.
“Is there anything I can do to get you to leave me alone?”
He could ultimately persist with this not responding act he had going on. It was effective so far. She got nothing from him. Give it your best shot, lover. She wasn’t going to argue with him.
She was going to annihilate him.
She wiggled again till she was centred over him. Nothing. She was wearing a slip of blue silk and lace, bare beneath it, and he loved the feel of silk. She kissed him while he held onto the chair arms. She shifted her pelvis against his. Still nothing. She started on his shirt buttons.
“Jacinta.”
Ah, the full name. He really was unimpressed and she was looking at a personal best in failed seduction. Try harder. She tucked her face in his neck and sucked under his ear, a spot that usually made him sigh. He flexed his neck away, but that only gave her better access. She licked the spot, then bit down gently and his hand came up to her shoulder. He might be about to push her away.
She licked the edge of his ear, let her breath flow into it and he slid his hand over her shoulder to her back, the lightest touch, only just holding her. Tough son of a... She rolled her hips again, but all she got was the zipper seam of his jeans. Was he simply too tired? Was she making things worse?
She kissed the edge of his jaw up to the corner of his lips and this time he took the kiss more gracefully, though it was still polite, no spark. But did his hand press firmer? Maybe. She sighed and licked across his top lip and he loosened up a little, moved his head so they fit together better, and yes, yes, his other hand came down across her tailbone. She flexed again and he helped, pressing her down. She smiled into the kiss and he got teeth then their tongues tipped. She pushed her fingers into his hair and opened her mouth to him, and bliss, his hold on her firmed and a sigh eased out of him.
It went from frost to lightning strike in thirty seconds. The kisses went deep, both of them used their hands and Jacinta got more than denim on silk. Mace’s mouth was on her neck, dragging across her collarbone. He pushed the fine strap of her nightgown off her shoulder and she clasped her fingers together behind his neck and straightened her arms, leaning back so he had access to her breast. She’d set out to seduce him but he was seduction itself. Her head dropped back and she closed her eyes.
“Bitch,” he said, sucking her nipple, pressing her tailbone down. “Not helping.”
Oh, but she was. The pulse in his neck was thudding, his blood was speeding, his brain was firing imagery at him, his limbs were active, his muscles mobile, his whole body stimulated. He knew what he wanted and how to get it. But this was her project and she was the boss.
She went back to his buttons, and he didn’t protest, the glorious warmth of him now under her hands and she had to break off and kiss him again, swallow his grunted delight. She pulled away and put a foot to the floor, stepped off him and the silk slip pooled at her feet. She kicked it away and went to her knees.
“You’re going to wreck me.”
That was precisely the business plan. She undid the button on his jeans, the zip, and he eased his hips to give her access.
“I should stop you.” She stroked his length and he closed one eye. “Cinta.”
Her name was an adornment from his mouth. She replaced her hand with her tongue. When she closed her lips around him he jerked, she backed off to lick and he gasped and with the press of one foot sent the chair rolling backwards till it stopped against the edge of the desk. She sat back on her heels and laughed at him. He groaned, dropped his head to the back of the chair, eyes closed and held his hand out, flicking his fingers to beckon her.
She liked this power she had over him. She liked that she could make him need her, against his better judgement. “Tell me your fantasy.”
His hand dropped to his lap. He brought his chin down and opened one eye, the brow raised above it. “You’re fucking kidding me?”
Torturing, not kidding. And getting her own satisfaction; information she’d long wanted, he’d always avoided handing over. “When we got together you said you’d fantasised about me.”
Both eyes open now, brow still flicked up in disbelief.
This was a gamble. She’d found him on edge and pushed him in the opposite direction to a new border where his pleasure was in the balance. He might shut down, but she didn’t think so, the pendulum had swung too far for him, he was too caught in this unexpected moment to stage a retreat.
“Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”
Oh she was evil; she’d made him a prisoner of his own desire. And he deserved this for all the days and nights of leaving her alone.
He groaned, sat forward, his lips twisted and he was all gangster on the take. “You’re dressed in leather, not fetish stuff. Not really.” He grinned, wickedly. “More wholesome.” The grin became a laugh. He raked his eyes over her nakedness. “Black suit. Skirt barely over that delectable arse. Jacket, nothing underneath, one button.” He rubbed his fingers over his lips. “Severe, remote, fucking dangerous. Freaking tease. You smell like, hmm, like sex.”
Oh. Every interior muscle furled and flipped, she heard herself moan. She’d expected more than he’d given her before, but not this. She’d thought he’d share something outlandish, swing from the chandelier stuff, whips and chains, more to do with the rough science of being turned on than to do with her. She expected to be a bit part player, a stand-in for his private out there porn show, but he’d created a scene that mimicked their initial dynamic.
“Sometimes stilettos, sometimes boots,” he tapped his thigh to indicate exactly what kind of boots he wanted. “Hair pulled back tight so I can see every expression when I make you come. You try to ignore me, but you can’t. I try to take you, but you hold me off.”
And oh, God, she’d overplayed her hand, she’d promised him something she couldn’t deliver. She could not ignore him; she could never hold him off.
“We don’t play fair.” He pushed his feet into the floor and opened the chair back out. “You don’t let me touch you. But you touch me. Fuck, you touch me.” He closed his eyes and his head dropped back as the fantasy and his own hand gripped him deep.
It had her in its thrall as well. His total unexpected abandonment. His words ground out in a rusty metal tone, his hand moving slowly up and down his length, abs contracted, chest braced, eyes half lidded. If breathing weren’t automatic, involuntary, she’d have ceased doing it. But she couldn’t live up to the woman in his vision, didn’t have the first clue; she was a tragic imitation.