“He doesn’t want to sell to me.”
She tilted her head. “So you can’t just pretend to be someone else?”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
She moved around the kitchen island toward me.
“Then make it simple,” she said, holding up a condom and placing it on the counter in front of us. She trailed her fingertips around my waist, took my glass from my hand and set it on the draining board. Apparently, she was ready for more.
“Even if I was to set up a Cayman company or disguise in some way where the money was coming from, the owner is old fashioned. He wants to know who he’s doing business with. He wants to negotiate face to face—not with some faceless corporation.”
She pressed a kiss against my chest. “Then set up your Cayman company and send someone in on your behalf. Get them to pretend to be the buyer.”
My cock was responding to her lips and my brain started whirring at her idea. “I don’t think it would work,” I said. “You can tell a lawyer is a lawyer or an accountant is an accountant a mile away. And the other people in my life who are capable of conducting negotiations against a man like Goode are too busy with their own businesses.”
“Really?” she asked, as she took my cock in her fist. “There’s no one in your office other than a lawyer or an accountant who’s capable of negotiating to buy a business?”
She scooped up the condom, tore it open and, expertly rolled it onto my hard cock.
What was she saying? My mind was starting to cloud over with lust, but was she suggesting she pose as the buyer for Verity?
She turned around and leaned over the marble counter. All at once, her arse was the only thing I could focus on. “What do you have to lose?” she said.
I trailed my fingers between her legs, feeling for her arousal. I wasn’t disappointed. She was dripping with anticipation and need. I nudged at her entrance, coating the crown of my cock with her wetness.
Slow and steady, I pushed into her, relishing the pressure, the drag, the complete fucking perfection of it. She started to tremble under my hands as I drove deeper and I hooked my arm under her, steadying her just as her knees buckled.
“Breathe,” I whispered in her ear.
I pulled out just as slowly and then pushed in harder this time, getting as deep and as far as I could go. The curve of her back was so inviting, I wanted to lick long, soft strokes down its length. Her round, firm arse felt like it was made for my hands. “Sofia,” I whispered, calling for the woman surrounding me. “Sofia.”
“It’s too . . .” Sofia’s body began to shudder, her legs began to shake, and she slumped forward onto the counter as she tightened around me. “I’m sorry,” she said.
She had no reason to apologize.
Gently, I moved and turned her around so she was facing me. “Don’t ever apologize to me for coming. Don’t apologize to anyone.” There was that twinge of jealousy in my gut.
I mentally brushed it aside.
“I know you like to torture me a little more . . .” She lowered her gaze like she was embarrassed.
I lifted her chin so she was looking at me. “I enjoy drawing it out and making you wait, and I enjoy feeling you not being able to control your orgasm even when I’ve only been inside you a few seconds.” It was . . . beguiling how much she wanted to please me. It felt so out of character. Like this was an unseen, private side to herself that she didn’t show very often.
“Yeah, you do good work, Andr—”
Before she could finish what she was saying, I grabbed one of her legs and pulled it up over my hip and thrust into her again. “The next time, I’ll see it in your face before you lose control.”
I pulled her onto my straining cock, sinking with relief as she, once again, surrounded me. It felt like this was how it was meant to be. We fit so perfectly. It felt like this was exactly right.
Bending my knees, I thrust up into her again and again and again. She had one arm behind her, the other on my chest. I was overcome by the thought that I didn’t want this to be the last time I fucked this woman. But if she didn’t turn up at the bar again, what would I do? Be forced into a situation I didn’t want to address. At the moment I was teetering on the edge of my hard and fast rule about the separation of work from anything personal. So far, being James meant I was still playing by the rules. But did it really matter what she called me? This didn’t feel like pretending.