I like it when she calls me Jagger, but I fucking loved it when she called me Mr Hart. I fight an urge to insist upon it, to insist upon it as she fucks me.
‘This is too important.’ She swallows and the fine column of her neck moves and I ache to press my lips to the pulse point at the base there, where her pulse flutters wildly.
‘I told you,’ I murmur. ‘Nothing about us will have any impact on what I decide to do.’
‘You say that, but I can’t believe it.’
‘I don’t lie. Not about business.’
‘I don’t think you’re lying,’ she murmurs, a sad smile ghosting over her features. ‘But people do stupid stuff once it gets personal.’
‘What if it’s not personal so much as physical?’ I say, moving forward, cupping her face with my hands. I feel her pulse beneath my fingertips and it’s going wild. ‘What if it’s just raw, animalistic sex? But only after five o’clock?’ I run my eyes over her face, my expression undoubtedly as hungry and haunted as my voice. ‘What if between eight o’clock and five o’clock we’re Mr Hart and Miss Llewellyn, and after hours we’re what we were last night?’
She’s tempted. She’s looking at me as though she wants me to throw her a lifeline, a way to make this okay.
‘I can’t,’ she whispers, closing her eyes. ‘I can’t risk it.’
‘Risk what?’
‘I can’t have that doubt in my mind, if you don’t buy Silver Dunes, that it’s because of some stupid decision I made. I can’t risk it—this means too much to me.’
I drop my hand to her knee then and another small moan escapes her lips. ‘Why?’
‘It’s...a big deal,’ she says, and all my years in business tell me she’s holding something back. But I’m not sure I care in this moment. I don’t need to know her life’s secrets. My hand creeps higher, my eyes locked to her face, waiting for her to say or do anything, to ask me to stop—and I will. I don’t want to, but if she tells me to stop I’ll put an end to this right now.
‘Jagger...’ She grinds my name out and it’s a plea, a hoarse, hungry plea that tells me everything I need to know. My hands inch higher, beneath her skirt, finding the lace of her thong, and I push it aside, my fingers brushing her feminine lips lightly, so lightly that she moves forward in the chair, giving me greater access, her knees wider.
‘Three days’ business,’ I say, pushing a finger inside her sex. ‘Jesus Christ, you’re wet,’ I drawl, distracted, as I feel her pulse around me. I slide another finger in and she moans now, low and sweet, and so perfect that my cock jumps in my pants. ‘And three nights’ pleasure. Then I leave Australia, and you, and we both get on with our very separate lives. Deal?’
‘You’re my client,’ she says, but she moves her legs a little further apart and, fuck it, I’m so hungry for her. I unclip my seat belt, crouching down between her legs, pulling her belt loose then jerking her legs a little so she’s further forward, on the edge of her seat.
‘Jagger,’ she cries, as I pull her thong down her legs, my palms squeezing her silky-smooth calves. I leave her underwear at her ankles, loving the debauched sight of them just above her stilettos. I want to make love to her later tonight wearing nothing but these shoes.
But for now, there’s this. I push her legs apart, then bring my mouth down on her beautiful, sweet vagina, my tongue running over her, sucking her clit in my mouth and rolling it with my tongue. She jerks in the seat and inside I smile because she’s as powerless to resist this as I am. Or maybe, like me, she just doesn’t want to. Doesn’t see a need to.
I slide a finger back inside her as my mouth drives over her and she whimpers now, her fingers digging into my hair, running through it wildly as she gets closer and closer to orgasm. And I want to drive her over the edge so damn bad. I want to tip her right over the edge but, more than that, I want to show her—and me—that I can control every single bit of this. That I can keep our sex separate to our work—that I can compartmentalise.
She cries my name and I pull backwards, rocking onto my haunches, my finger still inside of her but perfectly still. Her eyes show anguish.
‘Jagger, don’t you bloody stop,’ she demands, looking at me with abject need.
‘It’s daytime, Miss Llewellyn.’ Despite my intentions, the words come out husky. ‘That means business.’ I lift up, removing my finger and putting my arms on either side of her chair, surrounding her with my body. She stares up at me, bewildered and obviously feeling shitty.
‘Say “yes” and I’ll give you the best orgasm of your life tonight, Grace.’
She’s still riding the wave, her body quivering, her lower lip dark pink from how she’s been biting into it.
‘Say “yes” and I’ll drive your fuckwit ex out of your mind for good.’
* * *
This isn’t about Gareth.
At least, not directly. This is about me reaching for what I want with both hands, not making excuses. This is about me having the courage of my convictions.
And, okay, it’s a little bit about Gareth and the fact he’s getting married today and going on his honeymoon. Why the hell shouldn’t I have some truly incredible sex? Why not?
Sure, he’s my client, but he’s okay with this. I’m okay with this. I really am. I believe he can keep business and pleasure separate and I sure as hell know I can. Besides, Orion Karakedes isn’t going to budge on price, so it’s not like I could ever be accused of a conflict of interest. If Jagger lowballs his offer, my vendor says ‘no.’