Hot Boss, Wicked Nights

She took another breath and he noticed the tight buds of her nipples against the light fabric of her blouse. He saw her gaze flick to the front of his jeans.

‘Right now it would seem we both want the same thing,’ he said, and reached for the hem of his T-shirt.

‘Don’t.’ Kicking off her shoes, she crossed the space between them, skimmed her thumbs up and down his forearms. ‘You’re always in charge. At work, in bed.’ Her hands moved up over the cotton to rub light circles over his chest. ‘It’s payback time,’ she murmured as she leaned forward to place her mouth where her hands had been, creating rosebuds of moist heat against his nipples. ‘And I want a fantasy.’

‘O-k-ay.’ His let his arms fall to his sides. ‘Never let it be said Damon Gillespie doesn’t grant his woman her fantasies.’ He knew his mistake the moment the words left his mouth.

‘His woman?’ she repeated with scathing effect. ‘What century are you living in?’ Chocolate eyes flicked to his as her teeth bit with intent into his T-shirt, nipping at flesh.

‘Would you prefer the term mistress?’ He jumped as the pain intensified and swore her teeth sharpened. ‘Okay, okay, how about partners?’

‘Very well…partner. I’m seizing the day.’ She stopped biting and leaned into him, her fragrant hair brushing his arm like silk, her breasts plump cushions against his navel, but when he tried to pull her closer, she stepped back and slapped a hand on his chest. ‘This is my fantasy, you’ll do as I say. And keep your hands to yourself.’

Was this woman with attitude the diminutive Kate Fielding? He’d had women who liked to call the shots and he’d enjoyed it, but never so much as he did now. Although it was hardly innocent, there was a delightfully fresh naiveté about her seduction he’d never experienced before.

Her fingers crept underneath his T-shirt, smooth palms sliding over his flesh as she eased the jersey higher, sending ripples of heat to every extremity in his body. He wanted her mouth there, where her hands were. He wanted to feel her breath on his skin, to feel it quicken with desire as she touched him.

As if granting him his wish, she ran a moist tongue around his navel, then delved inside. He let out a suffocated breath as she laved a slow and sensuous pathway north, the damp warmth cooling as she travelled. His hands balled into fists at his sides. A flick of that tongue over one nipple and he groaned, one hand moving to his jeans zipper to ease the burgeoning pressure or to coax her into helping, he wasn’t sure which. ‘I—’

‘Quiet.’ One hand intercepted his and pushed it aside, causing his T-shirt to slip down unevenly. ‘Take it off,’ she ordered, stepping back to watch him with passion-dark eyes.

He did as she asked, cast it aside. She reached out and her fingers dipped beneath his waistband, snapping the top button and sliding down the zip, releasing his erection into cool and capable hands. He sucked in a breath. Very capable. He swore he felt each slender finger as she smoothed them down his length, creating a slippery friction that was going to tip him over the edge… ‘Careful,’ he warned on a harsh exhalation.

‘I’m always careful. Some might say too careful.’ She moved on, sliding her hands inside his jeans and coaxing them down his thighs. She stopped at his knees and looked up at him. ‘Those boots—they’re in the way.’

Damn. It was hard to bend down, untie and remove them without toppling over and looking like an idiot, but he managed. Barely. His jeans and jocks went too, and he straightened up to meet her eyes.

For a moment they stood eyes locked, then her gaze scanned him thoroughly from head to toe until a fine sheen of sweat filmed his entire body. His rock-hard, naked, ready body.

And she was still fully clothed.

‘Lie on the bed,’ she told him, remaining where she was. She waited until he complied. ‘Are you a patient man?’

Tension coiled through him; every cell in his body screamed out for action. Now. ‘Not at this particular moment, no.’

Something like laughter danced in her eyes. It made him feel… Hell, he felt vulnerable. He’d spent years overcoming that particular inadequacy. Kate had managed to dash his belief that he’d conquered it to smithereens. But it wasn’t so much physical vulnerability—although that took current precedence in his naked state—but an emotional vulnerability.

Clenching his jaw, he refused to consider it, refused to surrender to it. ‘Come here, Kate,’ he commanded with what he hoped sounded like the full force of authority.

But instead of joining him on the bed, she walked to the door. ‘Don’t move a muscle,’ she warned as she pulled it open. Her eyes still glistened with amusement. ‘I’ll be back.’