Liar Liar

I find myself sighing. It’s as though every fibre of my being has been tight, or tangled like a woollen ball and now? Now I’m unfurling in his arms, undone by this man, by his tender lips and the subtle strokes of his tongue.

As he pulls back, his eyes are darkly dilated, more midnight sky than lush green. ‘This mouth was made for kissing,’ he murmurs, his thumb skimming my tingling bottom lip. ‘I’ve thought about this mouth for so many nights.’ He presses a kiss to the corner, his lips grazing mine. At the tauntingly sweet brush of his tongue, I push up onto my toes, aching and desperate for more. ‘So greedy.’ The heat of his words whisper across my lips as I reach for him, but then he grabs my wrists, shackling them in his fingers.

‘No one likes a tease.’ My words sound hoarse as he lowers my arms to my sides.

‘You know that’s not true.’ His words, like his kisses, are soft but insistent. Petal-soft brushes, a lick, a graze and he continues to tease. ‘You like me . . . very . . . very . . . much.’

Oh, my God. What is he doing to me? I mean, apart from shackling my hands while he tortures me. Is it the suit that makes him like this, or is this how he really operates? You know, when he’s not pretending to be a helplessly cute tourist. I’ve never experienced this kind of need. Never felt the slow burn of a glancing, dancing tease. It’s quite literally making me dizzy. Dizzy with need.

‘Please, Remy, kiss me. Kiss me properly.’

The voice is mine, but it doesn’t sound like me as, with each press of his lips, I become a little more needy, a little more desperate, until his tongue brushes my own, and I’m suddenly moaning into his mouth. In that instant, everything changes as he pulls me closer, his mouth suddenly urgent and greedy. It’s all so familiar yet also new as he begins to manoeuvre me backwards across the room. It isn’t just the press of his freshly shaven cheek that’s different; it’s in the subtleties of his touch. Or maybe that should be the lack of subtleties as his hands slips to the hem of my top, pulling it up and over my head.

It drops to the floor, my white flag of surrender, his gaze devouring my skin.

‘You like me so much you’d even beg.’

‘That wasn’t begging. That was asking. Nicely.’

‘Very nicely.’ His hands slide around my hips, the span of those long fingers making me feel tiny for a change.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Somewhere more forgiving than the desk.’ Though playful, there’s an edge to his words.

‘I didn’t mind the desk,’ I rasp as we reach the bottom of the sweeping industrial-style staircase

‘We’ll add it to the list. My desk, the piano, the cinema room. Out by the pool under the moon. I want it all. I want you everywhere.’ My attention moves to the wall of windows. Does he mean everywhere or everywhere? ‘What do you think?’ he almost taunts, reading my expression. ‘Don’t worry.’ His lips finding the sensitive spot behind my ear. I’ll be good. For a little while, at least.’

Oh, my God. Why does that excite me? And which is it . . . that he’ll be good for now, or that he won’t be eventually? All I know is I feel hot, literally, and figuratively as I reach for the edge of the scarf at my neck.

‘Leave it. For now.’

‘Because then no one looking in can say they saw me truly naked?’

‘You’re forty-seven floors up. No one is going to see you come. No one but me.’ There’s both promise and command in the husky timbre of his voice, one that explodes inside like a dozen tiny fireworks. My hands in his, he drapes them around his neck before he brings our bodies together, wrapping his arm around my waist. I’ve never felt so delicate as he lifts me quite suddenly, whispering words of adoration as he begins to climb the stairs. The man is barely affected by his exertions as we reach the top stairs, immediately entering casual living space, suffused by the afternoon light. The soft furnishings are modern and masculine, the air cool.

‘The view from here is heavenly.’ From the direction of his gaze, he’s not talking about the brilliant blue of the Mediterranean but rather my breasts, currently balanced under his chin in a pretty cream lace bra.

I don’t have time to register much more as Remy carries me through a nearby open door.

His bedroom.

My feet touch the cool floor in the shadowy room, dust motes dancing idly in a gap in the drapery, the silvery voiles otherwise providing a twilight feel. A huge bed dominates one wall, the linens stark white against the blue-black walls behind as a dark velvet bench hems it. Nightstands of black stand sentry either side of the bed, a large gothic-looking mirror leaning in one corner. A pair of wingback chairs occupy another, a matching table between stacked with leather-bound books. Wood and velvet, silk and steel; every item in the room seems to have been chosen to complement a darkly sensual look.