Buy Me, Sir

“I have an early start,” he tells me as we get to the door. He slides the key card into the lock. “I must be out of here by six.”

“Six,” I say, and I can’t stop smiling. It’s later than I thought, longer than I thought.

He closes the door behind us, and he’s still so close. His hands land on my waist as he walks me backwards into the room. His fingers trail up my spine as I raise my face to his.

“I’m not in the habit of mid-week appointments,” he tells me. “I have to be focused. My job is demanding.”

“Selling stationery,” I whisper with a smile. “Yes.”

His breath is warm against my lips. “I lied,” he tells me. “I’ve never been a salesman in my life.”

And it’s right there, the urge to tell him I lied too.

But the urge leaves the moment his mouth lands on mine. Fades to nothing as his hands tangle in my hair and hold me firm.

“I’ve been thinking of you,” I whisper between kisses. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

His hands land under my ass, and he hitches me, lifts me up and onto the dresser where it’s so easy for my legs to wrap around his waist. I tug his tie loose and drag it free, and my fingers are so much more certain this time as they work their way down his shirt buttons.

He breaks the kiss enough to reach inside his suit jacket, and I know he’s going for the cash, practicalities first. But I don’t want him to. I don’t want to pull away and put that money in my bag. I don’t want to cheapen this.

I push his shirt and jacket from his shoulders in one motion, and he doesn’t fight me, just lets them slip to the floor.

His body is divine. His skin so firm under my fingers, the tickle of hair so perfect against my palm. I kiss his neck, and he tastes as good as he smells. I feel his groan as my lips press to his Adam’s apple, and his stubble tickles my cheek as I sweep to his ear.

“I’m crazy about this,” I whisper, and he stiffens in my arms. “I’m crazy about you.”

“You don’t know me,” he says, and reaches for my chin. He brushes his thumb over my mouth as he stares right through me. “You don’t even know my name.”

Touché.

“And you don’t know me,” I admit. “But what’s in a name?”

His eyes are so dark. So serious.

“Amy Leigh Randall,” he says. “Thirty-four Brooklyn Road, EC1. Twenty-one years old. Two younger sisters, Gemma and Belle. Your mother is a nurse, works at Saint Richmond General.”

My mother is dead.

My stomach lurches. My shock is all genuine.

He brushes my cheek as he continues. “One credit card with zero balance. No driving offences. No criminal record.”

“But how do you…”

“You studied business and management,” he tells me. “But you dropped out last spring to take a position as a cattery assistant. I guess you like cats more than you like law, Miss Randall.”

“But I…”

I have no words. I don’t even like cats. I like dogs. His dog.

“I searched through your bag,” he admits. “I wanted to know who you were.”

“You searched through more than my bag,” I whisper, and he nods.

“In my line of work I have to be… thorough…” He pauses. “I understand if you wish to leave, Amy.”

But I don’t. I’ve never been further from walking away from him in my life.

“You didn’t have to tell me…” I breathe. “I wouldn’t have…”

“Known?” He isn’t smiling. He’s stern and serious, and so beautiful he takes my breath. “No, you wouldn’t have known. But you do now.”

I unbuckle his belt. “Why did you want to know me?”

He grunts as I slip my hand around his cock. I work him fast, hoping I’m doing this right. Hoping he likes this.

He rocks his hips, shunts into my grip, and he’s so hard. His cock throbs against my fingers.

“Why did you want to know me, Mr Brown?” I ask him. My voice is so soft, barely more than a hiss.

He tugs the neck of my tunic down enough to see my white lace bra. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admits, and it sounds pained. “Because this is sending me fucking insane.”

Oh fuck, how I smile. I work his gorgeous dick in my fingers and the dresser bashes against the wall with a thud, thud, thud as he thrusts back at me, and I smile. I smile at him.

“My name’s not Ted fucking Brown, either,” he tells me. “It’s Alexander.”

“Alexander.”

It feels so good to say it.

He pinches my nipples through my bra, and the sparks are electric.

“Fuck me, Alexander,” I hiss. “Please God, fuck me.”AlexanderThis girl. This fucking girl is sending me out of my mind.

I practically tear her dress over her head, shunting her against me as the fabric drags from under her ass. I have her bra off in a heartbeat, my mouth hungry for those sweet rosy nipples. I love the way her dainty fingers tangle in my hair. I love the way she moans for me and her legs grip me tight.