Mr One-Night Stand

Heat exploded within her, the ache between her legs flaring with such force she wanted to cry out as she kissed him back, her hands thrusting through his hair, her tongue delving into him, fighting with his own as she desperately sought more.

But he tore his mouth away, pressing his forehead against hers, his ragged breaths sweeping down her front. ‘You are a tease.’

‘You started it.’

She yanked him back to her. He obeyed for a split second, his tongue flicking teasingly into her mouth, and then he was breaking away to travel down her neck, his teeth nipping and grazing with dizzying effect.

‘God, yes!’ she cried, head arching back, hands invading his jacket as she strove to feel every bit of him. The hard muscles of his chest twitched and flexed as she explored—smoothing, clawing, pulling at his shirt.

The hand at her side reached the hem of her dress and he shoved it upwards, his fingers gripping the underside of her thigh as he lifted it, forcing her to wrap her leg around him.

He raised his head to gaze down at her, his hand tracing the band of her stocking, tension working in his jaw. ‘You’re dangerous.’

‘You like?’ she said, trying to focus through the haze.

‘Love.’

He twanged the suspender and she gave a heated shrug, shoving a hand through his hair. ‘It’s a power thing.’

He growled, the sound animalistic, lighter fuel to her raging heat as his mouth reclaimed hers and both hands took hold of her thighs to lift her entirely against him. The cool air swept over her damp panties, followed sharply by his rock-hard cock, its trouser-clad presence driving against her. She bucked with delight, her mouth breaking free to let go a frenzied moan.

‘I’m losing my mind,’ he said into her collarbone, feasting on her skin as he thrust her upwards, bringing the valley of her chest to his face, his hot breath and slick tongue creating an insane combination that had her breasts pleading for him.

But suddenly he froze.

‘Shit.’

She looked down at him, her body writhing, her lungs struggling for air. And then she felt it—the phone in his jacket vibrating into her thigh.

‘It’ll be my driver,’ he said, his voice gravel-like and rumbling through her.

‘Of course,’ she breathed, fighting for control over the insane rush and thriving off it all the same.

Shaky, she lowered her legs and he helped her, waiting until she was safely on her feet before shrugging his jacket into place and fishing out his mobile.

He stepped back, tapping at the screen and raising it to his ear, his other hand trying to put some order back into his hair. The sight made her smile. She’d done that to him. He’d let her. They’d both lost all control and the realisation was exhilarating.

She worked to straighten out her clothing, her hair, her racing body. All the while telling herself she should be grateful for the interruption, that indecent exposure wouldn’t go down well for either of them.

But the thrill of it. Of him. In public—here and now... It appealed too much.

‘On our way.’ He spoke into his phone and then cut it off, slipping it back into his pocket and turning that sexy, fuck-me-now smile on her as he offered his arm. ‘You good to go?’

She nodded and hooked her arm in his. ‘Let’s be quick about it.’

He gave a laugh and together they strode down the hallway and out of the building.

Directly outside, on the congested street, squeezed into a parking space she could scarcely believe it fitted into, sat a pristine black limo, its driver waiting at its rear. He straightened as he set eyes on them, and she knew for certain that this was the driver he had spoken to.

If any doubt had remained over what Darren had told her then it would’ve been wiped out now. Yes, he was definitely CEO material. A very successful CEO at that. She was considered successful herself, but even she didn’t possess the wealth that brought with it this kind of service. Or maybe she did...she just didn’t get to see any of it...

‘Evening, Mr Wright,’ the driver said as they approached, his eyes dropping briefly to her as he gave a respectful dip of his head.

Wright?

She smiled up at him. The name fitted him well—he certainly felt like her Mr Right.

But then he could be called Mr Tickle and she’d probably think it just fine right about now.