The Rake (Boston Belles 4)

“No arguments there. But it’s not sex you are after, Sweven. It is a child, and I know I’m the only one who’ll do.” I took a step back, glancing at my watch. “I have a conference call with Tokyo. I’ll see you in ten.”

“You’re going to pay for that little stunt,” she warned, slapping the cloth against the bar.

She threw more threats into the air, but I was already gone, accepting the call Joanne connected me to.

The call did not take more than four minutes. While Emmabelle wrapped things up, I wrote an email to my late father’s solicitor, Mr. Tindall, to see when the reading of the will would happen. Worry gnawed at my gut. Mum and Cece were in trouble.

I was careful to let Emmabelle wait an extra eight minutes before I pushed open the door to her office. She was waiting for me on her desk, which was littered with paperwork, envelopes, and a laptop, exactly as I requested. Naked and on all fours. She faced the wall, not the door, her yellow hair spilling in sheets across her back.

At the sound of the door clicking open, she whipped her head around.

I tsked. “Arse up and eyes on the wall.”

“I’ve heard better dirty talk from decorative houseplants, but I’m having too much fun to kick you out.” She turned back toward the wall.

I locked the door and strode into the room unhurriedly. Her pert arse was high in the air, the center of her pink and already glistening. She was ready for me, and I was going to take my sweet time enjoying her.

I stopped in front of her, silently admiring every perfect curve of her. Emmabelle Penrose was exquisite to a point she needn’t work a day in her life if she wished to. She could marry into fortune. Yet, she hadn’t.

“You still there?” she groaned. Secretly, her deliberately bad grammar amused me, even though the same trait grated on my nerves on anyone else.

“Patience.” I rolled my knuckles over the side of her arse, the touch so brief, so fleeting, her entire body flushed and her back arched as if I’d stuffed my cock into her.

“You’re such a tease,” she moaned. “Knock me up already.”

“With pleasure.” I bit the side of her bum softly, my teeth sinking into her derriere like it was a juicy peach.

I pried the lips of her pussy open with my thumbs from behind, and licked her slit, using the tip of my tongue to drive her mad.

“Arghhhhhhhh,” she drowsed, letting her head drop as her arms began to shake.

Plastering a hand over the small of her back to lower her upper body, I pushed her open even wider, licking in long, deep strokes. I drank her sweetness, watching as she thrashed her head, stifling her little grunts of pleasure just to spite me. Her knees were shaking. She was liquid fire, every inch of her body scorching with arousal.

“Oh. Oh. Shit. Shit. Fuck,” she murmured. The future mother of my child, ladies and gentlemen.

“My lady,” I drawled sarcastically, my fingers wrapping around the flesh of her arse tighter, licking her more fervently. She came so violently she fell flat on her stomach across the desk.

“Damn.” She plastered her sweaty forehead to the desk. “That’s never happened to me before. That was fast.”

“Better you than me.” I gave her rear a patronizing little pat.

“Holy crap, dude. Did you use some kind of trick? That was intense.”

Rather than answer her observation, I flipped her on her back and grabbed the back of her knees, dragging her across the desk until her bum was perched on its edge, wrapping her bare legs around my waist.

She unbuckled me. The glee in which her hands moved told me she was more than glad I was back on American soil.

“Are you ever going to be fully naked when we have sex?” she teased, her tongue circling patterns along my neck.

“You’re the one who wants to keep it detached.” My bored tone did not match the monstrous erection the woman in front of me had just freed out of my trousers. Or the rush of erotic excitement coursing through me.

“Fair point,” she laughed.

I tormented her a few minutes before pressing home.

She ohhhhhed.

Being with her again felt better than the last time, and all the times before it. That was the issue with Emmabelle Penrose. She tasted like the greatest sin, and I was a well-known transgressor whenever temptation came knocking on my door.

She came again before I spilled my seed inside her. I collapsed on top of her, spent, the jet lag catching up with me all at once.

“Bro,” Belle said after a few seconds of my panting atop of her. “Heavy much? Get off of me.”

I peeled away and took a seat on the chair in front of her desk, this time refusing to evacuate myself like a common prostitute. I had to establish some sort of authority with this wild child.