This Man (Page 100)

‘We might be here a while then.’

‘We might.’ I agree.

‘Maybe longer than Friday,’ He’s pokerfaced.

Oh, the sly sod! He just can’t let it drop, can he? I narrow my eyes at him as he raises his eyebrows at me. So, we’re in a stand-off, neither one of us wanting to make the first move. He should! He’s the one who declared he wanted no f**king about, so help him God…

What to do? What to do? And then it comes to me.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t f**k about. I have work tomorrow.’ I turn to leave, hearing that familiar growl I love so much, his arm scooping around my waist and lifting me from my feet. I crumble in half over his forearm. I can’t help it…I laugh.

He paces towards the kitchen island and flips me around, sitting me on the cold granite. His eyes are full of displeasure at my little joke. ‘When will you f**king listen, lady? You’re not going anywhere,’ He nudges my thighs apart, edging between them with his hands on my waist, his face deadly serious.

I’m still recovering from my laughing fit, but it soon subsides when he pulls me forward to meet his groin, his erection rubbing me in just the right spot. I moan, placing my hands around his neck.

‘And watch your mouth.’ he grumbles, his concentration slash concern frown, not so light on his forehead. It’s concern this time. Is he really serious about me never going anywhere?

What? Ever?

‘I’m sorry.’ I say genuinely. I shouldn’t play with him like that. It’s obvious he has issues with non-conformity.

‘You really know how to rub me up the wrong way,’ he mutters. ‘We do things my way from now on.’

‘We always do things your way.’ I sulk on a pout.

‘Correct. Get use to it.’

He stands before me, pulling his jumper up over his head, kicking his Grensons off, before making quick work of his jeans and boxers. I sit patiently, more than happy to watch him undress. This man is a God. I drag my eyes down the full loveliness of him, briefly faltering on his scar and settling on his thick, pulsing erection.

‘It’s rude to stare.’ he says softly.

My eyes jump to his, uncertain as to whether he’s referring to me looking at his scar or his beautiful manhood. He doesn’t elaborate. He moves back into me, reaching around my back to unhook my bra, slowly drawing it down my arms and tossing it behind him.

Resting his hands on the edge of the worktop, he watches me as he leans down and takes a nipple in his mouth, slowly swirling and flicking it with his tongue.

In pure, unashamed bliss, I sigh, reaching up to lace my fingers in his hair as he divides his attention between each of my br**sts. My head falls back and I close my eyes, absorbing his attentive mouth. I really don’t mind letting him take control. In fact, I love it.

His tongue starts a lazy trail up the centre of my body, finishing with a soft kiss on my chin. ‘Lift.’ he commands, grasping my knickers. I brace myself up on the worktop, letting him pull them down my legs. ‘I’ll be back. I’m a bit peckish.’

I reluctantly release his hair and he wanders, boldly and with poise, over to the fridge-freezer, completely butt naked. I sit rapt by the tremendous view of his impossibly taut arse, long, lean legs and powerful, smooth back. His gait is all the better when he’s naked.

‘Enjoying the scenery?’

Looking up, I see him stood watching me. I don’t know how long I was daydreaming. I could watch him forever. He holds up a can of squirty cream, grinning, before taking the lid off, giving it a little shake and squirting some in his mouth. I watch him carefully. He looks very pleased with himself.

‘And that’s a staple food in your world?’ I ask.

He saunters back towards me, shaking the can. ‘Absolutely,’ he says seriously, replacing himself between my legs, nudging my chin upwards with the tip of his finger. ‘Open.’

I open my mouth, and he rests the funnel on my tongue, watching me as he presses the notch, releasing a blob of cream into my mouth. I lick my lips, the cream disintegrating in my mouth instantly.

I place my hands behind me and lean back as he runs his eyes down my front. ‘Do your worst, Mr Ward.’ I tease.

His eyes sparkle and he grins that roguish grin. ‘This might be a little cold.’ he warns, as he squirts a long trail straight down my middle. I inhale quickly at the initial shock of the freezing cold cream, running from the hollow of my throat, all the way down to the juncture of my thighs. He smirks, squirting a little extra where it counts. I look down at the long path of white puffs, feeling my ni**les pucker tighter at the chilliness close by. He stands back, his eyes dancing with delight.

‘It’s a bit if a cliché, isn’t it?’ I look at his satisfied face.

He squirts some in his own mouth. ‘The old ones are the best.’ He starts walking away again. Where’s he going? I sit on the breakfast bar coated in cream, watching as he rifles through cupboards. ‘Here it is.’ he declares.

Here’s what? He opens a drawer, pulls out a spatula and walks back over, tapping a jar of chocolate spread mischievously. As he arrives back between my legs, he unscrews the lid and tosses it on the marble counter.

I arch a brow at him, questioningly, even though I know damn well what his intent is. He twirls the spatula in the jar, scoops out a big dollop and abruptly slaps it onto my breast.

‘Ouch!’ My boob stings from the smack.

He smirks as he starts circling the chocolate around my nipple, the sting mixed with the rhythmic swirls having me purring deep in my throat. His frown line makes its appearance as he begins to chew his lip, working the chocolate spread all the way up my body on both sides of the cream, swirling and smearing as he goes.