Promised

My eyes shoot to his when he steps forward, seeing a straight face, as usual, giving nothing away. ‘Where is that mind wandering to?’ he asks, reaching down and taking a firm grip of his cock, pulling my eyes downward and my breath backward. I choke on a gasp.

Now I’m nervous, and my lack of response is a clear sign of this. Stupidly, I don’t want to disappoint him. I’m sure he’ll have had plenty of sweet lips wrapped around him, but I bet they all knew what they were doing. ‘I’m . . . can . . . it’s . . .’ I stutter and stammer all over the place, prompting him to relieve me of my awkwardness by burying his face under my neck and pushing up until my head’s forced back and I’m looking up at the ceiling.

‘You need to loosen up some more. I thought we were getting somewhere.’

‘We are.’

He drops me, leaving me weak and wobbly while he rips open the condom and makes quick work of rolling it on. I don’t like it. I feel like it’s a crime for him to be covering his beauty. ‘I really wish we could do this flesh on flesh,’ he muses, glancing up at me. ‘But I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I knocked you up, would I?’

No, he wouldn’t, but whatever’s gentlemanly about keeping me as a sex toy for a day? Or telling me that I’ll get the best f**k of my life? He’s contradicted that promise. There has been nothing close to f**king since I arrived. He’s been a gentleman through and through – a caring, attentive, considerate lover.

I’m falling fast – too fast. And his gentlemanly approach is not helping.

‘Livy?’ His soft rasp pulls my eyes open. I hadn’t realised they were shut. ‘Are you okay?’ He moves in and gets his face level with mine, stroking my cheek.

‘Yes.’ I shake my head mildly, offering a small smile.

‘I’ll stop. We don’t have . . .’ He pauses and slips into thought for a few moments. ‘I’ll have to accept it if you’ve had enough.’

‘No!’ I blurt, a little panicked. I’m fighting off unwanted hesitance. I’m having flashes of reluctance, despite my craving for this man. But he’s too tempting. He’s forbidden fruit. I’ve experienced him worshipping me, and even though I know it’ll be bad for me, I want more. ‘I don’t want you to accept it.’ Did I just say that out loud?

The wave of confusion on his dark stubbled face, mixed with a little relief, tells me I did. ‘You want to go on?’

‘Yes,’ I confirm, more calmly, more controlled, even if I’m not feeling it. I’m still sizzling with heat and want, and it’s all for this beautiful, respectful man before me. I gather some confidence, my hesitancy irritating me, and lift my chocolate-coated arms to place my hands on his smooth chest. ‘I want you again.’ I take a deep breath and drop my mouth to the flesh between my palms. ‘I want you to make me feel alive.’

That’s exactly what he does.

‘Thank God,’ he exhales, grasping me under my thighs and lifting me to his h*ps where my legs seem to automatically curl around his tight waist. ‘I would’ve accepted it, but I wouldn’t have been particularly happy about it.’ He gently pushes me up against the fridge and takes his hand between our bodies. ‘I can’t seem to get enough of you, Olivia Taylor.’

My back straightens, my arms finding the back of his neck when I feel the blunt head of his impressive manhood push against my entrance. ‘You can have as much as you like,’ I whisper quietly.

‘And I will while you’re here.’ The words kill me, but only very briefly because I’m distracted from his sobering declaration when he pushes into me on a hiss. ‘Oh Jesus, you’ve moulded to me already.’ His face falls into my hair while he gathers himself and I adjust to him inside me. He’s right. Every muscle and void seems to shape around him like liquid. There’s absolutely no pain, just crippling pleasure, more so when he draws back and pushes forward slowly, keeping his face buried in my neck. ‘You feel too f**king good.’

My heart is in my mouth. I can’t speak. My body seems to react mechanically to him, creating feelings, sensations and thoughts, none of which I can prevent. ‘Please, just f**k me,’ I beg, hoping a lack of sentiment and intimacy might cure my building problem. ‘You’ve broken me in.’

‘Savoured, not rushed.’ He reveals his face to me, and I notice chocolate coating his chin. ‘I’ve already explained that to you.’ His words are reinforced with a slow, continuous, meticulous pumping of his hips, over and over and over. ‘This is good, yes?’

I nod.

‘I concur.’ His grip on my thighs increases, and he lowers his mouth to mine. ‘I’m dragging this out for as long as possible.’

I accept his kiss, falling into the steady flow of his tongue’s delicate sweeps. This is easy. I have no reluctance. Following him is the easiest thing that I’ve ever done. Our mouths are moving like we’ve practised this kiss over and over, like this is the most natural thing in the world. It feels like it is. He feels so right to me, despite the fact that we’re worlds apart in every element of our lives – him, the powerful, confident, abrupt businessman, and me, the boring, unsure, sweet waitress. Opposites attract has never been so appropriate. My direction of thought is valid and should probably be of concern, but not now, not when he’s making me feel like this. My blood is heated, I’m crippled by pleasure, and I feel more alive than ever before.