Her Every Fantasy

by Zara Cox

  I squeezed my eyes shut just as she squeezed my tip, drawing out that bead of liquid before running her thumb lightly over it. ‘Fuck, rosebud. You’re going to make me come before you get that mouth on me, aren’t you?’

  My tortured question elicited a smug little smile I swore to pay back the second I got the chance. For now I was literally and figuratively in her hands. And I was going to disgrace myself if she didn’t get on with it.

  ‘Open that mouth, please. I want in.’

  With a delicate little inhale, she settled back against the glass wall, pulled me close, and wrapped her glorious lips around me.

  My groan burst free. The sensation of her surrounding me, suckling me, was like that first dive off a sheer cliff face, that moment of exhilaration when every nerve ending was doused in adrenaline. Every thought dissolved save for the sight, sound and touch of Savannah drawing me deeper into her mouth, her wicked talented tongue flicking and swirling, tasting and swallowing from the heady combination of her hands and mouth.

  I wasn’t going to last.

  That firm certainty tumbled from my lips in raw admission. She withdrew her gorgeous lips long enough to breathe, ‘I don’t care. Just enjoy the view,’ before redoubling her efforts to chop me off at the knees.

  A laugh barked from me. ‘Can I touch you?’ I begged.

  She didn’t answer for a handful of seconds. When she eventually gave a, ‘Hmm,’ I tangled one hand in her glorious hair. Fisted a handful and thrust urgently a half-dozen times before a primitive growl announced my blinding explosion.

  Time and the billion-dollar view outside ceased to exist as I drowned in delirium. But I was aware of her softening touches, the sexy little sounds she made as if I were the one pleasuring her, not the other way round.

  I breathed deep, wondering if my months-long sexual drought was what was heightening this experience, only to dismiss it.

  Our history was why this climax held an extra edginess. I’d not only experienced a mind-bending orgasm but had ticked off an essential box on some important document that held life’s secrets.

  Or you’re going stark raving bonkers.

  I pried my eyes open to find my hand still entangled in her hair, my forehead braced on the glass and my breathing as erratic as a leaf in a hurricane.

  With another smug smile, she tucked me in, zipped me up and, still on her knees, rested her hands on my thighs. Bloody hell, that supplicant stance, while satisfyingly contrary to her true nature, threatened to get me hard all over again.

  But even if she’d have allowed me, the plan wasn’t to fuck her here tonight, no matter how much my eager libido was all for it.

  We needed a few guidelines set in stone before that happened. What had happened here only proved that the chemistry was much stronger than anticipated. I needed a little time to regroup.

  I redirected my gaze to her face, brushed her swollen lower lip with my thumb. ‘That was incredible, rosebud,’ I managed.

  Her smile widened, a blush darkening her cheeks. ‘Thank you.’

  I took a step back and finished adjusting my clothes, a little gratified when I caught a flash of disappointment on her face. That little balancing of the control scales made me hold out my hand and help her to her feet. Unfortunately, it brought that sinful mouth far too close to mine, reminded me that there was still another heady box to be ticked in our destination-undetermined journey.

  ‘What are your plans for tomorrow? I have a meeting with my architects in the morning but I can meet at some point for dinner?’

  She grimaced. ‘I can’t.’

  About to turn away, I froze, unsettled by the deep disappointment slashing me. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’m about a day behind on the installation for the showroom so I’m working on it all day, then having dinner with my investors.’

  ‘Don’t you have people for that?’

  She shook her head. ‘Relying on others is the reason I’m in this position.’

  I wanted to ask her whether she meant specifically or generally but, hell, my brain hadn’t quite righted itself after that incredible blow job and, frankly, I wasn’t in the headspace for another deep dive into the past or, heaven forbid, another probe into strained relationships with my family. My skin tightened in recollection of what she’d said about Graciela.

  My sister was the only one who knew just how fucked up I’d been for a long time over our parents. She alone knew about the letters we’d written separately to our parents. She’d shared that knife-edge’s experience of waiting for several empty months for a response. And then that final death blow when it’d arrived.

  Graciela had never shown me the contents of her letter but the stark horror on her face, one I was sure reflected my own, had said it all.

  We’d never spoken about it in the intervening two decades.

  That she’d taken now to start probing that scab every time we were within talking distance was a situation I’d grown increasingly weary of.

  And while I hated to admit it, that was the reason I avoided her like the plague.

  ‘Bryce?’

  Savvie was frowning at me. I pushed thoughts of my sister and buried wounds away. ‘You’re not planning on making those installations yourself, are you? Because I’m sure it contravenes a few leasing clauses.’

  Her lips twisted impatiently. ‘Of course not. But I still need to be on-site, check and double-check the inventory. Often the vision of a set-up changes once equipment is slotted into place. It’s easier to make changes during set-up than when it’s done. Less expensive too, which is better for my investors since I’m working on a budget.’

  A peculiar little thread in her voice brought me up short. ‘Everything okay with the investors?’

  She blinked, then glanced away, but not before I caught a hint of worry in her eyes. ‘It’s fine.’

  I caught her chin in my hands, directed her gaze to mine. ‘Talk to me, Savvie.’

  She held it for several seconds before she shrugged. ‘Last quarter’s sales weren’t stellar. I haven’t reached the everything-is-riding-on-this-launch stage yet, and I’d like to avoid getting there if possible.’

  I bit my tongue against asking if that was why she chose The Sylph. Whatever her motive for reconnecting with me would reveal itself soon enough. As long as I kept messy emotions out of it, it didn’t really matter. ‘If I can’t take you out tomorrow, can we meet on Sunday? You’re not planning on working all weekend, are you?’

  ‘Of course not. Sunday’s fine.’

  ‘Great. There are a few more things I want to discuss about this arrangement.’

  One sleek eyebrow lifted. ‘And you can’t tell me now?’

  ‘It can wait till Sunday. It’s almost midnight and I have to call London before I crash.’

  She got that stubborn light in her eyes, but then gave up after a beat. I didn’t want to admit my relief as I walked her back into the lift and out to the car. As much as I loved Savvie’s spunk it was a challenge to tussle with her when I wasn’t firing on all cylinders. And everything that had happened since I’d answered her call today had sent me off-kilter.

  And yes, a part of me wanted her waiting with bated breath for me.

  ‘Where are you staying?’ I asked when she belted in.

  ‘I’m renting an apartment at Triona One. It’s—’

  ‘I know where it is.’ The revelation that she was three short streets from my own apartment triggered another pulse-racing frenzy and visions of sleepless nights where I was plagued with her proximity.

  Fucking hell.

  ‘Why not a hotel?’ There were several five-star hotels in and around Marina Bay, the world-famous Raffles Hotel a case in point.

  ‘Hotels don’t really do it for me. I like having my own space, cooking my own meals.’

  ‘You cook?’ I teased.
/>   Her nod was a little wary. ‘Yeah. I kinda had to learn.’

  My mood plummeted. Fucking Dan again. ‘Had to?’ I grated.

  She avoided my gaze. ‘To start off with. Then I found out I loved it so I took classes after...’ She cleared her throat. ‘After the divorce.’

  My fingers tightened around the steering wheel, my foot sending the sports car flying towards the Central Business District and her apartment.

  Silence pulsed in the car until she turned to me as I pulled up at the entrance to the boxy glass towers that housed her temporary apartment.

  ‘You know we can’t avoid this subject for ever, don’t you?’ she demanded huskily.

  Since I’d arrived at the same conclusion ten seconds ago, I couldn’t very well deny it. ‘Yeah. But it’s not going to be tonight.’

  In the reflected interior of the car, her eyes assessed me. Then she nodded. ‘Fair enough. Goodnight, Bryce.’

  I wanted to stop her from opening the door. From stepping out and leaving me with churning feelings. But to do that I’d have to resort to drastic measures. Like kissing her. Like sliding my hand under her skirt to find out for myself whether sucking me off had made her as wet as her soft gasps and decadent eyes had promised.

  But I didn’t want our first kiss to be a snatched event in full view of anyone who walked out of the building.

  So I reeled myself in, managed a half-decent nod and even managed to step out and open her door for her.

  She alighted, stepped close and attempted to scramble my brain all over again with her perfume.

  ‘I’ll expect your call tomorrow,’ she murmured.

  I nodded, leaned against the car and watched her walk inside.

  She didn’t look back. And I was grateful.

  Because fuck if I wanted her to see me staring like a creepy, lust-addled fool.

  Savvie

  I stretched my back to relieve tension and blew a breath up my forehead.

  Despite the air-conditioning, my exertions in the store for the last four hours had made me exhausted and sweaty. Not to mention a little cranky.

  All morning I’d been plagued with flashbacks of last night. Lunch at Bryce’s apartment had been tense and uncomfortable before nosediving into a sizzling sex appetiser that had left me gagging for more.

  But last night...

  My face heated up as I recalled what I’d dared Bryce into. I’d brazenly believed I could handle it until, alone in my bed, serious doubts had steadily crept in. The sexual angle aside, there was a huge emotional iceberg right in the path of my intentions to coolly handle this. One that had flashed its colossal silhouette in the dead of night and terrified the hell out of me. In that flash I’d seen my own deeper yearnings, skating dangerously close to Bryce’s.

  And in those early hours I’d been forced to admit to myself that there was nothing perfunctory about my actions. I wasn’t cool about losing Bryce for ever.

  Bryce Mortimer was the only person who’d caught a glimpse of the true depths of my bruised bewilderment about my family. He’d never quite touched the heart of the secret I kept closed off and locked deep inside, but he’d known enough to attempt to salve a wound despite our specific deficiencies.

  But even then, he’d been at a loss to see why I was lonely in the face of familial affection.

  What he hadn’t known was that the affection and togetherness was all a carefully cultivated front. That away from shrewd eyes, the great Knight clan was far from lovingly familial behind closed doors.

  That smiles hardened.

  Eyes judged and teeth gritted long before I hit puberty and it became clear my interests didn’t align with my family’s. That no matter how hard I tried, I never fitted the mould.

  That when I declared my intention to model at age twenty, my ethics professor father, after a shot of single malt, had pondered out loud why his daughter was interested in flaunting herself wearing nothing but several pieces of silk and satin stitched together instead of utilising the business degree he’d paid for.

  The English professor mother who could barely meet her own daughter’s eyes over the dinner table because of those same deplorable life choices.

  And the stick-thin older sister, who taught disabled children and volunteered without fail at the homeless shelter every Sunday, never failed to voice her opinion about her younger sister’s failings in life in general, while the whole ensemble unerringly plied her with their thoughts on her plus-size weight in particular.

  Bryce had never witnessed any of it. While he’d heartily scoffed down my mother’s shrimp jollof rice and charmed everyone with his sharp wit and Mortimer pedigree, I’d been busy biting my tongue against telling him that I’d felt like a stranger in my own family almost from the day I was born.

  That hearing my mother scathingly berate my father for his insistence on a second child when she’d wanted to stop at one, thereby landing me in their illustrious midst, had broken something inside my twelve-year-old self I wasn’t sure had ever healed properly.

  And I’d been too ashamed to set Bryce straight on his misconceptions about my family. Perhaps that had been where I’d gone wrong. Did I secretly blame him for not seeing beneath the surface?

  My lips twisted as I sipped my bottled water. Would he even have seen my attempts? When we’d crossed paths at the posh school my parents had enrolled me in after we’d relocated from Denmark to London for my dad’s new posting, Bryce had been busy dividing his time between playing rugby and dating stick-thin girls who’d looked like replicas of my sister, Willow.

  How he’d managed to extricate himself from the latest limpet-like groupie long enough to make conversation with me that day outside the school library remained one of life’s great mysteries.

  That flash of old jealousy and insecurity threatened to rise again.

  I sighed, drained the last of my water before marching purposefully back to the centrepiece I’d been working on with my small crew all morning. The wide, revolving platform made of black granite would hold the crowning jewel of my new season’s designs.

  Without the chandelier in place I wouldn’t see the full effect of the trellised metal mannequins, but that couldn’t be helped until it was installed on Monday.

  The matching hanging baskets from which a few of the models would be suspended from the ceiling before the runway show commenced were still to be put up.

  My monumental to-do list seemed insurmountable but I’d risen to bigger challenges. After all, if I could withstand harsh, esteem-shredding barbs from my own family and ex-husband, then—

  Nope. Not going there today.

  Resolutely, I opened the first box bearing my company’s logo.

  Voluttuoso.

  Voluptuous.

  The name always drew a smile. The moment I heard the name drop from the Italian photographer coordinating pre-show clips for my third runway show in Milan, I knew that would be the name of my company.

  It had been one more tiny step on the long journey to financial independence and emotional self-sufficiency after it’d become clear my family didn’t want anything to do with me or my career choices. While it’d hurt, it’d made me more determined to turn my back on the trust fund my parents had attempted to use to keep me in line, each pay cheque I’d earned from modelling a much-needed salve to my pain and pride.

  Both goals had faltered along the way thanks to Dan and his greedy demands during our divorce, but I was on my way to reclaiming the former.

  As for the latter...

  Determinedly, I grabbed the black-and-purple box holding my merchandise and headed for a quieter corner of the showroom.

  My colour theme for the spring/summer season was deep purple with teases of bright and dark fuchsia. I opened the first box newly delivered from my manufacturer and felt a fierce bolt of pride as I pulled away the delicate decorative ti
ssue paper and lifted out the first item. Pride steadily sustained me as I sorted through the pieces and jotted down where each item would be displayed for maximum exposure in the store, only stopping when my phone pinged an hour later.

  My heart skipped three vital beats as I saw the name displayed: Bryce.

  Done with my meeting. Fancy taking a break?

  I had several more boxes to sort through but the urge to say yes immediately pummelled me. Would he think I was easy? That I’d drop everything for him the way I used to?

  The loud growling in my stomach mocked me, reminding me that it was lunch time and I could do with the break. I hit reply.

  I could be persuaded.

  Think fast. I’m three minutes away.

  The tingling in my body ramped up at the thought of seeing him again.

  Fine. I’ll take a break. But only if you bring lunch.

  Already sorted.

  I rolled my eyes, then hastily rearranged my goofy smile when I caught glances from my crew.

  On the spur of the moment, I glanced at my watch, then I walked over to them. ‘Once you’re done with setting up the platform, we can call it a day.’

  A chorus of cheers greeted me.

  Smiling, I headed back to the boxes and was inspecting a purple dressing gown with a lace trim when the lift doors opened and Bryce walked in. Behind me silence fell, and I knew without turning around that most eyes would be on him. That the female ones would widen, then linger far longer than was necessary. And because I didn’t want to confirm and fight another wily jealousy monster, I kept my eyes on him.

  Watched him nod a greeting at the crew before fixing his eyes on me.

  He was dressed casually in one of those deceptively simple polo shirts that cost hundreds of pounds and dark chinos. With his collar upturned and his hair windswept, he looked positively rakish. ‘Hey, you.’

  This time my heart skipped twice as many beats. And when he reached me and I caught a whiff of his aftershave, different parts of my body came to rude, vital life. It took an effort or three to drag my gaze from the twinkle in his dark hazel eyes to the large takeout bag he held in one hand.