by Donna Alam
Lowered to a huge bed covered in crisp linens, I watch through heavy lids as he pulls off his shirt. His hair is a mess from my hands, his shirt bearing a damp badge of my wetness at his waist. And while he’s hot in his clothes, as he peels out of them, he’s a visual treat. Skin as I’d imagined—caramel tan over defined muscle—fine hair trails from his navel, disappearing into his pants. Up until this moment, I’d never believed the term happy trail as an appropriate one, but I’m willing to bet at the end of that path stands something to make me very pleased.
My eyes follow his hands as he pulls loose the fly of his pants.
‘You look lovely. Relaxed, thoroughly fucked.’
I bite my tongue to prevent pointing out the obvious. Depends on your definition, I suppose. Not that I’m complaining. Hell, I’m way too full of endorphins to reply.
‘Content,’ he continues, aiming a roguish smile my way.
Resting a hand against the nightstand, muscle sinew and veins stand to attention as he reaches into a drawer. My body betrays its sated state, my own muscles tightening low. Holding a small foil packet, he tears the corner with his teeth.
‘Do you want to . . .’ He glances down meaningfully, adding a soft laugh as I shake my head staccato. And he definitely wasn’t at the end of the line when those were handed out. He slides black boxers down his legs, eyes not moving from mine as he deftly rolls the condom along his length.
‘Enough.’ His voice is soft but determined as his teeth graze a tantalising trail over my body. Each nip and lick reduces me to small, helpless movements and noises of pleasure. Kissing the inside of my knee, he lifts it gently, the heel of my shoe sinking into the bedding. I struggle to raise myself on my elbows as his lips curl into a smile.
‘No,’ he whispers, trailing a finger along my thigh. ‘Keep still. You look so perfect.’
Poised above me on one arm, his eyes are dark as he strokes his erection against my opening, his movements deliberate and slow. I shift trying to gain purchase, to raise myself onto him. Immediately. No more teasing. I wrap my legs around his thighs to pull him deeper as he lowers his pelvis onto me, sliding past my entrance.
Rocking his hips a touch, he whispers, ‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you pleasures are always greatest in their anticipation?’ The weight of his body increases my need, the pressure delectable and detestable, both.
‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you you talk too much?’ I reply, a little hoarse.
‘I’ve never had complaints about my oral endeavours before,’ he whispers darkly, entering me in one smooth push.
I’m wet, open and ready but still I cry out, my muscles clenching around his length.
Harsh breath exhaled over gravel, he groans, ‘That I like. Make that noise again.’ Moving back, he plunges in deeper and, right then, I’ll give him anything, everything, as I’m stretched and filled to his hilt.
As though savouring the moment, his eyes close, lashes almost caressing his high cheekbones. Beneath him, my muscles compress and will him on; I’m wound tight, my body’s instinctual responses awakening, crying out for more. When he begins to move, it’s torturously slow, a teasing advance and retreat.
Rolling his hips, he continues the torment.
‘Kai, please.’
‘You feel too good,’ he whispers on the breath of an exhale. Then, he drives himself inside again.
I groan, lifting my hips to meet his teasing, the sheet knotted in my hands. His hand moves to my hip, pushing it flat into the bed before he moves it to my knee, lifting it. The change of depth is instant, my pleasure climbing as I release the sheet and run my fingernails down his back. His body ripples in response, exhaling a long, raspy groan and, encouraged, I take his flat nipple into my mouth, clasping it between my teeth.
‘Ah, the kitten bites,’ he rasps, easing back once more and rewarding me with a firm thrust. Struck by instinct, I wrap my leg around him, lightly stroking the end of my pointed heel along his thigh.
‘Ah, fuck, yes.’ A growl. A big cat purr, low and deep.
I work his hardened nipple again, flicking it with my tongue. I need more. More him. Harder. Hitching my hips, I dig the point of my heel into the firm flesh of his arse.
He groans, thrusting firmly, changing tempo at once. This time, he doesn’t stop. His pace is unyielding and I raise my hips to meet him thrust for thrust. An exquisite tension builds inside, the intensity mounting and twisting with the collision of skin. Higher and higher it spirals, pushing all the air from my chest until I come loudly, my mind fragmenting, my body flexing and arching through its chemical release.
Above me, Kai slips his hands beneath my back, fingers curling around my shoulders as he anchors himself for long, powerful thrusts. His body bows, fingers tightening enough to bruise as he thrusts once, twice more, growling a sentiment I fully understand in a language I realise I don’t.
His head falls to my neck, body sinking onto mine as my insides contract around him.
‘Khallas. Enough,’ he murmurs, kissing my neck. ‘For now.’
Chapter Ten
Be still my beating heart.
For the first time in my life I understand why the French call this the little death. Maybe you can actually die from excess post-orgasmic glow. FPOF: Fatal Post-Orgasmic Fatigue, maybe?
Kai’s heart beats against my ribs, our uncooperative limbs lying entwined. On the edge of sleep, his lips are gently parted, his lashes closed in dark half-moons against his skin.
‘Miss Saunders.’ His words are soporific and sexy. ‘That was every bit as good as I’d imagined it to be, and I have a very good imagination.’
As he rolls onto his back, my body jolts, words penetrating my sated state. Fuck a duck. I think I just boffed my boss! I’m suddenly wide awake and tense, bird-wings beating rapidly against my ribs. Pushing myself up onto my arms, my heels scramble for purchase against the bed, shoes sliding from my feet as they tangle in the bedding.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asks, grasping my leg. I immediately still, realising as I do so how ridiculous I must look. Unsophisticated. But then again, I generally am.
‘I—I’m fine,’ I answer, forcing my body to relax as far as it’s able, given that it seems I may just have humped my boss.
‘Were you going somewhere?’ His words are tainted by amusement.
‘I’m not . . . going anywhere.’ Even as I stumble over my reply, my skin begins to pink.
‘I should think not.’ He turns his head, mouth shadowed by the pillow but I don’t need to see his mouth to know I’m being laughed at. ‘I’d be surprised if you had any power at all left in your legs.’ His eyes peer over the edge of the pillow, alight with an edge of something. Mine, however, are too full of pissed off to comprehend.
‘You’re so . . . so full of it,’ I spit out, drawing my knees under my chest and pushing his hand away.
‘A prince among men.’ He sighs with theatre, but damn his eyes, they’re smiling. I narrow my own as he begins to laugh, leaning over me and kissing my thigh.
‘You’re just so easy to provoke,’ he drawls, rolling onto his back and stretching like a large, demanding cat. ‘It’s too hard to resist. Come on, what’s with the comic legs.’
‘And you’re a . . . a . . .’ I flounder, torn between laughing and insulting him grievously as he leans over and bites this time. His eyes peer up at me through those fantastically long lashes as he sucks on the skin. Oh. My. God.
‘Yes, so you’ve said,’ he whispers, licking the red sucking bite. ‘But it’s your plans for escape we’re discussing. I should warn you, you’re making me feel cheap.’
Somehow, I doubt that. ‘It’s just, I can’t believe I’ve just done—’
‘Me?’
‘Be serious.’ I sigh, unable to hold his eyes even as it occurs to me how easy it would be to turn onto my side, reach out for him. Then I remember why it’s probably not a good idea. ‘And there’s the tiny issue of you possibly being my boss.’
‘Is that
all?’ he asks, eyeing me with something that still resembles amusement. ‘I promise not to tell.’
I still didn’t hear a denial.
Pulling himself up against the pillow, he traces the bow of my mouth with sex-scented fingers. ‘Teach not thy lips such scorn, for they were made for kissing, not contempt.’ Pulling away with an almost self-conscious edge, he stretches. ‘Don’t be so . . . bourgeois.’
What, me? The Aussie chick? Is that still even a thing? Bourgeois is middle class, right? I’m not even sure, as an Australian, I’m supposed to subscribe to all that crap. And besides, I don’t feel very respectable right now. But that was sweet and unexpected, other than the middle-class bit. Sex and Shakespeare; that’s quite a combination.
In one swift motion, Kai rolls from the bed, turning back to remove my shoes from the tangled sheet. All ponderings and rampant self-recriminations are silenced as he strides from the room, bronzed, toned and gloriously naked. And no tan lines—yikes!
My objections are still set to mute when he returns a few moments later, the open bottle and our barely touched glasses in his hands. Placing mine on the nightstand, he unfolds my clutch from his arm as I try very hard to keep my eyes on his face.
‘You’re bag was ringing,’ he says, dropping it to the bed.
Tucking the sheet around my bourgeois body for modesty sake, I reach for the glass, swallowing a gob-full as I fish out my phone.
I have a missed call, followed by a text, the little blue bubble reading: Hey hun, how’s tall dark & delicious? Does he make u horny? Can’t wait for details!!
I wonder why she’s texting, didn’t she have big plans of her own? Leaving the question for later, I text back my response. Hey, the porn industry called. They want their lines back. In the 80’s. P.S. A lady never kisses and tells. Good job we don’t know any ladies, right?
Bloody woman will be gloating for weeks.
I take the opportunity to study said tall, dark and delicious over the rim of my glass. Sprawled unselfconsciously on his side, modesty obviously isn’t an issue when you look like he does. Athletic and lithe, he has the kind of contouring that would rival fine architecture. Or in other words, he looks good enough to climb. I study the deliciously defined muscle lineation, my eyes drawn to his prominent hip bones as I follow the lustful path of his happy trail to his, currently, semi-happy di—
‘Everything in order?’
My body jolts and I nod furiously, cheeks sizzling hot and probably the colour of an open for business sign in a red light district.
‘Despite your escape plans, would you stay the night?’
Stunned further into silence, our eyes lock, but I don’t speak.
‘Don’t tell me, you have to get back. You’ve a goldfish to feed.’
He wants me to stay. Think girl, speak! Add a few words together, make a sentence.
‘Or maybe the cat does have your tongue, though I definitely remember it being in your mouth earlier,’ he reflects. ‘And mine.’ As he leans toward me, it’s all I can do not to inhale him right there. Swallow him whole. ‘Maybe I should check.’
‘I can stay.’ My voice is barely audible. I use it as an excuse to swiftly drain the contents of my glass and turn to place my bag on the nightstand. ‘And I’m not mute.’
‘Is that a challenge?’
I almost drop my bag. Drawling and languid, his words sound like some kind of sensual threat. Heat fans out across my skin, and not just from blushing. Forcing my frozen body into motion, I turn and clear my throat, trying for a change in subject. An alternative to melting off the bed.
‘What time is your checkout in the morning?’
‘I don’t have one. The suite is permanently booked for my use.’
‘You live here?’ I squeak. His family owns a school and he lives full time in a five-star hotel. What planet is he from again?
‘No, I have a house,’ he answers evenly, eyes sliding to my chest where the sheet is no longer in my grasp. ‘I don’t live here full-time.’
Quickly recovering my modesty, I tuck the edges under my arms. Of course not. Because living in a hotel part-time isn’t odd at all.
‘My house is out of the city and, well, it’s complicated,’ he says with a careless shrug. He slips a hand beneath his head, the muscles of his torso flexing. ‘It’s on the family estate. My mother and father, we each have houses there, along with some extended family.’ His expression is unreadable until I adjust the sheet, when he smiles. ‘The hotel is better located, there’s less traffic to contend with and it’s private.’
His gaze glides to mine, morphing into something more intense, electrifying the air. Like a vortex, all the energy in the room is sucked into the small space between us. I’m conscious of my chest heaving, like the huge, desperate cliché that I am. Then his mouth slides against mine briefly, tasting and teasing, before his tongue and lips make their way across my jaw. I try to hold on, my thoughts disjointed as the pleasure of his mouth licks at my skin, but one thought floats free.
His mother and father each have houses. Divorced, maybe?
‘Relax,’ he whispers hotly in my ear.
I shiver, my body’s disloyal reactions almost innate, and definitely in conflict with my brain, but I manage to hang onto that one thread.
‘Listen, Kai,’ I say, untangling myself from his arms.
‘A goldfish, then?’ he asks, pulling back.
‘What? No, it’s just, I usually get to know a person before I . . . er . . . hop into bed.’
Person. Singular. Other than a few teenage fumbles which surely don’t count. And I’ve just doubled my total, I realise.
‘I like that I’m the exception to your rule.’ Fingertips brush my collarbone, lips replacing his hand which trails lower, as words and kisses breathe against my skin. I struggle not to surrender to the sensations as he growls, ‘And I’m all for first times.’
‘Boss!’ I squeak out as his tongue dips beneath the sheet at my chest. ‘You’re my boss!’
‘Technically, not.’ The words are muffled, spoken between fabric and gritted teeth as he attempts to playfully tear the sheet away.
‘Really?’ I glance down, tightening my arms against my sides and, therefore, the covering.
‘Really,’ he repeats emphatically, pulling away with a sigh. ‘I understand your concerns, but this isn’t going to make a difference to your job. I’m hardly likely to mention it to Arwa, or anyone, for that matter. My private life is just that. And I’m very good with secrets.’ Though it’s a relief to hear, I still feel hollow. Still look easy. ‘Look,’ he sighs, still regarding me with a mixture of frustration and amusement. ‘I don’t know what the issue is here. We’re both single, no one’s judging. No one’s hurt.’
A silent yet hangs in the air, but maybe only I can hear it. Throwing a theatrical arm across my eyes, I sigh loudly. ‘I don’t need anyone’s judgement. I’ve enough of my bloody own.’
‘Very melodramatic.’ Lifting my arm, he grins down at me. ‘No man ever complained a woman got into his bed too quickly, and as I’ve been having mildly pornographic thoughts about you since you fell into my arms, this was a foregone conclusion. I’d have pursued you doggedly,’ he adds with a wolfish grin.
I find myself laughing unexpectedly, despite the fact that he’s totally missed the point.
‘Sounds slightly ominous.’
‘Only slightly? It’s a wise woman who can read the subtext.’
‘‘Dunno about that. I have enough trouble with the obvious without wondering if I’ll end up tied to the bed.’
‘A gentleman never handcuffs a lady to his bed,’ he replies, his smile taking on a curious sort of edge. ‘Not without her permission, at least.’
‘Not given,’ I counter, heat expanding below my waist. Handcuffs and beds, not a proven combination in my kind of experience. Which amounts to very little, but still.
‘Yet.’ That one word seems both like a promise and threat, a shivering sensation snaking through
my insides. ‘Tell me you want this.’
‘I . . . I . . . ’ Want handcuffs? To be tied to the bed?
‘Come on, Kate, something brought you here.’
‘Yeah, it’s called a cab.’ Sarcasm is my usual go-to response. I can hide anything behind curt words. But this time, his firm expression makes me feel a little ill. I don’t like it, don’t want to feel as though I should hide. Wrapping my arms around my legs, I rest my chin on my knees. ‘I wanted to be someone else,’ I say quietly, not daring to look at him. ‘Experience something else. And,’ I add in a whisper, ‘I just wanted you.’
I risk a look at his face and his smile steals my breath. I know at this moment, whatever happens from here, even after this bites me on the behind in the not too distant future, I will never forget this smile. His smile. This moment. And the fact that I was brave enough to follow him upstairs.
‘That was the perfect answer,’ he says, pulling me into his arms and nestling my head into the hollow of his shoulder, his fingers tracing the outline of mine. ‘What should I tell you?’
‘What about?’
‘As I see it, your concerns are due to our positions, my being your boss, which,’ he adds quickly, ‘technically, I’m not. And the fact that we’re, well, new friends. So let’s get acquainted. Tell me what you want to know and then you can tell me all about you. The bits not included on your CV.’
‘Wait, what, technically you’re not my boss? What’s that supposed to—you haven’t seen my CV, have you?’ My body tenses and I suddenly feel a very bit sick; doesn’t he know the C in CV stands for calumny, at least for me? Everybody lies a little on their resume, surely?
I hope he doesn’t have a flute lying around because I can only play champagne ones.
‘Relax,’ he says, dismissing the question. I try, and fail, to come up with a response as he pulls me back against him. ‘Cat’s got your tongue again, that was what your friend called you, wasn’t it, Kitty-Kat?’
