‘You’re adorable.’ Ellis touched her cheek, pressing his palm against the heat. ‘You’re beautiful. Don’t be anxious, Jess. I desire you … you desire me … We’ll have a wonderful time together.’
As she turned her face to kiss his hand, he tried the door, ready to push it open. Jess leapt away from him, as if there were a throng of people waiting inside, but he corralled her, his arm sliding around her waist.
‘Don’t worry,’ he reiterated, ‘it’ll be fine. Now, is there an alarm code we need to deal with?’
‘Yes, it’s 1812.’ She grinned, as if finding the nerve she’d momentarily lost. ‘And yes, I know, it’s pretty obvious.’
‘Only to a music lover or a history nut.’ Ellis winked at her. He needed her to relax, but he felt more apprehensive himself than he had done for a long time with a woman. Why did this feel like as big a step somehow as his first ever fuck after Julie?
Once inside, he silenced the beeping alarm, and returned Jess’s key to her, watching her lock up again and slip her key in her bag.
‘Cathy can get in with her own key. Wouldn’t want some slimy burglar to come in and nick things while we’re … um … While we’re busy.’
‘While we’re making love,’ Ellis corrected her. Again, he felt different. Normally he would have said fucking, but that was too crude and blatant a term to use at this critical moment. Not because she was a virgin, but because, well, she was Jess, and not like his usual women in almost every other way too. ‘Now, lead the way to paradise.’ He gave her a gentle little push on the rump, and suppressed a gasp. Just the lightest contact with her beautiful, rounded bottom made his aching cock jump hard.
Christ, it’s as if I’m the virgin here, not her.
He hoped to God he could stay in control of himself. What good to her would he be if he lost it and came before she was ready? This was all about her. Her pleasure. Her experience. It had to be wonderful, and the start of something even better.
But not in the long term. Not with me.
That shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did.
9
Jess’s whole body sizzled as she climbed the stairs, with Ellis just behind her. At least it felt that way.
He’s looking at my bottom. He must be. That’s why he’s here. For the sex. It’s not like he’s doing it for charity or therapy. He’s a man and he wants action.
Yet that was harsh. Ellis McKenna was arrogant and controlling, but he also seemed to have a gentler side. He could have been taking any one of dozens of sophisticated, cosmopolitan women to bed tonight, but he was here in a modest house, in a quiet road, on the outskirts of a small northern city, about to initiate a virgin.
‘This way,’ she said, opening the door to her room, her sanctum.
It wasn’t exactly a self-contained flat, but it’d formerly been occupied by an older relative of Cathy’s family who’d liked her own space and privacy. So the room was large, with a queen-sized bed at one end, and a sofa and low table at the other, facing her television. Some of the furniture was quite old, one or two pieces genuine Victorian, and the décor was warm oranges, reds and ochres, in soft prints, almost womb-like. But, in contrast, her little en suite was all modern, white and chrome.
On the walls she’d hung some prints, a bit crowded together in an eclectic mix: Pre-Raphaelite Beata Beatrix, Manet’s A Bar at the Folies-Bergère and Renoir’s La Loge. Impressionism was her favourite ‘ism’, she supposed, but she loved other kinds of works too. She had one of Klimt’s gilded ladies, Adele Bloch-Bauer 1, because she loved the unabashed opulence of it and the exquisite but strangely static expression. All her choices were the biggest hits of art, really, but she wasn’t ashamed of liking the popular, because things were usually popular for a damn good reason. Because they were great; because they were sublime. But, descending to what some might have classed as ridiculous, she’d hung some of her own work too, in a statement of self-belief. Not her life drawings though, just a couple of her golden oldies, a seascape painted on a rare and treasured art holiday, and a watercolour of a pretty local view.
Ellis studied her selection of greats with a thoughtful expression, and a nod here and there, as if their taste in art was aligned. Glancing from the Manet to the Renoir, he said, ‘These are in the Courtauld Gallery, aren’t they? Have you ever seen them in the flesh, so to speak?’
A regret nothing to do with her lack of a sex life swept through her. ‘No … no I haven’t. I suppose I should have, but somehow I never got around to it. Maybe one day though. How about you, have you seen them?’
A stricken look descended upon his handsome face. ‘No, me neither. I’ve never been to the Courtauld. It was on our family to do list, next time we visited London.’
‘Oh …’ What to say? There must be a million wonderful things he’d planned to share with his wife and girls.
Ellis’s jaw tensed, then it was as if he mentally shook himself, pushing that ever present grief to the back of his thoughts. As if to distract both her and himself, he zeroed straight in on the sore thumbs in her little gallery.
‘Your work?’
‘Yes, they’re nothing special. But I do love doing larger works. Sometimes. Haven’t really had the opportunity lately. I should make the effort though.’
‘You must,’ he said firmly, turning from the art, and coming to her. ‘You’re very good. And I’m not just saying that. I’m not a major connoisseur but I know what I like and what I believe is worthwhile.’
Am I going to be worthwhile?
He stood, looking down into her eyes, and there was a glow in his that gave her hope. They’d moved on from art now … or perhaps to another kind of art. Plucking her bag from her shoulder, he tossed it lightly onto the settee behind them, then slid her pashmina off her shoulders, dispensing with that too.
‘Don’t be anxious, Jess. You’ll enjoy yourself. You’re a beautiful woman, and a sensual one, I can tell. It’ll be like falling off a log, believe me.’
‘Last time I fell off a log I grazed my elbow, banged my hip, and got a mild concussion.’
Ellis laughed softly. ‘I always was one for pathetic figures of speech.’
He took her mouth then, in another of his long, sweet, probing kisses. She tensed at first, but the stroke and rhythm of his tongue, moving in her mouth, and the way his hands swept over her back and buttocks in a smooth possessive glide was almost hypnotic. Within moments, her tongue pushed back, twirling with his, and her hands went on a journey of their own.
His body was hard-muscled, electric with energy beneath his clothes. He rocked against her touch, making rough little sounds of appreciation against her lips. What she was doing must be right. Either that, or he was a very good actor. Maybe a bit of both?
But not even the best actors could get erections to order. Unless he’d taken a little blue pill when he’d excused himself briefly back at the hotel. He was rampant against her, rocking his hard shape against her belly, circling and circling.
‘Mm, you feel good, Jess Lockhart, really good,’ he growled, tracking his kiss across her cheek and hair-line, ‘So inviting …’ He cupped her bottom to hold her tighter against him, belly to belly, pelvis to pelvis.
You’re the one that’s inviting. You’re bloody well irresistible.
It was true, so true. She’d travelled further and faster with him, and in less time, than she’d achieved with any of her very few attempted boyfriends. This handling, this fondling and exploring; it’d made her freeze before. Not quite to the stage of flesh-crawling, but definitely a shudder or two, not of the good sort.
Now she wanted more, more, more, and deeper, more daring.
Ellis’s fingers were on the little covered buttons at the back of her top now, popping them with the consummate ease of the frequent seducer. He eased back from her, and before she could stop him – not that she wanted to – he’d grasped the hem of her silky top and was easing it up. As if she’d undressed for men since she was a teenager, she
lifted her arms and let him slide it off over her head, ruffling her hair as he went. When he’d tossed away the garment, he smoothed the dark strands out of her eyes, running his fingers over her brow, almost reverently.
The urge to cross her arms across her chest was hard to quell, but she resisted. She didn’t know what to do with her hands though.
‘Lovely,’ he whispered, then quickly shrugged out of his jacket, flinging it away after her top. After unbuttoning his waistcoat, he took both her hands in both of his, and placed them flat on his chest. ‘I’m just a man. I won’t bite. Well, not unless you want a little love-nibble here and there.’
‘I … I know. But I can’t help being nervous.’ His heart was thudding beneath her fingertips, its beat scarily steady. But then he was used to all this. ‘Would you mind if I took a moment? Powder my nose and all that.’ She needed the bathroom, but she needed a moment away from the intensity of him more.
‘No worries. Take all the time you need.’ He gave a funny little shrug. ‘Just don’t jump out of the window and flee from me, eh?’
She let out an edgy little laugh. ‘There is no window. It’s a new bathroom. Sort of squeezed in. I’m trapped with you, whether I like it or not.’ He took his hands from hers, releasing her, and she almost darted away.
‘I’ll make sure you like it.’
When she was gone, Ellis shed his waistcoat, unbuttoned his shirt, and then kicked off his shoes and peeled off his socks. He’d seduced a fair few women in his time, most of them lately, to fuck himself into forgetful oblivion, but it was a known fact that even the most practised lovers looked dorky when taking off their socks.
Barefoot, he padded around the room, looking at her things, and her prints and paintings again. Despite her modesty, her watercolours impressed him. There was a solid, vigorous quality to them, not usually seen in the gauzy medium. And odd little touches. A circling seagull in the beach scene appeared to have a contrail as if he’d been doing aerobatics, and in the countryside view, there were three rabbits sitting in a row on a knoll, in hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil style.
Ellis smiled, turning to an investigation of the few clothes on view, tidy on their hangers on the front of the wardrobe door. Simple garments, but elegant. Understated. She obviously didn’t have a lot of money to spend on clothes, but she looked after what she had.
You’re a bit of a neat freak, aren’t you?
It was true. The room was homely, but extremely tidy despite her claims to the contrary. Most women he’d spent time with lately tended to fling things about because they had people to clean up after them, but not Jess. Was her whole life just as tidy? Or was there a tumbling disorder of passion, just beneath the surface. He sincerely hoped so, and that he was the one to unleash her wild side.
Jess! Jess! Hurry!
He was eager to touch her again. Hungry to get started. It was hard not to want to rush, but he was going to have to try. Moving to the bed, he lay down upon it, staring up at the ceiling, trying to calm down. He let his hand drop to his groin, rubbing himself lightly and rewinding his fantasy. The caress felt good, but he wished the hand was hers.
Staring at the ceiling, he drew a lungful of her scent, lingering on the bed linen. Nice, but light; floral, almost sugary. Not the heady sophisticated fragrances he was used to, but pleasant enough. And it was the smell of the woman herself that mattered.
The bathroom door opened, and she appeared, wearing a short, turquoise, kimono type wrap. And looking uptight.
He sat up and held out a hand to her. ‘Come here.’
She approached warily, like a fawn to his wolf.
‘I told you. It’ll be okay.’ Clasping her hand, he pulled her down onto the bed at his side, setting her against the pillows. Her hair fanned out, thick and dark. For a moment he remembered Julie’s hair, also lush and dark, then he shut the memory firmly away and half rolled over Jess, finding her lips, her sweet lips, kissing her hungrily. He smiled against her mouth, tasting mint. Sampling the bright clean taste, he slid his hand down her body, flipping open the robe’s sash, then the light garment itself.
She was naked beneath. A moment of disappointment. He loved peeling filmy undergarments off his lovers. But the qualm was forgotten again just as quickly. Her skin was divine. Fine and smooth and warm, quivering beneath his touch. Was it in fear or anticipation? He suspected both.
But when he cupped her breast in his hand it fitted perfectly.
Excitement beat its mighty wings inside her. It was happening. She was naked with a man, and he was touching her. Exploring her. His thumb moved against her nipple, flick, flick, flick. Every stroke wound up something tighter inside her, filling her with energy, compelling her to move, making her want to suck on the tongue that possessed her mouth. As if some mighty puppeteer controlled them with strings, her thighs lolled apart, making space for Ellis’s still clothed body to possess.
‘Mm … yes,’ he murmured, mixing his breath with hers, and taking command of the valley she’d opened for him. The knot of his sex was huge and hard, so close to her own centre that she felt it twitch and leap, even through his clothing. ‘Good girl.’ He rocked his body, pressing himself right against her clitoris, caressing her with his weight, his strength. He kept moving, kept kissing, kept gently squeezing her breast. The sense of winding, and of gathering intensified. She churned against him, wilder and hungrier than ever.
Her heart swelled. It was all so easy. Why had she never anticipated this? There was no urge to shudder and flinch away as before. No sense of struggle. Quite the opposite. It was as if her body knew exactly what it was doing, and wanted to fuse with his, and climb right inside it.
And she was wet, too, probably making a mark on his trousers as she rubbed against him.
I don’t care! I don’t care!
She rubbed harder.
His kiss roved over her face, along the line of her jaw, and down her neck. Would he bite her? She almost wanted him to, but he just kissed. Probably a man as well versed in seduction as he was would avoid giving juvenile love-bites to his equally sophisticated lady friends. Not a good look if they were in the social eye.
‘What are you thinking?’ He reared up over her, his sea-green eyes tinted dark with lust. God, they were astounding. Even she would have got aroused, just looking into that stunning gaze.
‘Nothing. Stupid stuff. Don’t stop.’
He laughed low and wickedly. ‘I don’t intend to. Unless you say so.’ He looked a bit more serious. ‘But if you do want to stop, at any time. Just say the word.’
‘I don’t want to stop!’
‘Good … you gorgeous woman!’ He plunged down again, and before she could draw breath, his mouth was at her breast, kissing, nibbling, and ooh dear Lord, sucking!
If she’d been wriggling before, she was crazy now. The sensations were unbelievable. She grabbed at him, pulling at his body, digging her hand into his dark hair, tousling it and clasping him to her. His wicked tongue was even better at flicking and teasing than his clever fingers were.
As he switched to her other breast, she felt his hand settle on her bare belly. Then pause. He popped up again, and gave her a questioning look.
‘Yes … oh, yes.’ The words were so small that they hardly came out of her mouth, but he heard them, and acted.
His hand slid between her thighs, then his long fingertips dove into her pubic hair, seeking the unexplored land. Well, unexplored by anybody other than herself.
‘Mm … wet. That’s good, sweetheart. Very good.’
And yes indeed, she was. She’d checked in the bathroom, still surprised that it could happen to her. A primal fastidiousness had almost made her wash herself furiously, but she’d refrained. How stupid! He wanted her to be wet, and she wanted herself to be wet. It was a sign of success, or at least of a promise of it.
Oh! Oh my! Oh my God!
Not sure what she was expecting, she almost levitated. His touch was so light, like a dance on her clitoris,
swooping and floating, so delightful that she let out a gasp, a laugh of happy surprise. Without thinking, she pressed her hand over his, laughing again.
‘Ticklish?’
‘No … yes … I’m not sure.’ Rocking her hips, she somehow managed to match her greater actions to his precise ones. How could she do that? It was almost a miracle.
‘But good?’ He leaned against her, pressing his face into her hair, against her ear.
‘Oh God, hell, yes!’
The wonderful waltz of his fingertips circled on, becoming more complex, more exploratory, more energetic but still sweet and airy. She shuddered wildly when he pressed the tip of a finger inside her. Automatically, she stiffened.
‘Easy … easy … It’s all right … it’s all all right.’ He let the finger rest there a moment, as if steadying her, letting her get a feel of something there. Smaller than what lay ahead, but something. ‘Okay?’ he asked, wiggling the finger just a little. ‘Have you ever … how can I put this delicately? Have you ever used a sex toy?’
The memory ran through her like a shiver. She did shiver. But with a beautiful man’s hand between her thighs at last, this was no time for being coy and prudish and shy. ‘I’ve tried a vibrator. I’ve got a couple actually. I tried to … I tried to put it in, but I think it was too big.’ Suddenly her ears seemed to sizzle, along with the rest of her. She was one big blush from the roots of her hair, to the tips of her especially-for-him pedicure.
‘Was it bigger than a man?’ He kissed her again, and his finger moved on, sleekly slithering around her folds and back to her clitoris.
‘How am I to know? The guys at life class never get erections. Well, there’s the occasional semi, but nothing very impressive.’
It was Ellis’s turn to laugh, soft and low as he cupped his whole hand against her pussy in a caress that felt almost as if he was cuddling her down there. She liked that.
‘If I was posing for you, I’d be rampant as a tree all the time, knowing you were looking at me. I wouldn’t be able to help myself.’
How to Seduce a Billionaire Page 9
