Out of sight.
But not, he was determined, out of Nat’s mind.
The epic sound of “Whispers in the Night” recorded live in London hid his chuckle as he tucked himself into a comfortable position under Nat’s desk.
This was going to be fun.
Chapter Four
He wasn’t there.
Nat stared at her empty seat, her heart racing faster than Rimsky-Korsakov’s “Flight of the Bumblebee”.
He wasn’t there. Jaxon Campbell—naked and thoroughly aroused—had vanished from sight.
God. She didn’t know whether to be pleased or worried.
Pulling a steadying breath, she walked across the floor of her office, casting the Minister for the Arts and Culture a calming smile as she did so. “There’s nothing to hide, Minister,” she said, rounding the corner of her desk to reach for her chair.
Movement at the floor caught her eye and she missed a step.
Jax grinned up at her from beneath her desk.
Her heart slammed up into her throat and continued its manic pace there.
“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Jeremy?” the minister asked.
Mouth dry, she jerked her stare back to him.
Jeremy Craig, the man responsible for a hell of a lot of Con government funding, smiled at her. “Please? Minister is so formal.”
“This is a formal meeting, isn’t it?” she croaked, inching closer to her chair.
From the shadows beneath her desk, Jax watched her. She could feel his gaze on her body like a slow, hot caress.
Her throat constricted at the thought.
The minister laughed. “It stopped being formal somewhere around the time you slapped my face with your hands, don’t you think? Or maybe it was when you informed me my taste in music sucks during lunch. Tell me again, what’s wrong with Celine Dion?” To her horror, he settled into the seat opposite her desk and beamed up at her.
She stared at him. Great, now she would have to sit in her seat. With Jax lurking under her desk. Naked.
And horny.
“Are you going to take a seat, Natalie?”
She startled at the minister’s question and blushed. She fidgeted her way to her seat and, teeth gnawing on her bottom lip, lowered herself onto the edge of the plush leather cushion.
Instantly, a warm hand slipped around her ankle.
She gasped.
Jeremy Craig frowned. “Are you sure you’re okay, Natalie?”
Swallowing at the rapid heartbeat in her throat, she nodded. Another hand smoothed around her other ankle. “I’m fine,” she blurted, shifting on her seat.
The leather made a low creaking sound. A low chuckle rumbled from beneath her desk, almost inaudible, as the two hands circling her ankles began to smooth up her calves.
She pressed her thighs together. If Jax discovered she wasn’t wearing knickers…
Across her desk, the Minister for Arts and Culture gave her a dubious look. “Do you want to turn down the music?” he asked, throwing a puzzled glance at her iPod dock.
Jax’s hands smoothing up her calves, she leant forward and lowered the volume a little. Enough to have a conversation, but not enough that the sound of her backside rubbing against leather could be heard.
And why is your butt going to be rubbing against the leather, Natalie Thorton? Hmmm?
She gave Jeremy a wobbly smile in return. “Now,” she said, desperate to keep her voice poised. It was difficult. Jax had reached her knees and was doing a very good job of inching her thighs apart. Surely he would stop soon. Wouldn’t he? “We should continue to discuss the government’s grant for the extensions.”
Jeremy laughed, his light-blue eyes dancing behind his glasses. “I think we’ve discussed it enough, Natalie.”
Beneath her desk, Jax echoed the minister’s laugh. The difference was his lips were pressed to the inside of her right knee.
Her belly knotted. Her breath caught in her constricted throat. Christ, how had he managed to get her thighs so wide?
“What I’d like to discuss—” Jeremy leant forward in his seat, holding her gaze with his, “—is the upcoming Prime Minister’s Ball.”
“Why?” Nat squeaked. Oh God, Jax was going to discover she wasn’t wearing—
A low hum of approval sounded at her knees as a steady finger traced the seam of her pussy lips.
She hitched in a ragged breath, staring at Jeremy.
“Because I’d like you to attend it with me,” the minister said.
Jax stroked his finger over her labia again, upward this time, until he found her clit.
Raw, forbidden pleasure detonated through Nat. She bit back a whimper, forcing her smile to stay put on her lips. “With you?” Holy shit, she sounded like she was about to have an asthma attack.
Jeremy nodded. Jax rolled his finger over her clit again.
“We’ve spent quite a lot of time together lately,” Jeremy went on, lowering his stare—thank fucking God—to his cuffs. “More than one professional luncheon, quite a few performances here at the Con—”
“All in a professional capacity,” Nat pointed out, squeezing her thighs together in an attempt to stop Jax tormenting her clit with his finger. Her attempt failed. With two strong hands, he grabbed her hips and yanked her closer to the very edge of her seat.
She let out a gasp and then another one as he not only continued to stimulate the tiny button of flesh that was her clitoris, but also slowly sank a finger into her wet pussy.
“Oh…” she moaned, closing her eyes at the wickedly wanton sensations unfurling through the pit of her belly. She gripped the edge of the desk.
“I know this is unexpected.” Jeremy’s voice scraped at her ears even as Jax’s finger or thumb—she had no way of knowing—stroked at the inner wall of her centre, right on the sweet spot she knew he knew so very well.
“But you have to admit, we do seem to enjoy each other’s company.”
Opening her eyes, Nat tried her best to focus on the man opposite her. The Minister for the Arts and Culture. In her office. Asking her on a date.
Beneath her desk, Jax trailed his lips up the length of her right inner thigh.
“Oh God,” she moaned, squeezing her pussy muscles on his penetrations.
“And I’m sure you’ve been aware how much I admire your dedication to your work.” Confident hope shone in Jeremy’s face. If he thought her reaction to his suggestion unusual or melodramatic, he didn’t show it. “And your professionalism dealing with not only the press but dignitaries and politicians alike. Myself included.” He chortled at his self-deprecating jest…just as Jax touched his tongue to Nat’s clit.
The sound that escaped Nat was borderline porn-worthy.
She bit back another groan, her grip on the edge of her desk almost painful.
Jax licked her clit again, his finger or thumb or whatever seeking out her G-spot once more.
“W-wouldn’t it…” she rasped, incapable of not rolling her hips forward as fresh waves of delicious pleasure flowed through her. “W-wouldn’t it be…” Jax sucked on her clit. “…a conflict of interest?”
Jeremy frowned, shifted on his seat, adjusted his glasses and then his cuffs. “I’m sure some in the media would find it newsworthy. The Minister for the Arts and Culture on a date—may I use that word?—on a date with the Dean of the Con, especially after my department so recently approved the improvement grant, but I’ve cleared it with my superiors—”
“The prime minister?” Nat said, desperate to ignore Jax’s tongue lapping at her pussy. Christ, she was going to come soon if she didn’t stop him. And she was a noisy comer. Always had been, especially when it was Jax making her come.
Jeremy nodded and smiled with coy pride. “The prime minister.”
“So you checked with the leader of Australia if you could ask me out?” she asked, wriggling her hips. Holy fuck, was Jax fucking her with his finger and tongue now? Holy fuck, were those his teeth on her cli
t?
Jeremy preened. “I did.”
Nat sucked a swift breath in through her nose. Not at Jeremy’s confession, but at the masterful way Jax slid his free hand between her butt and her chair as she squirmed on her seat in a futile effort to dislodge him.
Oh God.
He stroked the puckered hole of her anus, a gentle but deliberate caress even as he sucked on her clit and teased her G-spot.
Swirls of blinding colour began to dance at the edges of her vision. The base of her spine tingled. So did the soles of her feet.
Yep, she was going to come soon. Right here, while the Minister for the Arts and Culture asked her out on a date.
“And he said there was no problem as he saw it.” Jeremy beamed, leaning back in his chair, his stare locked on her face. “In fact, he wondered why I hadn’t asked you out before now.”
“Oh God.” Nat ground her pussy down, meeting Jax’s talented thrusts. “I don’t—”
“Just the Prime Minister’s Ball,” Jeremy beseeched, holding out a hand as if to halt her refusal. “And perhaps drinks after…at my place?”
Jax nipped her clit, pressed on her anus, stroked his tongue over her clit again and drew line after line over her G-spot.
The colours swirling in Nat’s vision flared brighter. Liquid fire sparked up her spine. Her breasts grew heavy, her nipples pinched tight.
“Please, Natalie?” The minister leant forward, adjusting his glasses. “I promise you’ll have a wonderful time. And I hold you in such high—”
Jax sucked Nat’s clit into his mouth and penetrated her anus with his finger.
“God, yes!” she cried out, her orgasm—a paroxysm of concentrated pleasure—claiming her. Her hands slipped from the edge of her desk. Her toes curled in her shoes. Her hips bucked upward of their own accord, slamming her constricting, weeping pussy into Jax’s mouth. “Yes!”
“Excellent!” Jeremy jolted to his feet, elated triumph beaming from his face.
Nat gaped at him, her climax—and Jax’s tongue—still busy at work rendering her body a slave to pleasure. “W-wha…I…”
Jeremy’s smile grew wide. He tugged at his cuffs again, his gaze on her face. “I shall get my people to call your people.”
And with that, he let out a laugh, gave her a weird little wave no federal politician had any right giving—like they were kindergarteners and she’d just agreed to sit with him at lunch—and turned toward her door.
Nat gnawed her bottom lip, the mounting tension in her sex telling her Jax was well on his way to giving her her first multiple orgasm since he’d left all those years ago. A fucking multiple orgasm. Right now. Oh God, how did he do…how did he know how…
Fuck me, fuck me, here we go again, here we—
“Oh, and Natalie?”
She jerked her head up to stare at Jeremy, her face, her body, her soul aching with the need to surrender herself to her second climax and scream Jax’s name. “Minister?”
“I should warn you, I look irresistible in a tux.”
He dropped her a wink, gave her another smile and then left, pulling the door closed behind him.
Just as Jax penetrated her anus with his finger again and flicked her clit with his tongue once more, thereby detonating her second climax of the day.
If Jeremy heard her cry out, he didn’t return.
Which was a good thing, given that she was about to kill a goddamn naked, annoying pain-in-the-arse rock star.
Finally wrenching control of her body and brain back from the bone-melting second orgasm pulsing through her, she rammed her hands to the edge of her desk and shoved. Hard.
Her chair slid backwards. Jax’s hands and mouth slipped from her pussy and other orifice.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she growled, just as Jax’s chuckle emanated from the shadows beneath her desk.
He poked his head out, grin wide, face boyishly handsome and smugly triumphant. “If you have to ask, I obviously did it wrong.”
Nat threw up her hands and let out a strangled argh. It was that, or watch him curl his naked hotness into a comfortable sitting position on the floor. And if she watched him do that she’d lose any hope of maintaining the moral high ground. “Do you have any idea who that was?”
“It was the Federal Minister for the Arts and Culture. Who just asked you out, by the way.”
The playful delight in Jax’s voice sent wisps of frustration through her. She willed herself against the sight of him sitting naked at her feet and, teeth ground, glared at him. The fading throb of her orgasms—plural—mocked her indignation. As did the glistening moisture on Jax’s lips and chin she knew came from her. “Exactly,” she snapped, pressing her thighs together.
Jax laughed. “What’s the problem, Boxhead? I remember the time you gave me head under the table while I was being interviewed by Rolling Stone Magazine. Hey, did you know our new band manager is the daughter of the guy who did that interview?”
Nat gaped at him. “That was twenty-one years ago,” she pointed out, chest tight.
“So?” He shifted on his butt enough for Nat to see his still-very-engorged erection jutting up between his thighs.
“So…” She faltered. “So that was twenty-one years ago,” she repeated.
He smirked. “Awesome argument you’ve got there, Boxhead. Need I remind you it’s not the first time I’ve eaten you out in the company of others. There was the time I visited you in class…when you were Whathisface’s assistant…and I hid in the podium while you supervised an exam…”
Nat’s cheeks flooded with heat. Her pussy fluttered with enthusiastic recollection.
“Besides,” he went on. “You were the one who laid down the sexual challenge—Nick’s replacement for sex. I just decided waiting until tomorrow sucked.”
“I can’t be having multiple fucking orgasms while talking to the Minister for the Arts and Culture, Jax.” She pressed her hands to her face, in part to hide her blush, in part to stop herself gazing at his nakedness as he straightened to his feet. “This was such a mistake. What was I thinking?”
“You were thinking you wanted to experience amazing sex again. With me. Although you did say yes to going on a date with the Minister of Colouring In. Do you want to have amazing sex with him as well? It’s been a while since I took part in a boy-girl-boy ménage, but hey, I’m—”
“Jax!” she ground out.
His only response was to laugh.
She shook her head and flicked him a glare through her fingers. Oh God, he was leaning his naked butt on the edge of her desk, grin wicked, arms crossed over his tattooed chest, his impressive cock right there…in front of her…hard and thick and stiff and waiting for her…
“This was a mistake,” she said again, squeezing her eyes shut. “I can’t do it.”
“Chicken.” Jax’s low murmur snapped her eyes open and her head up.
“Screw you.”
He raised his eyebrows. “The Nat I knew wouldn’t be wimping out.”
“I’m not wimping out,” she declared, belly knotting, breasts heavy. That’s exactly what she’d just been about to do, but there wasn’t a hope in hell she was telling Jax that. The bastard had stolen her AC/DC record, after all.
And that’s the reason for not bailing? A record? Yeah, sure. You’re in it for the sex. Admit it.
Dark eyes regarded her. “Prove it.”
She drew a slow breath, fixing him with her most serious stare. “Sure. But not now. Now I have work to—”
He stepped toward her and straddled her legs—damn it, why hadn’t she stood when he had?—pressed his hands to the back of her chair, either side of her head and lowered his face until his lips hovered a breath from hers. “Prove. It.”
Nat’s heart lurched. She stared up into his dark eyes. “Jax…” she whispered, her head roaring. Her heart wasn’t just fast anymore. It was a goddamn metronome pounding out a prestissimo tempo.
He didn’t move. His warm breath tickled her
lips. His hard thighs pressed to the outside of hers. His gaze held her captive.
Nat’s sex constricted. God, she remembered this. This hunger for each other, this bottomless need to consume each other, possess each other. “Jax,” she whispered again, throat so thick his name was barely more than a husky moan.
“Prove—” he moved his hand to hers, wrapped his fingers around her wrist and then placed her palm against the side of his engorged dick, “—it.”
Her fingers closed around his length of their own accord. It filled her hand, hot and rigid and thick and perfect.
“Squeeze it.”
She did. A part of her told her the situation was insane. Dory could walk in at any moment. At. Any. Moment. Dory was unpredictable. An incredible personal assistant, true, but not one for using the intercom. And the Minister for the Arts and Culture could return to confirm their date for the Prime Minister’s Ball. Their date, for fuck’s sake.
Another part of her—the real her perhaps, the part she’d kept bound and leashed since Jax had left and she’d focused her life on her career—didn’t give a flying fuck who could walk back in.
The threat of discovery only made the moment more exhilarating and arousing. And boy, she was aroused.
“Squeeze it again,” Jax ordered on a groan.
She didn’t just squeeze his erection, she moved her constricting hand up and down its length in three slow pumps.
He moaned, nostrils flaring, stare fixed on hers.
She loosened her grip on his flesh and trailed her hand, fingertips first, down to his scrotum.
His balls rose up at her touch. Jax had always been a master at manscaping, long before it became popular, and Nat loved that all she could feel as she cupped his balls was his velvet-soft skin.
Another low moan tore from him, deep in his chest. His eyes fluttered closed for a second before they focused on her, undeniable pleasure clouding their dark depths.
Kneading his scrotum, she drew a slow breath, taking in the scent of him—distinct, wonderful and long kept from her.
Getting Played (Heart of Fame #7) Page 5
