He pops open a bottle of bubbly from the fridge. It’s only as he pours it into two glasses that I see the name on the bottle—Veuve Clicquot. It’s real French champagne. Holy shit.
Acting like I’m offered several-hundred-dollar bottles of wine all the time and not like a person who only buys what’s on special offer that week, I accept the glass, inhale its aroma, and sip it. “It’s lovely.”
He has a swallow. “Mmm.” His tone is approving, but dismissive enough to tell me he drinks wine like this all the time.
His attention is all focused on me. He moves toward me now, making me back up against the kitchen counter. My heart begins to hammer as if someone’s playing my ribs like a xylophone, and a tsunami of excitement and panic sweeps over me. He’s so tall, and incredibly handsome. But he looks so… dangerous. At work, he’s like James Bond, suave and sophisticated in his suit, and it’s easy to forget he can kill men with his little finger. James, that is, not Harrison. I don’t know if my boss has that skill, but I’m betting he has an impressive concealed weapon.
The champagne bubbles have nothing on the giggles rising inside me, but the look in Harrison’s eyes pops them, leaving me giddy with passion.
“Don’t be nervous,” he murmurs.
I shake my head, but it’s a pointless protest, because I clearly am.
He moves closer, and now I’m pinned between him and the worktop. “You don’t have to do anything,” he continues, dropping his head to brush his lips up my cheekbone to my ear. “I’m happy to take over. Would you like me to take over, Gabriella?”
I shiver, and give a tiny nod.
He touches his tongue to my ear. “You’ve had a tough time lately, and I think you deserve a treat, don’t you?”
I close my eyes. “Um… I guess.”
“I do. I think you deserve a treat. So tonight, I’m going to give you a fantastic orgasm—several, hopefully—and then I’m going to make love to you as slowly as I can manage it. I’m going to give you the best sex of your life, and wipe all memories of that idiot out of your mind, until the only images in your head are of me and the pleasure I’m going to give you.”
He kisses back to my mouth. “How does that sound?” His breath is hot on my lips.
I’m reciting herbs so fast in my head they’re just a jumble of syllables. How did Colette ever dare to describe this man as a pussycat? He’s one hundred percent a fucking king of the pride, and oh my God, I think I’m going to die from excitement.
Chapter Eight
Harrison
I meant every word I said. I’ve never felt so determined about anything in my life. Gabriella’s ex didn’t deserve her, and I’m going to make sure that whenever she thinks about him, it’s only to compare him to me, and find him wanting.
She gives a helpless little squeak that sends heat surging through me. I crush my lips to hers, and lose myself in the kiss, in the sweetness and warmth of her mouth, as our tongues dart and slide, and she lifts her arms around my neck and presses up against me.
She might be shy, and nervous about sleeping with another guy, but she’s not reluctant. I like that. I like how she moans against my lips, and how she threads her hands through my hair. And how she pushes her hips against mine. Pinning her against the worktop, I make sure that she’s in no doubt as to how aroused I am and how much I want her as I rock my hips and press my erection against her soft mound.
I do want to take this slow and make the most of the night, but equally I want her naked. Every guy’s dilemma. I lift my head reluctantly, slip one arm behind her shoulders, then bend and scoop her up into my arms.
She squeals. “You’ll drop me!”
“Only if you wriggle. Pick up our glasses.”
She does so, and then I carry her through the living room and into my bedroom.
I tidied up earlier, just in case I got lucky, and I’m pleased now as she looks around and exclaims in delight. It’s a man’s bedroom—there are no sheer curtains or colored pillows or mobiles in the windows, but I had a designer in to decorate it, and I’m pleased with the dark, sensual burgundies and the chocolate browns, so like Gabriella’s hair.
I walk over to the window and dip her so she can place the wine glasses on the bedside table. Then I lower her feet to the floor, and let her slide down until our bodies are flush. Finally, I slide my hands beneath her pale-pink sweater. I don’t find skin though—my hands glide across something silky and slippery.
I nuzzle her neck. “Interesting. What have you got on under here?” I explore with my fingers, finding a variety of fabrics—satin, lace, ribbon, and my thumb brushes against the base of her breasts and finds the cups underwired. Holy shit, that’s hot. I love sexy lingerie.
“Mmm, Harrison…”
“Harry,” I remind her.
“I can’t call you Harry. You’re my boss.”
I laugh and start pulling her sweater up her body. “I’m also going to be your lover in about ten minutes, so I think it’s okay.”
I lift the sweater over her head, and drop it onto the chair in the corner of the room. The moon’s just visible above us, and her arms and shoulders glow in the pearly light. To my delight, she’s wearing a sexy cream bodysuit, with lace cups joined to the satin body.
“Wow.” I stand back, my hands on her hips, and admire her for a moment.
“You like?”
“I do.” My gaze returns to her face. The moon has almost bleached all the color out of the room, and she looks like a black-and-white photo, like an old-fashioned starlet. Still, I can see the blush in her cheeks as she lets me admire her.
Cupping her face, I kiss her, and then when she leans against me, splaying her hands on my chest, I move my arms around her. I slide my hands down her silky body, then forward to undo the button of her jeans.
She lets me push them down, toes off her shoes, and kicks the whole lot to one side. This time when I rest my hands on her hips they skim over the satin to her soft butt.
“Jesus.” Just the feel of her is enough to send my blood thundering through my veins. Unable to hold in a prehistoric growl of passion, I reverse her to the bed. When she meets the mattress, she falls onto her butt with a gasp.
Standing in front of her, I undo my jeans and take them off, then grab a handful of my T-shirt at the back of my neck and rip it off. Gabriella’s eyes are so wide it wouldn’t have surprised me if her eyeballs had popped out and rolled along the ground like a cartoon character’s. I would have laughed, but I’m too far gone for that. I want her, I want to taste her, I want to be inside her, and as she lies back and lifts her arms over her head, stretching out on the bed, I have to stop myself from just leaping on her and taking her in ten seconds flat.
First things, first. I climb onto the bed and lower down on top of her, and look into her eyes as our two almost-naked bodies press together. Her lips part, and she’s breathing quickly, so it seems as if she’s as turned on as I am at this moment.
I kiss her, leisurely, taking time to touch my tongue to her lips before delving it inside and tasting the sweetness of her mouth. I kiss her cheekbones and her nose, her eyebrows and eyelids, and up her jaw to her ear, where I suck the lobe into my mouth. She sighs, her hips automatically pushing up so she’s arousing herself against me. Interested in that movement, I shift so I’m lying right between her legs, and she draws up her knees. I give little thrusts, gently grinding the base of my erection through my boxers against her clit through the satin bodysuit. Gabriella moans and clenches her fingers in my hair, and I know I was right—she’s so turned on she’s close to coming. What a little sex kitten.
“Harrison…” she whispers.
“Mmm.” Delighted, I kiss her deeply, and I cup her breast and rub my thumb across her nipple. She shivers, so I do it again, more firmly this time, tugging the sensitive skin between my fingers through the satin. A few more rocks of my hips, and she braces her hands on my shoulders as if she wants me to stop, but I don’t, and then she stills, and I cover
her mouth with mine and drink in her long gasps of pleasure.
When she’s done, I lift my head and look into her eyes again.
“Jeez,” she says, blushing scarlet. “I’m so sorry.”
I laugh and kiss her nose. “For what?”
“Well, you know, not being able to wait.”
“Honey, I’m flattered. The more orgasms the merrier.” I lift up, and begin to kiss down her neck. “This is a very sexy piece of lingerie. But I think it’s time to see what’s beneath it.”
I slide the strap off her shoulder and kiss the bare skin. Then I slide the other one off. Slowly, I pull them down her body, gradually revealing inch after inch of creamy skin. When I reach her breasts, I think we both hold our breath as I peel the lace from them.
Her nipples are medium sized, a pinky brown color. I rub a thumb across one, and it feels like velvet. I sigh. “Gabriella… You are perfect.”
“I’m really not,” she mumbles, and then she catches her breath as I pluck it gently until it peaks. I do the same to the other one, and when they’re hard like beads, I lower my head and take one in my mouth.
It’s difficult to describe to women how much joy their breasts bring to men. They fascinate us. I guess it’s because we don’t have them, but it goes deeper than that. I’ve heard experts say men are attracted to a shapely figure because it appeals to the prehistoric desire for a perfect mother to bear our children. I don’t know about that—I’m not interested in kids and I’ve never referred to a girl’s hips as being great for childbearing—but I get their point. It’s desire in its most primeval sense, and the caveman inside me rears up and roars as I trace my tongue around Gabriella’s nipples and take them in my mouth.
Jesus, she’s turning me feral. I’m a modern man; I’m respectful to women; I buy them dinner before I fuck them, and I always make sure they have an orgasm first. But at the moment, I feel like dragging Gabriella by her hair onto the floor, turning her onto all fours, and taking my pleasure from her beautiful body. She’s making me burn. I’m going to have to make her come again, because when I eventually let myself go, the heat inside me is going to turn us both to ashes, and there’ll be no coming back from that.
Chapter Nine
Gabriella
I feel hot, sweaty, and sticky, but for some reason it only seems to be turning Harrison on. He’s finally moved on from my breasts, leaving the nipples bright red and hard as marbles, and he’s now kissing down my belly as he peels back the bodysuit, revealing my skin.
“Lift up,” he directs when he reaches my hips, and I lift my butt so he can slide the bodysuit down. He removes it and tosses it onto the chair in the corner, then shifts between my legs and pushes up my knees.
“Um…” I say, lifting up onto my elbows when I realize what he’s going to do, but he ignores me, lowers his head, and then immediately I feel his tongue brush up through my folds. I groan and fall onto my back, and cover my face with my hands.
Harrison gives the sexiest groan I’ve ever heard from a man, the kind a woman gives when she’s eating chocolate fudge brownie ice cream, and he buries his mouth in me, sliding his tongue deep inside. I shudder, and then discover I have no control over the speech center of my brain as I gasp and moan each time he licks and sucks me. I can’t help it—the feeling is amazing. It’s not the first time I’ve had a guy go down on me, so I don’t know why it feels a billion times better—maybe it’s because I can’t believe a man like Harrison would want to do something like this for me, but he’s not only doing it, it sounds as if he’s enjoying it, and so perhaps that’s what’s such a turn on.
“Oh yeah,” he mutters as I arch my back, and he slides two fingers inside me. With his other hand, he strokes up through my sensitive flesh, then presses at the top and gives a satisfied grunt before covering my clit with his tongue. I inhale and find I can’t breathe out as he swirls the tip of his tongue there, sending pleasurable sensations skittering through me.
“Harry…” I whisper, and it turns into a long sigh as I open my eyes to see his dark head between my pale thighs.
He moves back to watch his fingers sliding in and out of me. “You’re so fucking amazing.” He circles his thumb over my clit, watching me to see my reaction. “Down here, you’re beautiful. Swollen and pink and glistening.”
“Oh God, don’t.”
“It’s fucking hot. I want to slide right into you and thrust you into next week, but I’m going to wait, because I want you to come again.”
I just groan.
“Don’t you want to come again?” he asks.
“No,” I lie.
“Well, you don’t have any choice in it. I’m going to tease you with my tongue and my fingers until you have the most amazing climax of your life. Are you ready?”
I cover my face with my hands again. Why are his words reducing me to a quivering heap of lust?
“Tell me what you like,” he says huskily, stroking his fingers in and out of me. “Tell me how to pleasure you, Gabriella.”
“Mmm, ohhh, you seem to know the answer to your own question.”
“Come on. Tell me. Short, quick flicks like this?” He demonstrates with his tongue. “Or slow and steady, like this?” He slides his tongue down and up with agonizing slowness.
“Ohhh… Yes, both are nice, but slow is… mmm… yes…”
“Like this?”
“Mmm…” My orgasm is seconds away. How many muscles do I have down there? Because it feels like I have a thousand, and each one is tensing in turn, forming a tiny wave that is gradually building in size, threatening to sweep me away.
He must realize, because he slows down, dipping the tip of his tongue right inside me, then brushing it up through my folds. Then he blows hot breath on the area, making me groan and squirm. I slide my hands into his hair and clench my fingers there.
“It’s coming, sweetheart,” he promises. “Just relax. It’ll be even better like this.”
Better?
It’s not easy to relax because I’m so tense, but I try, letting my thighs fall wide open and abandoning myself to him. He licks and sucks, and I just feel everything start to tighten when he lifts his head.
I give a deep groan. He strokes my thigh in response, then dips his head, teasing me with his tongue until once again I start to tighten. And once again he moves back.
“Ohhh…” I’m close to begging him now. In fact, I decide it’s worth a try. “Oh, please…”
But he does this three or four more times, and each time I seem to get a fraction closer before he stops. I’m so frustrated by now that I’m panting and aching. Desperate to climax, I slide my hand between my legs, but he captures it with a growl and pulls it aside.
“Just for that, I’m going to do it twice more,” he announces.
“Harry,” I wail, but he ignores me and flicks his tongue across my clit.
He’s torturing me—he’s literally trying to kill me with sexual pleasure. I clutch at his hair again, but he’s completely in control, and I can only lie there and let him do what he wants with me, until I’m gasping and crying out for release.
“All right, baby,” he murmurs, “here we go.” He slides his fingers back inside me, then covers my clit with his mouth. This time, he sucks, and he doesn’t stop.
I wait for my orgasm to crash into me like a speeding train—but it doesn’t. Instead, and I can’t believe I’m thinking this, it feels almost spiritual, and suddenly I can see why the lotus blossom is so popular in literature because that’s how it feels, like the blossoming of a flower, petals unfurling inside me, blooming and radiating through all my muscles in such sweet agony that when I finally clench inside, it almost hurts and makes me cry out, and I’m sure there are real tears on my cheeks.
But it’s not just the physical pleasure, it’s because he’s taken the time to pleasure me, as if I’m something beautiful, worth worshipping, worth spending time on, and that’s a treasure that fills me with a glow I know isn’t only physical.
I clench, and I gasp, and clench, and gasp, and it goes on forever, and I think I’m going to pass out from pleasure, and then finally it stops and I fall back onto the bed and cover my face with my arms, limp and boneless, utterly exhausted.
Below me, the mattress dips. Harrison shifts on the bed, and there’s rustling of clothing and the sound of a packet opening, and then he moves up and leans over me.
“Shit,” he says. “I’ve worn her out.”
That prompts a laugh from me, and I lower my arms and look into his smiling eyes.
“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you,” I tell him. “I must have performed miracles in a previous life or something.”
“Possibly.” He guides the tip of his erection between my legs, and I feel it press at my entrance. “Even angels deserve a good fuck every now and again.”
I laugh, but it ends in an abrupt gasp as he pushes forward and sheathes himself in one smooth thrust. I’m so swollen and wet that there’s no friction at all, and he’s right inside me, balls deep, all the way up.
My eyes fly open, and I shiver at his hot gaze. There are flecks of orange around his brown irises, and it makes me feel as if I’m being consumed by fire.
He touches his lips to mine. “I want to stay here forever. Like this. Can I?” He kisses me again. “Can I chain you to this bed and just fuck you for the rest of my life?”
“Yes.” I mean it with every fiber of my being. “God, yes.” I give a laugh of sheer pleasure. “Where are the handcuffs?”
His gaze turns lava-hot. “Don’t tempt me.”
“I am going to tempt you, Harry. I can’t believe I was brave enough to go through with this, but I’m here, and you’re inside me, and I’m about to get fucked senseless by a god.” I give him a hopeful look. “Are you going to fuck me senseless?”
Taking Over (Like a Boss Book 2) Page 4
