‘Further back.’ My voice is barely recognisable, so thick is it with desire and lust.
She does as I ask, bending so she’s at a ninety degree angle.
Fuck. Me.
I run my hands over her ass, holding her where she is, staring at her, wanting her with a passion that almost destroys me. But I’m waiting. Holding myself where I am, jeans in place, body disciplined enough to draw this out. I bring my hand around to her pussy. She’s so wet. I run my fingers between her legs and she groans, wiggling her hips, pushing back so her arse is hard against my cock.
And I wish I weren’t wearing jeans now but isn’t this a little bit about control, patience, testing myself? I lift my other hand to one of her breasts, fondling it, cupping it, and she moans, pulling on her wrists unconsciously so the handcuffs slap against the bed.
She laughs. But it’s a tremulous sound, a sound drenched in feeling.
‘Okay?’
She groans. ‘Yes. But please, please. I want you now, Michael.’
I laugh softly. ‘Impatient.’
She makes a noise that answers that for me. A sound that shows how tired she is of waiting. I run my hands over her faster, teasing her, and she cries my name into the room, her body trembling. But before she comes, I stop, slowing down, pulling my hands away, moving them lightly over her skin. Goosebumps travel in their wake.
‘Bastard,’ she grunts, but there’s a smile in her voice.
‘Yes.’ I reach behind me, curving my fingers over the small vibrator at the bottom of the box. I smile to myself as I approach her once more. ‘Spread your legs.’
She does so, her breathing loud, husky, desperate.
Hot.
I switch the vibrator on, pressing it against her clit and she cries out, my name, and then something indecipherable. Crouching down in front of her, I push the vibrator into her and she moans as it teases her sensitive skin. And then I bring my lips to her clit and I run my mouth over her as the vibrator torments her.
* * *
‘Michael...’ It’s too much. My body’s on fire with pleasure, the vibrator alone enough to set me off, but, combined with the feeling of his mouth on me, his hands on my hips, I’m burning up.
‘Please.’ I have no idea what I’m asking for but I’m falling apart. I want to pull at my hands, to touch him, to do something, but I can’t. And my lack of ability to move, the power he has over me, the ease with which he’s making me come... It’s all so very good.
My orgasm builds, a wave that I am unable to control. He holds my hips steady as I roll them. I pull at my arms—nothing. My captivity is thrilling.
He reaches between my legs and suddenly the vibrator, while still inside me, is no longer buzzing. I moan at the feeling of its intrusion, and his mouth on my clit... I say his name, over and over, and dig my fingernails into the bedpost until I splinter apart, pleasure breaking me into a whole new person, someone I don’t know if I recognise.
And then he’s standing up, coming to stand behind me. He pulls the vibrator from me, and there’s nothing. I’m blindfolded, alone, so turned on, my breath still rushing. Seconds later and his hands at my hips are steady, strong, sturdy, and then I feel him, his cock, come between my legs. I whimper. I’m so desperate for this.
‘And to think you were a virgin a few nights ago,’ he murmurs, reaching for my hair and tangling his fingers in it. He holds my head steady in one hand; the other he brings to my breasts, playing with them as his powerful cock teases my entrance. God, I need him.
‘Stop making me wait,’ I beg, and he laughs throatily.
‘I like you like this,’ he says simply.
‘Like what?’
‘Practically crazy for me.’
‘I’ve been practically crazy for you for over two months,’ I say, the words strangled from my throat by desire. ‘I still remember when you walked into the bar on my second shift and I had a powerful desire to strip you of your clothes.’
His laugh is a rumble. ‘My little virgin.’
I grin. ‘Not any more.’
‘I still can’t understand how you waited. You’re a very sexual person, Millie.’
‘Am I?’ I focus on the easier part of his statement.
His answer is to thrust into me, I’d say unexpectedly, but of course it’s not. I’ve been expecting it since I walked in his front door.
‘Yes.’ He moves both hands to my hips, holding me tight, steady, and drives into me hard from behind, so all I am aware of is his powerful dick taking control of my body. With my eyes blindfolded, my vision taken from me, every other sense is so much more acute. I feel everything; I hear everything. The rasping of his breath, the warmth of his skin, the heat of this—our need.
I roll my hips against his palms and he drops his hands lower, cupping my arse. I moan hungrily, desperately, so full of heat and want. And then I cry his name as pleasure explodes through me.
He runs his hands over my back, reassuring me, like he knows that this is a pleasure that’s almost terrifying for how all-consuming it is. And then he’s unclipping the handcuffs, pulling out of me and lifting me to the bed. He lays me down and hooks the cuffs at the head of the bed, with me on my back. The blindfold is still in place, but not for long. As he drives into me anew, he removes it, his face above mine, his eyes watching me.
And he grins, a boyish grin, a sexy grin that robs me of breath until his rhythm robs me of breath for a wholly new reason. I am lost to this, lost on a sea of pleasure and joy, lost to him.
And I wouldn’t want it any other way.
* * *
My eyes are heavy. I lie beside him, my body still rocking with waves of intense physical awareness, sensations throbbing through every single one of my cells.
‘So you’re telling me...’ he drawls, his voice thick with tiredness. I have been here for hours. He has made love to me for hours—no, fucked me for hours. Fucked me hard, and I came again and again so now I am like a livewire. ‘That not even when you were a horny teenager did you find some guy you liked and think, Hey, I might give this a go?’
I spin around to face him, propping my head up on my hand. ‘You really can’t get over the fact I was a twenty-three-year-old virgin, huh?’
‘Not easily.’
I laugh softly. ‘Then no, in answer to your question. I didn’t meet a lot of guys.’
‘Were you raised in a convent?’
‘As good as. You’re looking at a graduate of St Mary’s School for Girls, thank you very much.’
‘Ah. A good Catholic schoolgirl. That explains it.’
‘Not really. My friends were more...adventurous than I was. Most of them would sneak out of the boarding house at night and go meet up with guys. I just... I was more interested in studying.’
‘Really?’
I lift my hand to his chest, covering his heart. ‘Uh huh.’
‘Did you go to uni?’
My eyes link to his, a frown on my face. It feels strange to me that the man I’m sleeping with knows so little about me. It’s not, though. I mean, sure, we’ve fucked a couple of times but it’s not like we’re dating.
‘Yep.’ I nod. ‘That was my focus—I didn’t have time for boys. Between Mum being sick and exams and rotations, I couldn’t fit anything else in.’
‘Rotations?’
‘Medical, at hospital.’
‘You’re a doctor?’
I press my palm flat against his heart. ‘Yes. And one day, a surgeon, like my mother.’ I lift my eyes to his, tracing away from his heart. ‘Your blood is being carried through here, into your brachiocephalic artery.’
He laughs. ‘Proof?’
‘Yep.’
‘So what’s a doctor doing working in an Irish bar?’
My own heart, with its arteries and veins and blood and tissue, turns cold. I look down
for a moment, trying to calm the sense of panic that’s overtaken me.
‘That’s because of your mum, too,’ he guesses, before I answer.
I nod. ‘When I wasn’t studying, I was nursing her. Towards the end, when she was really sick and we knew it wouldn’t be long, she started talking about her regrets. Specifically, her regret that she hadn’t travelled. That she’d worked so hard, and she worried that she’d made me think work was all that mattered. She begged me not to make her mistakes. She begged me to get out and see the world before I settled down. To live my life fully.’
I drop my hand from his chest. He catches it in his, lacing his fingers through it. ‘That’s why you’re here?’
‘Yeah.’ I force a smile to my face. ‘It’s why I’m here. Why I’m going to Paris in a few weeks. Why I’m making the most of every new experience I possibly can.’
And then, needing to lighten the mood, I push at his chest so he falls back on the bed and then straddle him. ‘And, with that in mind, I can’t believe you’d deny me the chance to know what a butt plug feels like.’
He bursts out laughing. ‘I’ve created a monster.’
I lean forward, kissing him hard and fast. ‘You’d better believe it.’
CHAPTER SIX
THE SLEEK AUDI pulls into the airport, but it doesn’t head towards the terminals I’m familiar with. Instead, the driver sweeps around the curve and brings us to a stop outside a small, if modern-looking building. What it lacks in size it makes up for in design—glass, steel, curved edges and a look of prestige that kicks my excitement up a notch. I step out, looking around. There’s no sign of Michael. Impatience strums inside me.
I run a hand over the green maxi dress I chose, smoothing away imaginary wrinkles, then reach for my necklace, toying with it in what I recognise as a nervous gesture and therefore stop immediately.
The driver pulls my bag from the boot and gestures towards what I gather to be the terminal. I walk towards it, self-conscious in a way I don’t like, wondering if he’s in there, watching me.
The doors open as I approach and I step into what I can only describe as a world of unimaginable luxury. Inside this homage to modernist design is what looks like an incredibly luxurious lounge room. White leather sofas, huge flat screen televisions, enormous flower arrangements, highly polished marble floors and a bar with alcohol I know to be ridiculously expensive. There are only six people inside. Two waiters, a woman wearing a trouser suit, an authoritative-looking officer, a security guard and Michael. He is watching me, as I thought he must be. He stands still, his eyes roaming my body, and I wonder if he’s charged with the same electrical pull that I am.
Of course he’s not.
He’s done this before; there’s nothing new about this for Michael Brophy. But for me—oh, for me. This is knee-weakening, stomach-churning new territory. I walk towards him on legs that feel jellyish, wobbly beneath me, and when I’m close he straightens, taking the final step to bring our bodies together.
‘Hi.’ The word is gruff and despite his cool manner and calm appearance I wonder if he’s been as throbbing with anticipation and need as I am.
‘Hi, yourself.’ I look around, forcing myself to rip my eyes from his face even when I want to devour him. ‘So this is how the other half lives, huh?’
When I look back at him, he’s still staring at me and with an intensity that nearly drops me to my knees. Then he smiles and my heart stutters. I smile back. How can I not?
‘You ready?’
Am I? I nod, even when I feel like I’m somehow agreeing to give away a piece of my soul. It’s nothing so melodramatic though. It’s a weekend away—nothing ordinary people don’t do all the time. Nothing I shouldn’t have done by now. But, strangely enough, standing there with him in this ‘airport’, I’m so conscious of all the things I still haven’t done. I feel completely out of my league.
But then he reaches down and takes my hand, lifting it to his lips, and doubts drop out of my mind, leaving only anticipation and warmth. ‘So let’s go then.’
He pulls me towards the official-looking person. ‘Passport?’
‘Oh, yeah.’ I reach into my handbag and pull it out.
He takes it from me, flicks through it and shakes his head. ‘There’s a regrettable lack of stamps in here, Millie.’
He’s right. There’s two. Singapore, where I spent two nights on my way over, and Dublin.
‘I’m planning to address that, remember?’
He hands our passports to the guard, who studies them for a moment, nods, then passes them back. That’s it? Passport control done and dusted.
‘I guess your passport’s almost filled?’
He hands both to me and I flick through his as I walk, the balmy air surrounding us. So many stamps, so many stories. ‘Where’s your favourite place?’
He regards me thoughtfully. ‘I love Budapest.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘Hard to explain unless you’ve been there. The Greek islands. The Riviera.’
I find his stamp into Australia and rub my fingertip over it.
‘Mind your step.’ I blink up from the passport to see we’ve reached a set of metallic stairs. I put a hand on the railing instinctively and then look up. The jet is enormous, all pale cream. I can’t see any airline branding.
I pass his passport back and move up the stairs, keeping mine ready to show a hostess. Presuming he has a ticket, I wait at the top, but Michael just smiles and gestures for me to step inside.
There’s no hostess. Nor is there anything even vaguely reminiscent of what I think of as an airplane.
‘This is a private jet?’
He nods.
‘As in, you own an airplane?’
He nods again, gesturing to a seat.
I roll my eyes heavenward. ‘I don’t want to sit down. Not yet. Can I have a look around?’
I’ve apparently surprised him, but he grins, placing his satchel bag on a seat and taking my hand in his again. ‘Sure. I’ll give you the guided tour.’
‘I mean, I’m sure the women you usually date are way more sophisticated and used to this kind of thing but... This isn’t...normal.’
He laughs. ‘Believe me, I know that.’ The main cabin has sofas rather than individual seats. Two, that run the length of the room we’re in, facing inwards. We walk deeper into the plane. There’s a partition and then a dining room or conference room on one side of the plane and a type of cinema room on the other, with four armchairs, all of which look like they’d probably recline fully. Maybe that’s where you’d sleep?
No.
The next room we step into is a bedroom and I am almost breathless, firstly at the luxury and secondly at the fact I’m looking at an enormous bed while standing beside the man I days ago lost my virginity to.
When I look up at him he’s watching me, an expression of teasing mockery on his handsome features.
‘That looks comfortable.’
He lifts his brows and I feel heat colour my cheeks. ‘You’re enjoying this, right?’
‘What?’
‘My...lack of sophistication.’
He puts his hands on my hips, his fingers splayed wide as he looks down at me. I stare up at him, and my nerve endings reverberate as though they’re feathers on a breeze.
‘Your innocence is completely captivating,’ he murmurs, dropping his head and brushing his lips to mine. My heart jerks, and suddenly the fact that there’s a perfectly good bed right here is a fact too prominent to ignore.
‘I don’t know if I feel so innocent any more,’ I groan, kissing him back, lifting my hands and wrapping them around his neck, pressing my body to his with urgency. I am desperate for this, for him.
His hands roam to my back, running over my spine, pressing me tight to him, and then he pushes me back a little so my back connects wit
h the cabin wall. Pleasure fires in my gut.
His hand drops, catching the fabric of my maxi dress, bunching it up in his hands to mid-thigh, and I wish he’d just rip it off me. I am desperate. He’s wearing a suit. I push my hands under his jacket, finding his shirt at the back and pulling it out of his pants so my hands can touch his bare skin; it’s warm and I close my eyes, savouring this feeling.
My hands drop to his pants, finding his belt buckle and start to unclasp it, but he makes a deep, throaty noise and lifts his head. His chest moves with the rise and fall of his rushed breaths; he is as tormented by this as I am then.
‘Let’s get in the air.’
‘Huh?’
While I’ve been losing myself in his arms, the engines have started. The plane is moving slowly down the runway.
He puts a hand in the small of my back and propels me out of the bedroom, back to the sofas.
My body is screaming at me—not kissing Michael is the last thing I want to be doing. It’s only been two days since we were together, since I left his penthouse after the blindfolding and the whip and the seriously hot sex, and yet I feel like it’s been months.
He watches as I sit down. ‘Buckle up.’ He nods towards the discreet white seat belt in the sofa.
I reach for it, clasping it in place with hands that aren’t completely steady. ‘We have to sit down for take-off? Even on a private jet?’
‘Sure.’ He shrugs, taking the seat beside me and fixing his own belt. ‘Safety first.’
I pull a face. ‘Now who’s a rule follower?’
His eyes bore into mine. ‘You think I’d take risks with your life?’
My heart turns over in my chest. ‘You mean you’d be wandering about if I wasn’t here with you?’
His eyes scan my face, studying me in a way that makes me feel as though my soul has been dragged out for his inspection. ‘I’d be working if you weren’t here.’
Desire is sparking in my belly but I take in a deep breath, forcing myself to be patient, to be calm.
‘You work a lot?’ I ask, focusing on conversation, seeing as we’re settled in for take-off. He puts a hand on my knee and, even though it’s a light contact, my pulse spurts back into high gear.
His Innocent Seduction Page 7
