Part 34 (1/2)

'You're so romantic.'

'We've got all the time in the world for romance, lady.'

Have we?

He barges into the penthouse, slamming the door behind him. I'm a touch disorientated when he lowers me to my feet in the kitchen. I stand before him, my hands resting on his shoulders, trying to get my bearings.

'You know, you're really not going to be in a fit state to work tomorrow.' His hot breath is leaving condensation on my face. 'Strip, now.'

I'm shaking a visibly shaking. I demand my hands to remove themselves from his shoulders, but they're having none of it. I try to pull myself together, but it's impossible when he's looking at me like that. I feel his hands lay over mine and peel them away from his shoulders. He places them on my stomach.

'Start with the s.h.i.+rt.' His voice is throaty, tinged with a bit of desperation.

I can do this; I can be audacious. 'So, am I in charge?' I ask, inwardly bracing myself for his scoff.

It doesn't come. He looks at me, the slight surprise at my question clear, but he doesn't laugh. He can't be in control all of the time.

'If it makes you happy,' He unclasps his Rolex and slides it onto the island.

Oh, it does. I give myself a mental pep talk. I can do this, I can do this. I take a deep breath and, staring him boldly in the eye, raise my hands to my top b.u.t.ton, willing my fingers to co-operate. Every b.u.t.ton I undo, his face strains harder, and I become bolder. If this isn't f.u.c.king about, then I don't know what is.

I release my s.h.i.+rt, letting it hang open, and watch as he sc.r.a.pes his eyes down my torso, his tongue running across his parted bottom lip. Liking this response I'm getting, I take my hands to my shoulders and pull my s.h.i.+rt away, accentuating the slow push forward of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s when I lower it down my arms. Like the wanton s.e.x fiend that I am, I hold it out to my side for a few seconds while his eyes travel back up my body. Then, when our eyes meet again, I dramatically open my palm and let it fall to the floor, leaving my arm outstretched and hovering at my side for a few seconds. His eyes are blazing, his forehead damp. Oh, I'm really doing this well.

'I love you in lace.' he whispers.

I smile. I'm really into my stride now. I lower my steady hands to the fly of my trousers and lazily undo one b.u.t.ton at a time as he watches. His panting is increasing by the second, and the drain on his self-control has him chewing his lip to the point of drawing blood.

Once all the b.u.t.tons are undone and my trousers are gaping open, I stand with my hands tucked in the front, ready to drag them down my legs, but I don't. I'm too enthralled by his reaction to my shameless strip. I like this role reversal.

He looks up at me, his eyes blazing and desperate. 'I could rip them off in two seconds flat.'

'But you won't.' My voice is husky and alluring. I'm stunned by my own brashness. 'You'll wait.' I kick my shoes off, sending them flying a few yards across the kitchen.

He follows their course before looking back at me with raised eyebrows. 'Taking this a bit far, aren't you?'

I smile sweetly as little by little, inch by inch, I slide my capri pants down my legs and kick them off. I'm stood in my coral lace underwear before this glorious man, and I've lost all my inhibitions. It's an eye-opener. Who would have thought I could be so brash? I like being in charge!

He lifts his hand to stroke my chest. 'No.' I utter firmly, his hand floating over my breast bone. It's not touching me, but the heat emanating from it has me nearly hyperventilating. Here's me telling him to wait, and I'm as desperate as he is. My self-control is wavering, but I really love this power.

'f.u.c.k you.' he mumbles, dropping his hand.

'Please do.'

He smirks. 'Beg.'

Beg? How did this turn around so quickly? I don't think so. 'I would rather go without.'

'Leave your hair alone, Ava.' His eyes darken further. I drop my hair, while he drops his eyes. 'You're still wearing your underwear.'

I glance down. 'What are going to do about that?'

'I'm going to do nothing,' he shrugs. 'Unless you beg,'

'I don't think so.' I say coolly. I'm not backing down.

'We might be here a while then.'

'We might.' I agree.

'Maybe longer than Friday,' He's pokerfaced.

Oh, the sly sod! He just can't let it drop, can he? I narrow my eyes at him as he raises his eyebrows at me. So, we're in a stand-off, neither one of us wanting to make the first move. He should! He's the one who declared he wanted no f.u.c.king about, so help him G.o.d...

What to do? What to do? And then it comes to me.

'I'm sorry, I can't f.u.c.k about. I have work tomorrow.' I turn to leave, hearing that familiar growl I love so much, his arm scooping around my waist and lifting me from my feet. I crumble in half over his forearm. I can't help it...I laugh.

He paces towards the kitchen island and flips me around, sitting me on the cold granite. His eyes are full of displeasure at my little joke. 'When will you f.u.c.king listen, lady? You're not going anywhere,' He nudges my thighs apart, edging between them with his hands on my waist, his face deadly serious.

I'm still recovering from my laughing fit, but it soon subsides when he pulls me forward to meet his groin, his erection rubbing me in just the right spot. I moan, placing my hands around his neck.

'And watch your mouth.' he grumbles, his concentration slash concern frown, not so light on his forehead. It's concern this time. Is he really serious about me never going anywhere?

What? Ever?

'I'm sorry.' I say genuinely. I shouldn't play with him like that. It's obvious he has issues with non-conformity.

'You really know how to rub me up the wrong way,' he mutters. 'We do things my way from now on.'

'We always do things your way.' I sulk on a pout.

'Correct. Get use to it.'

He stands before me, pulling his jumper up over his head, kicking his Grensons off, before making quick work of his jeans and boxers. I sit patiently, more than happy to watch him undress. This man is a G.o.d. I drag my eyes down the full loveliness of him, briefly faltering on his scar and settling on his thick, pulsing erection.

'It's rude to stare.' he says softly.

My eyes jump to his, uncertain as to whether he's referring to me looking at his scar or his beautiful manhood. He doesn't elaborate. He moves back into me, reaching around my back to unhook my bra, slowly drawing it down my arms and tossing it behind him.

Resting his hands on the edge of the worktop, he watches me as he leans down and takes a nipple in his mouth, slowly swirling and flicking it with his tongue.

In pure, unashamed bliss, I sigh, reaching up to lace my fingers in his hair as he divides his attention between each of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. My head falls back and I close my eyes, absorbing his attentive mouth. I really don't mind letting him take control. In fact, I love it.

His tongue starts a lazy trail up the centre of my body, finis.h.i.+ng with a soft kiss on my chin. 'Lift.' he commands, grasping my knickers. I brace myself up on the worktop, letting him pull them down my legs. 'I'll be back. I'm a bit peckish.'

I reluctantly release his hair and he wanders, boldly and with poise, over to the fridge-freezer, completely b.u.t.t naked. I sit rapt by the tremendous view of his impossibly taut a.r.s.e, long, lean legs and powerful, smooth back. His gait is all the better when he's naked.

'Enjoying the scenery?'

Looking up, I see him stood watching me. I don't know how long I was daydreaming. I could watch him forever. He holds up a can of squirty cream, grinning, before taking the lid off, giving it a little shake and squirting some in his mouth. I watch him carefully. He looks very pleased with himself.