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His words felt more exciting than a caress reaping through her body, making her want it all. She stood up unhurriedly. Her eyes on his. She took out her coat, her creamy skin for his appreciation. Thumbs hooked on the waistband, she lowered her pants and let them fall in a bunch at her feet, standing there in her lacy panties. She saw him regarding her with eyes full of steamy desire. He himself opened his trousers to reveal the extension of his need. She undressed that last piece and came on his lap.
His hands circled her narrow waist and he pressed her down on him. She revelled on the sensations it brought her. She breathed out in utter pleasure, her eyes closed, lips parted. And she moved, seeking the relief only he could provide, as his knowing fingers slipped between them. Faster and faster, bringing them both to the rims of blind agony.
Mark grappled her breast, circled his arms tight around her, trying vainly to catch a control that was already lost. His physical need for her seemed never to decrease. She alone knew how to take him to the borders of flammable insanity, like now. If she didn’t... If she couldn’t... Oh, God! She moved, taking him deeper. No, please; his thoughts ragged away. He heaved, his palms snatching her thighs. She was going so...so...
“Amy,” he panted, “don’t do it so...so...” He pleaded.
She was beyond listening. Her body arched, her head fell back, she moaned and clenched him too deliciously. He went off in a delirious flow, leaning back to allow his hips to push upwards in a series of tugs. She fell on him in heavy breaths.
Chapter XIX
MBS was sponsoring an exposition of modern art in one of London’s most renowned galleries. The opening would be that Thursday and all the staff was invited. The exposition was receiving extensive media coverage and Mark was put under the spot-light. So he decided to make good use of it.
Mark stood waiting for Amy in the sitting room. He didn’t have to wait long. Soon he heard her high-heeled sandals. As her full figure landed on the ground floor, Mark stared enchanted, dropped mouth. She dressed a long bare-shouldered cream-coloured satin dress that wrapped her lush body in the loveliest way. She tied her silky cinnamon ringlets up in a nineteenth century fashion that became her. Matching sandals and bag accompanied her style.
“You look stunning, Amy.” Mark murmured.
Amy smiled thanking him, but thought that he was none the less gorgeous. His tuxedo fell on his broad shoulders and muscled chest as a glove, making him look even taller and manly. His look brighter in contrast with the black fabric.
“There’s something missing.” Mark commented as his hand slipped into his pocket and came behind her.
A delicate diamond necklace slid around Amy’s neck. Mark clasped it closed and turned her to the mirror. Her fingers touched what seemed a piece of jewellery art, her breath caught in her throat.
“Oh, Mark! It’s beautiful!” She murmured surprised.
He laced by her waist and her body leaned tight on his. “You are.” His open lips grazed the nape of her neck in a tantalizing caress. Amy sighed as all her skin awakened to his caress.
“We’d better get going before I start having ideas.” Mark muttered in her ear.
The gallery was swarming with smart-dressed people and the press flustered around the famous faces. Flash lights came from everywhere and the hall was luxurious decorated.
Mark and Amy entered the hall where the paintings were hanging in a smart way. They strolled around appreciating the intricate pieces of art. Another huge one came into view, so strikingly colourful and lively. Amy looked at it amazed, parted mouth, wide eyes. Mark came behind her and discretely put his hands on her shoulders.
“Superb, isn’t it?” Mark murmured grave in her ear. He pulled her slightly closer.
“Intensely.” Amy responded without taking her eyes off the painting.
“Maybe we could buy this one.” He murmured, his head lowering even more to her ear in suggestive intimacy.
Amy just nodded flimsy as she continued in a seemingly aesthetic trance.
They were so immersed in each other that they were oblivious to the crowd around them. At a distance Juan and his date, Marjorie Watson, the gossipmonger receptionist observed the scene. Vexation crossed his brow as Marjorie stared chewing on this morsel of information. There was no doubt left as to the nature of their relationship.
Susan Baron and her husband approximated Mark and Amy. They smiled and started a relaxed small talk.
“Excuse me,” Mark said. “I’m going to fetch us something to drink.” And walked to the bar.
Amy and the Barons talked for a little while longer and parted to continue seeing the art pieces. She roamed around the paintings thinking that Mark was taking a little too long about a couple of drinks.
As she turned her head looking for him, she saw a dazzling blonde talking to him, too close, too flirty. She recognised the woman as Jill Simpson, the reporter of an important business newspaper. She had been to Mark’s office a couple of times for interviews and articles. The damn woman was using every excuse to touch him; each one stung Amy like chilli on her tongue. At first, Amy couldn’t define the bubbling acid flood that erupted from her depths. Quickly she turned to the nearest painting, staring at it blindly. She saw the whole picture, so to say. Jealous. She was tremendously jealous of the mature, self-confident woman. The acid flood spread all over her feelings and threatened to overflow. How to contain it was something unfiled in her life. She stood in front of that painting for what seemed forever in an attempt to keep the pressure pan from bursting.
The corner of her eyes registered someone standing beside her. Juan. He was the last creature on Earth she wanted to be sociable with at that moment. They spoke sparsely after the incident in her office and she thrived to keep it like that. In her point of view, Mark had overreacted, but Juan had been too invasive as well.
“Do you like this one?” He asked neutral.
“Quite nice.” She answered absently.
Juan took a sip of his Champaign. “I owe you an apology. And it’s overdue.”
