“Maybe this will refresh your memory.” His words are a groan of pleasured agony as he slowly undulates as though intent on hitting the roller’s pleasure spots. Lord knows he’s certainly hitting mine. I’m not sure about my memory but I might need to refresh my panties.
What in the world and, “How?”
He lifts his head, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip. My insides begin to pulse and tighten, reacting as thoughIwas that roller.
“I was doing something a little like this when I said ‘you makethe hottestlittle moans, has anyone ever told you that?’ And you said—”
“We weren’t doing that.” My words fall quickly, a snapshot of memory flashing overwhelming me suddenly. “We were in the elevator, and you were—” I roll my lips inward, catching the words just in time.
“Oh, that’s right,” he says with a faintly evil-looking grin. “My mistake. I wasn’t inside you. My cock wasn’t, at least.” He drops lower to the ground, his golden eyes still focused on mine. “I suppose it can’t be classified as a conversation unless you countungh…”—he gives the earthiest, most porn-worthy moan as his body surges over the roller—“as a coherent response.”
I blink. Swallow. Then the denials begin. “I’m not sure I’ve ever made that noise.”
“I’ll have to record you next time. Do you have a preference between audio and video?” he asks with so much incitement, my cheeks heat hotter than the sun.
“That’s not happening.” I reach out and swipe up the newspaper, unfolding it with a decisivethwap. I stare at it. Through it. Okay, I peek over the top just in time to see Whit lower his head, giving me a stellar view of the muscles in his shoulders, back, and lats. He laughs softly, the gorgeous, horrible man. I shake the newspaper again, turn the page and stare unseeingly as I try to calm my riotous insides.
“Amelia?”
“Yeah?”
“What is it you’re doing?” he purrs.
Trying not to watch you giving that roller areallygood time. “What, you’ve never seen anyone read a newspaper before?”
“I didn’t know you were interested in current affairs.Frenchcurrent affairs.”
“What?” A sinking feeling seeps through me.
“When did you learn to speak French?”
Whit
I’m still chuckling to myself as I strip off my track pants. The roller was a stroke of genius—the way her arms had dropped as though they’d suddenly turned to concrete, crushing the newspaper. The priceless look on her face.
She was so fucking riled watching my incitement—so ready to go. I know if I’d slipped my hand into her underwear, she’d be dripping wet. It’s like a sign from the heavens that this is what I need to do. Seduce her. Not just sexually. I need to get her to let her guard down, to step away from whatever fears she’s clinging to, and I’m going to do that by delivering the woo. Big time.
I’d left Zurich full of plans for a confessional. I was going to tell her that the thought of her wandering around museums and art galleries with some other fuck was driving me insane. That I wanted to be the one next to her, carrying the program, reaching for her hand. Stealing kisses in secluded corners. But then George has picked me up from the airport and mentioned how Miss Mimi hadn’t needed a ride home from work. She’d told him she was “going out.”
My heart sank like a rock from a thirty-story building. Then came the venom. She’d done it. She was out with another man, and I had no one to blame but myself for allowing that to happen. I wasn’t sure of my plans when Beckett booted me from the afternoon meeting, but I was certain they would involve making sure she didn’t go on her date. By any means at my disposal.But she was already out.
The apartment felt strangely hollow without her. I’d found myself wandering around it, looking for signs of her existence. Her duffel coat hanging in the cloaks closet. A half-eaten bar of Godiva chocolate in the fridge, not with squares snapped off, but with teeth marks. The scent of her perfume in the hallway drifting all the way to the spare room. A wave of displeasure roiled up my body as I’d spotted bags and boxes with the name of Sunday’s boutique stashed in the room. She’d slept in my bed last night, but her shit was still in this room. I’d stalked to the closet, summarily squashing a bunch of hanging garments together, swiping them up before hanging them in my walk-in robe. I’d made a couple of trips before I’d whipped out drawers full of underwear and the slinky bits of nightwear I’d chosen for her, before dumping them to my bed.
Fuck the idea of her sleeping and getting dressed elsewhere.
And then, as I didn’t have another phone to smash, I decided a run through Hyde Park might get rid of this churning, pent-up displeasure. It turned out to be a long run, and I’d ended up passing by Serpentine Lake. I usually avoid that stretch of the park thanks to the heavier foot traffic, both tourists and the webbed-feet kind. Flocks of swans and geese that make their home on the lake and can be a little unpredictable to navigate. But finding myself there, my strides had begun to slow as I’d watched people out on the water in bright-blue pedalos. Tourists, probably. It struck me that Mimi would enjoy the experience. It would probably appeal to her sense of fun and ridiculousness. I couldn’t quite see myself pedaling through the water, but a rowing boat might be an option. It was hardly going to be a gondola on Venice canals, but it could be a possibility. I’d set off once again, a plan forming in my head, and by the time I’d gotten back to my apartment, I didn’t want to smash my phone anymore. I felt resolved. I had a plan. I was ready to pull out all the stops, whether she was ready for it or not.
And then I’d dug out the roller. My quads were stiff after my punishing run, but I’d usually just do a few stretches. The fact that I’d pulled it out of the gym feels like a form of divine intervention, I think with a smug-feeling grin.
She doesn’t want to date me but looks at me like I’m the juiciest piece of mango, the most decadent piece of cake.
I drop my track pants to my bed, on top of the piles of underwear and nightclothes I’d dumped there earlier, then pad naked to the bathroom. How long before she finds them there? Before she asks why?
Switching on the shower, I relish the burst of cold water against my chest as I step under it. The water heats instantly as press my hands to the tiles and tip my head under the spray, allowing the water to sluice over me. I am going to woo Mimi, woo her so fucking hard she won’t know what’s coming for her. I’m going to kill her with kindness—render her helpless by orgasm overload. I’ll make her beg for it, beg for me. And then? I suppose we’ll see what truth comes out.For both of us.We’ll see what the future holds, because the way I feel right now, fuck six months. Sixty years won’t give me my fill.
Suitably soaked, I slick my hair back from my face and reach for the bodywash, slicking it to my hand. I smear it down my chest, then farther to where my cock is still semihard at the thought of her watching earlier. Her mouth softly open, her eyes dark. I bet she’s wet after my filthy little show.
“Fuck.” I abandon all thoughts of washing and make a soapy stroke along the hard length. It feels so good. Better still when I close my eyes and imagine her in front of me. On her knees. Her pink-painted nails digging into my thigh muscles, her full lips stretched wide around my girth.
