‘I’ll show you,’ I say.
I head to the wardrobe. I can’t risk glancing at him or my knees will buckle from want. I’m simply proving a point. I could be getting my suitcase out to show him. Apples. Pencils. A beach ball. It just happens to be…
An old Dyson Airwrap travel case.
It’s heavier than it was yesterday, my muscles tense as I take it off the top shelf.
‘That’s a big boy,’ he murmurs.
He’s behind me. Right behind me. I can feel heat radiating off his body.
This is mad. My fucking dildos are in here. Even the big one.
When I turn, we’re almost nose to nose. Despite the dull lighting, I can see his eyes are molten. Could he be burning as much as I am? Surely not. He probably had sex this morning.
I put it behind my back. It’s my turn to throw the gauntlet. ‘What will you do for me in return?’ My voice is a husk.
The rise and fall of his chest falters. He looks strange, like he’s at war with himself.
Before I can feel self-conscious about overstepping, he says, ‘Open it and I’ll show you.’
There’s a moment of suspended stillness.
And it’s gone.
We crash together to the sound of my box hitting the floor. His lips are full and soft, and my god do they know what they’re doing. Strong hands find my waist and tug me against his erection.
I open my mouth and his tongue slides in. The kiss is rough, addictive, sucking the air from my lungs. My hand meets stubble as it runs down his cheek. I want it between my legs. I want to grind on his irritating face.
With a hand on his chest, I shove him back. ‘What about the contract?’
He touches his swollen lips, his roguish smile enough to wish I hadn’t stopped him. ‘I won’t tell if you won’t.’
That’s good enough for me. There are only two race weekends left of it anyway.
I yank him back. After a snap, my hair falls free around my shoulders. The clip hits the floor with a soft thud. His fingers move to my top, sliding underneath and heading north. A tortured whimper breaks lose when they slip under my bra. Was that fromme? His throaty chuckle would say so.
Before I know what’s happening, he’s unhooked my bra and it’s on the carpet.
‘They’re real!’ he declares.
‘They’re fake, you idiot. Do you think boobs naturally sit up like that?’
‘Jules, I’m from Miami. They’realllike that.’
He picks me up with surprising ease and throws me on the bed like I weigh nothing, then lathers attention on my chest. He sucks one nipple dry and releases it with a popping sound.
‘Are you having fun?’ I ask, half amused as he kisses my delicate skin.
‘The most,’ he says.
I squirm when I feel teeth. The pressure’s feather-light, but the promise is delicious.
I’m overcome by the crushing need to impress him. I’m no virgin but this guy has a lifetime more experience than me. I heard he slept with Madison BeerandTate McRae.
I wriggle out of my bottoms and lie down, head hanging over the side of the bed. It takes him a couple of seconds to catch up. Even from upside down, I can see his eyes widen to the size of saucers at what I’m proposing.
‘Hold up,’ he says gruffly.
