Page 103 of The Stranger

“That’s the second time you’ve used that word. Dominant.” My voice drops in register, the word delivered from my chest. However, the effect of her assumption falls a little farther south. “Maybe it’s you who’s been trawling porn.”

“So what is it about nannies?” she demands, deliberately obtuse. Spiky and annoyed, chin tilted in challenge because I’m getting to her. “Could it be the clichéd, hackneyed tackiness of it all?”

“Except, you’re not a nanny, Doctor Whittington.” Hands in my pockets again, I saunter toward her. “So your hypothesis doesn’t stand. Which leaves us with what?” I lift my hand slowly to tug aside the collar of her shirt and feel a primitive surge of ownership at the sight of my mark. “The answer is you. It looks like I have a thing for you.”

24

PRIMROSE

I whisper his name when I’d meant to say stop because there’s something unnervingly tender about the way he looks at me. The way his gaze moves over my face, his eyes the kind of blue that only appears once the sun begins to sink. The color is beguiling and fathomless. Impossible to look away from.

His hand lifts, the action so slow that I can almost predict what’s about to happen. His finger will graze my cheek; maybe he’ll tuck away a stray strand of my hair. He’ll murmur something sweet, and his words will dance tantalizingly across my lips. I can predict it, and I should stop it. But I don’t as my lips part in anticipation when his fingers slide past my cheek with barely a graze. He’s going to cup the nape of my neck and draw me⁠—

“Ungh!”

The noise I make as he tightens his hand at the base of my skull should be embarrassing as my scalp comes alive with a wash of electric-like tingles, the hard tug resonating everywhere. It’s like a million nerve endings being tied together before bursting in unison.

Who knew it could feel like this?

“Give yourself to me,” he growls, his cheek pressed to mine. “Let’s finish what we started.”

“N-now?” That’s not what I meant to say.

“Now. Tonight. Tomorrow. All the days and nights until you leave.” He rains kisses across my jaw, his lips an open-mouthed slide down my neck.

“No biting.” My words sound as weak as a kitten, because I crave it.

“I would show you such pleasures.” The vibration of his words shudder through me in a wave of pure temptation, and my resolve stretches like cheap knicker elastic as he flexes into me again.

He’s so hot and hard, and I’m so⁠—

Stupid.

I said I wouldn’t do this again. But those French whispers of his are something else. I know I should’ve told him I understand, but it’s too late now.

My fascination snaps from head to body when Luc peels open a button on my shirt. Another, then another, then he’s pulling the cotton from the waist of my shorts, and I’m not saying no. I can’t seem to make myself.

“You would never doubt yourself again. Say yes,” he whispers as his lips ghost over mine.

Say yes. To him. To a month of lust stitched tightly around the real reason I’m here. For Emmy. For his children.

“It would be madness,” I whisper, breathing him in. Utter and complete selfishness, I think with a shiver.

“Submit to it.” He traces his forefinger down the center of my chest, his clever hands moving to frame my breasts over my bra. My white, lacy bra, the same one I ignored the whisper of truth as I’d selected it. Wear something pretty… just in case. I give a soft sigh as he molds my flesh. “Submit to me.”

His dark head dips, his mouth engulfing my aching nipple over the fabric. I gasp, a seismic ripple of pleasure overtaking me at the sucking tug.

“Let it pull you under,” the devil whispers as he slips his fingers into the cups, releasing my nipples. His tongue licks long and lushly, drawing them into hot, aching points as his dark eyes watch my reaction, feeding from it almost.

His dark head bowed over my pale flesh, my white bra, and his lips as rosy as my glistening nipples. The sight is obscene.

“Oh, God.” I’m nothing but a cliché. The nanny, seduced by the older man. The boss. The dominant daddy. It’s so wrong, but it’s probably also the reason pleasure pulses through me.

One of the reasons. As though he understands—as though he somehow divines my thoughts, my sudden deviancy, he palms my pussy over my shorts. Clasps it tight. I make a noise that’s anything but elegant as I buck into his hand.

“You’re so fucking sexy.” His mouth plunders mine as he presses his thumb over my clit, almost getting me off on the seam.

I’m throbbing, held in the grip of him, pinned and desperate for the kind of praise I shouldn’t want to hear from him. I know this is wrong—I didn’t come to Mallorca to be screwed seven ways from Sunday by some rich, bossy brute. But I long to be picked apart by him. I want him to teach me. Show me all that I’ve missed. I want him to fuck me so hard I break apart before he pulls my hair as he puts me back together again.