Page 138 of Pure Recklessness

I felt like I’d just stepped into the men’s department of a luxury boutique. There were floor-to-ceiling glass fronted wardrobes filled with rows of suits and shirts, an island with velvet-lined drawers housing cufflinks, ties and accessories, full length mirrors and shelves upon shelves of shoes so shiny, they probably hadn’t even been worn.

I sat on a comfy armchair in the corner. My thighs ached from being stretched open and my pussy was still sore from Blake fucking me in the shower.

Of course, it was just as amazing as all of the other times and I’d ticked another first off my list. The only shower action I’d had before tonight was sticking the Tempting Tentacle to my grotty shower wall. And that couldn’t even begin to compare to being railed under a rainfall shower that was as big as my bedroom by the hottest man alive.

But now the fantasy was over.

Probably for good this time.

As much as I wanted to stay, Blake had made his intentions very clear. This wasn’t a relationship. Like he’d so eloquently said, he was stressed and horny and needed to fuck. So now we’d done that, he’d want me to leave.

Although he wasn’t the arsehole that I’d thought he was, I was sure that Blake wasn’t the type to ask me to stay over so that we could cuddle.

I hobbled back into the bedroom where Blake was sprawled across his ginormous bed with just a towel around his waist.

Delicious.

‘Hi.’ He smiled.

God.

He looked exquisite when he scowled, but when he smiled. Jeez. If I was wearing any knickers, they would’ve dissolved on the spot.

‘Hi.’ I smiled back, hovering by the door.

‘You okay?’ He frowned.

‘Yeah. I was just going to get my clothes and head home.’

‘Why?’ His face crumpled.

‘I thought, you’d… We’ve finished having sex, so I thought you’d want me to leave.’ My underwear was ruined, but I was surprised he didn’t already have my dress ready for me to put on immediately and a cab booked.

‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘You haven’t even eaten, so you must be starving.’

‘I’m fine.’ My traitorous stomach rumbled right on cue and Blake raised an I-told-you-so eyebrow.

‘I’ve ordered some food. It’ll be here in ten minutes. Would you like something else to wear? Dressing gown? T-shirt? Shirt?’ He stood up.

‘Maybe a shirt or T-shirt?’ I said. ‘If you have an old one.’

I followed him back to the dressing room.

‘Take whatever you want.’ He gestured to the shirts.

‘But they look brand new! Don’t you have house clothes? Y’know, stuff with holes in that you just wear at home to be comfortable?’

He looked at me like I’d just grown five heads.

‘Why would I wear clothes with holes in them?’

Oh, how the other half lived.

I still had T-shirts that were more than a decade old (much to my parents’ dismay), but they were comfortable. And I liked to think of the armpit holes as built-in air-conditioning. But there was no point trying to explain this to a billionaire.

I scanned the rail for the least expensive shirt but they all looked like they cost a week’s salary.

He opened a large drawer with neatly pressed T-shirts. A bright green one at the back caught my eye. When I pulled it out and read the slogan, I burst out laughing.