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“Nothing will change my mind.” He cups my face in his hands. “You’re perfect.”
I begin to cry harder. “Stop saying that.”
“Perfect,” he repeats, forcing me to look at him. “No one comes close.” He kisses my nose gently, then my forehead, then my cheek. I hold my breath, staring into his eyes between each chaste kiss. “Perfect. My perfect angel.” He gently presses his lips to mine and leaves them there for a second, not breaking our eye contact. “Say it,” he whispers against my mouth. I shake my head, and he kisses me again, lingering a little longer. “Meli, say it.”
“I can’t.”
“My perfect angel, say it.”
I take another shuddering breath. “Your perfect angel,” I whisper, wanting desperately to believe his words. But I don’t. I never will.
He smiles, I like that I’ve made him happy. He’s breathing faster, and I sense he’s fighting an internal battle. His hand slides to the back of my head, and this time, when he kisses me, he doesn’t pull back. He takes it deeper, tilting my head slightly and sweeping his tongue into my mouth. A small moan leaves me, and he kisses me harder, backing me against the ledge. He lifts me to sit there and breaks the kiss to pull my wet top over my head. He drops it on the floor and slides my bra strap down my arm, uncovering my breast. He wastes no time taking me into his mouth. I run my fingers through his wet hair and let my head fall back in pleasure. Feeling his hands unbuttoning my jeans, I lift slightly so he can slide them down my legs. His mouth comes back to my breast. “Trust me?” he asks, and I nod. He gently pushes me to lie back on the ledge. It’s wide enough that my body fits, but my head hangs over the edge. I stare at the buildings, now upside down, and wonder if anyone is watching as Arthur runs kisses down my stomach. He peels my underwear away and spreads my legs.
There’s a nagging voice somewhere in the back of my mind telling me I should stop this before it goes too far. Arthur is my boss. My best friend likes him, and here I am again, naked and desperate for attention . . . again. Tears leak, dripping from the corners of my eyes and into my hair, but then his mouth is there, buried between my legs, and I cry out in surprise, grabbing onto the edge of the wall and stiffening as he licks and sucks me. He’s good, too good, and I’m coming apart in minutes, crying out until my throat is sore.Why does he have to be so good at what he’s doing?
ARTHUR
I want to fuck her. Right here in the rain, with her hanging over the ledge. I want to bury myself so deep inside her, we’re practically joined. But instead, I pull her underwear back into place and take her hands, tugging her to sit up. She looks confused. “You’re soaked to the skin,” I say, picking her wet top up from the floor. It’s too wet to put back on, so I wrap my jacket around her and fasten the buttons. “And you’re drunk and upset. I’m taking you home.” I rush the words out before I change my mind because, fuck, I really want to. I’ve never made sensible decisions over what I want before now, and it doesn’t feel as good as I thought it would.
“No,” she replies, equally as quick. “I don’t want to go home right now. I’ll make my way to a hotel.” She jumps down from the wall and tries to take her top from me, but I hold it tight.
“I’ll drive you myself.”
We take the stairs all the way down to the private car park in the basement. I open the car door for her, and she slides inside. “I’ll get your leather interior wet,” she mutters as I climb into the driver’s side.
“It’s fine.”
I drive the fifteen minutes it takes to get to my house. I never invite anyone back here, but I want her here. I want to see her in my home. “This isn’t a hotel,” she says as the electric gates slide open and I drive in.
She leans forward to take in the large white house with floor-to-ceiling windows. “I had it built,” I tell her. “It’s the exact image I had in my mind when I sat with the designer. My dream home.”
“It’s beautiful.”
I rush to open her car door and take her hand as she steps out. “Why are we here?” she asks, and for a second, I see worry in her eyes.
“I don’t want anything from you,” I reassure her. “You didn’t want to go home, and I want to make sure you’re safe . . . and dry.” I smile, hoping she’ll relax. “Or I can take you where you want to go.”
She shakes her head. “Here’s fine.”
We go inside, and I hear her gasp as she looks around in awe at the huge hallway. Rooms lead off through large white double doors, and in the centre is a winding staircase. I kick off my shoes, and she does the same. I take her hand again because it feels good in mine. “Follow me.”
We head upstairs to my room. “Wow,” she mutters, taking in the super-sized bed in the centre of the room. “You have steps leading up to your bed,” she points out, and I laugh. “And those pillows look like the softest pillows in the world.”
I point to the walk-in shower at the other side of the room. I could have shown her to one of the private showers in the other bedrooms, but this one is impressive with grey tiles surrounded by glass and a rainfall shower head. When I designed it, I thought about how fucking hot it would be to lie in bed and watch my future wife shower. Plus, Meli mentioned a shower big enough for two when I asked about her ideal date. The thought of Meli being naked in my room drives me insane. “I’ll get you a change of clothes and a towel.” I turn to leave, and she makes her way to the shower.
I wait five minutes before returning, knocking on the door before entering. She’s so lost under the rainfall spray, she doesn’t immediately see me. When she opens her eyes, she smiles. “I was waiting for you.”
I place the towel on the bed. “Not a great idea, Meli. You’re drunk.”
“Which makes me braver.”
“Which makes you think you’re making good decisions, when really they’re very bad.”
“You just ate me out on the roof of your club . . . don’t start something you can’t finish.” She arches her brow in a challenging manner.
I begin to unbutton my wet shirt. “You’re telling me you didn’t finish?” I tease, moving towards her. “Cos I’m pretty sure half of London heard you finish, Amelia.”
She grins, biting her lower lip as I toss my shirt to the floor. “I’m drunk, so my memory isn’t that good.” I laugh, unfastening my trousers and kicking them off, followed by my boxer shorts.
