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‘You’re so beautiful,’ he says. And he lowers his head and moves my panties aside with his warm hands. His fingers dip slowly into the folds of my flesh, and I gasp. His breath is on me and then his tongue opens me up like a flower budding in spring. I clutch his dark hair with one hand and hold myself up with the other as my legs grow tense and he makes me forget my name.
His tongue teases me—in and out—in and out until I’m on the edge of oblivion. I’m almost through the gates of paradise when he expertly withdraws his tongue again and I cry out his name and beg for him to make me come.
‘Please, don’t stop,’ I plead.
‘You don’t want me to stop?’ he says playfully. His voice is deep and melodic, like music, and I know I love him. I love him like I’ve loved no man before. I don’t even know him, but paradoxically, I know him better than I know myself.
He takes me by surprise and slips his fingers back inside me. I cry out louder, and grip onto the edge of the marble. I fall apart the second he does it, and a wave of exquisite pleasure floods through me—over me—consuming me. Then his tender mouth is back on my pussy, and he sucks my clit until I can barely stand the bliss. It’s sweet torture and I never want it to end.
‘Mon Dieu. Mon Dieu.’ I hear my words, but I have no control over them or over myself. It’s like someone else is speaking.
I can’t even think. I only feel his tongue on the most sensitive part of me. And I want more of him. I want to feel him deep inside me. I want to give him this same pleasure he’s giving me.
I open my eyes and smile at him. I must look like the cat who got the cream, but I’m past caring. This is not the time to be coy.
Straightening, I reach my hand out to touch his cock and he makes the delicious groan that drives me wild. My legs are dangling off the kitchen island and I feel weightless, like I’m floating in a bubble of pleasure where nothing else matters.
I ping open the top button of his straining jeans and tug at his zip. I can feel him looking at me as I do it, and the air between us sizzles.
When the zip opens, I place my hand on his bulging shorts and pull at them until his throbbing shaft springs out, standing to attention. It’s thick and long and desperate for my attention. His eyes meet mine and I see the hunger in them.
I hold his shoulder, and he catches me and lifts me down with one fluid movement. I’m just about to touch him again when a sweet voice echoes down the stairs and into the kitchen.
‘Daddy. I can’t sleep. I had a nightmare.’
I stare at him, transfixed, and dishevelled.
‘Fuck!’he says.
He shakes his head and leans over to kiss my lips, before hastily rearranging himself in his shorts and zipping up his jeans with an effort.
‘I’ll go,’ he says.
There’s a wild hammering ache between my legs, and a sharper ache in my chest as I watch him exit the kitchen, barefoot, and his hair tousled.
What have we done?
CHAPTER11
Sebastian
The conversation with my grandfather keeps spinning around my brain and I can’t stop thinking about it.
What made this so urgent now? I think of Nathalie and wonder if he has some strange spidery sense about my feelings for her.
I shake my head.Don’t be silly.
He’s obviously been biding his time and has grown tired of waiting for me to remarry.
My thoughts drift back to the club. Now I think of it, Caspian didn’t seem all that into it either, which is unusual for him. He’s got a reputation as a bit of a player and has never had a committed relationship. But the press always picks on Damian, presumably because he’s the next in line to be custodian of a huge portion of the Rochester empire. Damian asked Caspian to arrange a night out. Knowing him, he is seeking distraction after being cooped up at Greystone with grandfather and the ghostwriter.
My guess is she’s got right under Damian’s skin. Grandfather intimated as much, and when I met her, I could tell she is dedicated to her work which will naturally involve Damian’s worst nightmare—talking about himself and sharing personal information about the family…
Some time with Jamie will do him good. I got the impression she’s strong enough to push back when he gets too forceful, but gentle enough to nurture him. He’s had a tough time and although he drives me mad with his arrogant attitude and big brother dominance, I love him and want him to be happy again like the old days.
I excused myself at the first opportunity. Who wants to be in a heaving club full of husband-hunting women and rich men wanting their inflated egos—and other things—stroked?
I’ve never been much of a one for clubbing. I enjoy being at home or at work and am a family-oriented person at heart, which makes it even more ridiculous that I’m single again. I had lots of casual girlfriends before my ex, but I’ve lost interest in picking up random women. I’m a romantic and as my romantic dreams have been blasted to hell, I’ve given up on the idea of marrying at all.
