and began plunging into her mouth with shallow thrusts.
She hummed, her head nodding her assent and he touched the back of her throat with a grunt.
She reached for his balls, her small hand cupping and rolling, all the while tiny groans vibrated from the back of her throat to the tip of his cock.
It was over.
‘Harley,’ he barked in warning. He tried to back away, but she clung, her hand squeezing his shaft like a vice, and gave a small shake of her head.
Heat slammed through him, from the base of his spine to the tip of his cock. Fire raced, spasms rocked him and he emptied himself down her throat. He forced his eyes to stay open, willing himself to suck every second of rapture from the wonder of the woman giving him the best head he’d ever experienced.
Her fingernails grazed his sack as the last spams tore through him and he registered the yell—harsh, broken, and from his own throat.
She released him with a final suck that made him wince. He panted down at her. She gazed up at him, her own chest working hard and brushing her nipples across his thighs. He hauled her to her feet, crushing her body to his.
Emotions expanded inside his chest. He pushed them aside, crediting the high, the euphoria to the physical release. It was just sex. Tremendous sex.
Out of nowhere, a question slammed into the forefront of his mind. One he’d shelved long ago.
Why? Why had she dumped him all those years ago? Swallowing hard, he sucked the scent of her fragrant hair into his lungs to stop the words escaping. The past was done. He’d started this to show her what she’d missed out on. And he’d made his point. Exacted his revenge. There was nothing more.
He’d end it soon, when the novelty had worn off. When they’d exhausted the burning chemistry. With those words running on repeat in his head, he dragged her to his bed, and collapsed alongside her, his grip on her suspiciously tight.
JACK’S MADISON AVENUE pre-war apartment was renovated to an exquisite standard. Clean minimalist lines made the most of the light spilling in from the east-facing wall of windows. The masculine space could have been sterile, but it worked—a perfect balance of soft furnishings and art softened the look and made Harley want to curl up in the contemporary white leather armchair and enjoy the sunrise over the Manhattan skyline.
At the thought of armchairs, she grew hot and achy. Memories flashed—last night and what he’d done, wringing her orgasm from her with complete proficiency the way a skilled seamstress manipulated oddly shaped pieces of fabric into the most exquisite of garments. Her bare toes curled on the polished hardwood.
Forcing her thoughts away from toe-curling orgasms and back to the job in hand, she lowered the heat under the griddle and flipped the pancake with a small smile. Teenaged Jack had loved pancakes. They’d often met early, before the others awoke, to share breakfast at the Aspen lodge their families rented every year for skiing holidays. He’d always chosen blueberry pancakes laden with maple syrup.
When she’d roused early, before the dawn, and padded out into Jack’s comfortable living space in search of coffee, the idea to make him breakfast had struck. She’d eventually found the hidden latches on the kitchen cabinets, which had at first seemed like an intimidating wall of brushed steel worthy of an operating theatre. And she’d almost squealed with delight when she’d found blueberries in the freezer.
She plated the golden pancake dotted with blueberries and poured a generous helping of mixture into the pan for a second.
The trip down memory lane stirred up unwanted emotions, which dampened her sexed-up high, the associated memories of the bust up between Hal and Joe bringing an abrupt end to their trip that year and the demise of the friendship between the two families.
Of course, she’d already withdrawn from Jack, her fear and confusion over discovering her father’s and Jack’s mother’s affair leaving her reeling and running scared.
She flushed with heat, her throat tight. She could have handled their break up differently, with more maturity, and she’d never explained any of that to Jack.
But she couldn’t go there now. Too much time had passed for excuses. And the truth...
Harley sprinkled blueberries onto the second pancake and flipped the disc as her stomach lurched.
Did he already know about Hal and his mother? It would explain his reluctance to have any business dealings with her father. Not that she blamed him. She herself had made vows never to do business with and, more importantly, never to behave like Hal Jacob.
Although aren’t you doing just that—Jack, your dirty little secret...?
She shook her head, dragging her mind from past regrets. The bedroom was in darkness when she carried the tray loaded with pancakes and coffee back to Jack’s bed. She placed it on the dresser while she opened the curtains, allowing golden morning light to spill over the polished hardwood floors that appeared authentically original.
Jack slept on his stomach, his back muscles clearly delineated even in sleep, and the thick white sheets pooled around his slim hips. Golden hair dotted his arms, the same golden hair that covered his chest, and led, by way of a happy trail beneath his navel, to the thatch at the base of his spectacular cock.
Harley pressed her thighs together, marvelling at the vision of him naked. She crawled onto the bed, pancakes forgotten as she traced the dip of his spine between the well-developed ridges of muscle with her mouth. He groaned, stirring. She slipped one hand under his hip, burrowing for the magnificent appendage that was, blessedly, fully hard.
She gave him a couple of experimental strokes, and then released him as he started to rouse fully awake to shuck the T-shirt of his she’d donned to cook breakfast.
He rolled over, his hands reaching to cup her breasts even before his sleepy eyes had fully opened. He scraped the pads of his thumbs over her tender nipples, sending shock waves south.
‘Fucking fantastic morning...’ His voice was thick with sleep, but his cock, jutting above his belly, was thicker and Harley couldn’t help rising above him and sliding her slippery sex down his length as she kissed him, agreeing wholeheartedly with his assessment.
She nibbled a path across his scruff-covered jaw to his ear while he teased her nipples and palmed her ass, guiding her hips where he wanted her.
‘I made pancakes.’
His eyes opened wide. ‘Blueberry?’
She smiled with a nod, his obvious delight turning her insides to goo.
His expression sobered as he studied her, as if she’d snooped through his office files rather than cooked him breakfast. Perhaps she’d overstepped the mark. Outstayed her welcome. Perhaps morning-after chat should be limited to I’ll call you.
But he’d fallen asleep spooning her. He hadn’t suggested she leave and his body was certainly up for round two. Perhaps breakfast had been a step too far. Too couply.
She shrugged. ‘I should have asked.’ She reached for the T-shirt, her high dissipating.
