now steaming water kept splashing over her head and running down her face, into the corners of her by now panting mouth. Down her neck it streamed, forming a rivulet between her breasts, pooling in her navel before spilling down to the juncture between her thighs, soaking the curl-covered mound and finally finding its way into the already hot, wet valleys of her female flesh.
‘Beautiful,’ he murmured, his voice low and taut. ‘Now close your eyes and don’t talk. Or move.’
Her eyes widened but then fluttered closed, as ordered. Rachel was far too excited to even consider not obeying him. She’d never played erotic games before, and the experience was blowing her mind.
Now, within her self-imposed prison of darkness, she could only imagine how she looked, standing there so submissively, with her elbows back and her breasts thrust forward, their nipples achingly erect. Was he looking at her and despising her for her unexpected wantonness, or delighting in her willingness to play slave to his master?
The shocking part was she didn’t seem to care, as long as he looked, and touched, and satisfied her once more. By the time his hands started skimming lightly over her body, she was already craving another climax, her mind propelling her forward to that moment when he’d surge up into her, filling her, fulfilling her.
She moaned softly when something—not his hand—rubbed over her nipples. Soap, she soon realised. A cake of soap. He wasn’t washing her as such, just using the soap, caressing her with its slippery surface, making her nipples tighten even further. Every internal muscle she owned tightened along with them. When the soap started travelling southwards Rachel sucked in sharply.
No, not there, she wanted to warn him. But before her tongue could formulate her brain’s protest the soap was between her legs, sliding back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. She tried to stop the inevitable from happening, but it was like trying to stop a ski-jumper in mid-jump. When her belly grew taut and her thighs began to tremble she knew the struggle for control had been futile.
She came with a violent rush, her knees going to jelly and her arms falling back down to her sides. She might have sunk into a wet heap on the floor had he not snapped off the water and swept her back up into his arms. Her eyes must have conveyed her shocked state as he carried her back to his bedroom, but he just ignored them and spread her dripping body face down across the bed, pushing a pillow up under her hips.
Was she too shattered to stop him at that moment? Or was this what she secretly wanted as well? For him to take her like that. For him to take her over and over in every position imaginable. To make her come again and again. To show her…what?
That she could be as wickedly sexy as the next woman? As Charlotte, perhaps?
When he didn’t touch her—or take her—straight away an impatient Rachel glanced over her shoulder, only to see he was busy with a condom. She was tempted to tell him that he didn’t really have to use protection. Not unless he was a health risk. Perversely, she was on the Pill for reasons which had nothing to do with contraception. It simply stopped her from having dreadful PMT, which she hadn’t been able to cope with on top of the stress of minding Lettie.
She didn’t tell him, in the end. Not right then. She wasn’t that brazen. But she told him later, after she realised he had no more condoms and she’d moved way beyond brazen, way beyond anything she thought she could ever be.
JUSTIN stared down at the sleeping woman in his bed with disbelieving eyes. Was that really his prim and proper PA lying there in the nude, looking wickedly sexy with a sheet pulled suggestively up between her legs? And had it been himself who’d ravaged and ravished her amazingly co-operative body all night long?
The answer was yes, to both questions.
He groaned, his hands lifting to clap each side of his face then rake up into his hair. Whatever had possessed him? With Rachel, of all women!
Bosses who seduced their secretaries were top of his most despised list of men.
But seduce Rachel he had. The fact that she’d enjoyed herself enormously in the end had little bearing on the fact that initially he’d taken advantage of her drunken and vulnerable state, blatantly using his position as her boss to pressure her into sex. When he thought of the things he’d asked her to do in the shower his mind boggled. That she’d done everything he wanted, without question, was testament to her not being her usual sensible self. It was a particularly telling moment when she’d confessed later in the night to being on the Pill. No girl these days made such a rash revelation, not unless they were totally out of their minds with lust!
Which Rachel had been by then. No doubt about it.
Astonishing, really. He would never have believed it of her. Not with him, anyway. Still, given the circumstances, possibly any man would have done last night. He’d known that subconsciously. Hell, no, he’d known it consciously. He’d thought about her vulnerable state before he’d crossed the line. And what had he done? Still crossed that line, then wallowed in her unexpected sensuality and insatiability, urging her on to arouse him repeatedly with her mouth till he was ready to take her in yet another erotically challenging position.
His body stirred just thinking about it. Groaning, Justin dragged his eyes away from Rachel’s tempting nudity and headed straight for the bathroom, plunging his wayward flesh into the coldest of showers.
She’ll have to go, he began thinking, despite the icy spray doing the trick. I can’t possibly work with her. She’ll make me feel guilty all the time. Or worse.
The prospect of spending every weekday having cold showers at lunch time would be untenable. Aside from the constant distraction and frustration, it would remind him of Mandy, and what Mandy was up to on a daily basis with that bastard boss of hers.
Yet to sack Rachel would make him an even bigger bastard of a boss. Justin was trapped by the situation. Damned if he did and damned if he didn’t!
‘Bloody hell,’ he muttered, and slammed his palms hard against the wet tiles.
Rachel woke with a start, her eyes blinking as she tried to focus on where she was. She didn’t recognise the ceiling. Or the walls. Or the bed, for that matter.
And then, suddenly, she remembered.
Everything.
‘Oh, God,’ she moaned.
The sound of the shower running was some comfort, because it gave Rachel the opportunity to jump out of the bed, gather up her clothes and escape back to her own room without having to face Justin, naked, in his bed.
Grimacing, she dived into a shower of her own without delay, where she stayed for some time, doing her best to wash away all the evidence of what she could only describe as a night best forgotten.
But forgetting the way she’d acted was nigh on impossible when she was constantly confronted with the physical consequences of her amazingly decadent behaviour. Her nipples ached. Her mouth felt like suede. And she probably wouldn’t be able to walk without discomfort for a week.
As much as she hadn’t felt ashamed of her behaviour last night—she’d blindly viewed it as an exciting liberation from her drab, lonely and celibate existence—in the cold light of day she could see that having
