account accruing more interest daily than I formerly made in a year of building houses with my bare hands, but somehow my life, who I am and what’s important to me have still changed beyond recognition.
I swallow down the acidic taste and focus on beautiful Orla and her mesmerising eyes. Perhaps we’re both hiding from something bigger than us, and that’s perfect. Perhaps we’ll succeed in fucking it from our systems, a perfectly timed distraction, and tomorrow go our separate ways, usual service resumed…
Damn, if only it were that simple for me. My stomach rolls at the reminder that normal is a distant memory. I ignore the gnawing pain, the yearning for my old life, and nod. I grab my jacket and follow her towards the bank of lifts. When we’re inside the empty car and she’s selected the correct floor I move closer, my restless body demanding action and the need to touch more of her than her wrist driving me hard.
I expect her to back up as I invade her personal space, but she holds her ground and simply levels bold eyes at me while her chest rises and falls with the excitement I want to see.
I keep my hands by my sides. My reward is waiting for me and I want to string out the anticipation for as long as I can, knowing the moment will be twice as sweet when we both, finally, surrender.
But neither can I stay away.
I look down, loving how small she is in comparison to me and the way it defies her bold and confident manner. Damn, I bet no one ever says no to her. I bet she’s always had things exactly on her terms.
That part of me, the part that wants to test her, rears up.
‘How do you want this to play out, beautiful?’ I suck in an Orla-scented breath, my blood pumping harder. Despite our chalk-and-cheese differences, I wanted her the minute I saw her walk into the casino—a beautiful woman, composed, alluring and sexy as fuck. But the fact she tried to fight her obvious interest…well, that simply added another level of challenge. I’m a scrapper who’s spent every day of his life until six months ago earning his honest, comfortable place in life, earning every cent of what he deserves—beautiful women no exception.
She takes a shuddering breath and licks her lips, the first hint of hesitation. ‘You know, just the usual…’
She clearly doesn’t do this often—sleep with a stranger—and for some reason she’s decided tonight’s the night and I’m the lucky guy. But there’ll be nothing usual about our night together.
I nod, noting the slow ascent of the lift and deciding we have time to start this right here, because I’m done waiting. She knows what she wants and I plan on giving it to her. That and more.
‘Ask me to touch you.’ Her full, kissable mouth draws all my attention. I’ve wanted to taste those lips since she spotted me at the roulette table, her mouth twitching with intrigue. And why shouldn’t I taste? Now, when I can have anything I want in life, is not the time to begin denying myself a damned thing, beautiful Orla included.
She too glances at the digital display and back, and before I can ready myself for the impact she grabs the back of my neck and drags my mouth down to her kiss.
The first taste is rich and decadent, just like Orla, the hint of Scotch lingering on her soft but demanding lips. While she seems too prim and proper for a simple, spit-and-sawdust kind of guy like me, my body clamours for more, because I can already tell there’s another level to this woman, a tightly leashed wanton ready to be coaxed to reveal her uninhibited side. And I’ll take as much wildness as she’s willing to give, in my current mood—anything to stop the endless feeling I’m trying to outrun something while wearing lead shoes.
Her lips part and she slides her tongue to meet mine with a throaty little moan that screams woman. My pulse roars with triumph, centring me with the assurance sex brings. In this moment, I’m me and in control.
I walk us back to the wall, and she drops her clutch and hikes up her dress so she can spread her thighs to accommodate my hips, which pin her in place. She tugs my hair and moans as if she wants to be fucked right here in the elevator, and bloody hell, I’m tempted.
We part for breath and she reaches for my fly, her teeth trapping her bottom lip as she rubs my cock through my trousers. Then her eyes roll closed and her head hits the wall behind her. ‘Oh, I knew you’d be good, exactly what I need.’
I clench my jaw, fighting the rush of pleasure her palming my cock brings. I can be what she needs for one night—easy. Our backgrounds don’t matter for what we have planned.
I lift her thigh and press closer until my dick and her hand are crushed between our bodies. She looks at me then, and I grin.
‘I’m happy to be your man toy for the night, gorgeous.’ I scrape my mouth up the soft, silky column of her neck, sucking in her scent as I reach her earlobe and the massive rock sitting there, a beacon to our stark differences. My hand on her thigh slides north as I tongue the stone, tugging her earlobe, complete with earring, into my mouth. I finger the lace of her underwear, which is stretched across the gorgeous handful of ass cheek I have in my hand, while I press my erection between her legs, where she’s hot and damp and grinding against me.
‘Your hot little clit is hungry for what I can give you.’ I slide my hand forward, finding her underwear drenched. ‘Question is, can you take it?’
‘Yes…oh, yes.’ She doesn’t flinch at my candour or deny my assertions, simply tugs my mouth back to hers with a frustrated yelp.
Her yes thrills me. We might be from different worlds, but tonight our goals are aligned and all about pleasure.
The lift pings and we quickly straighten our clothing to perform the hurried walk to her top-floor suite. Inside, a quick glance confirms it’s a carbon copy of mine—the best money can buy—but then, I’m too focused on the woman in front of me to care about décor or square footage.
While I shrug out of my jacket, she tosses her bag, turns to face me and begins to undo the clasp of her dress at the back of her neck, but before she gets anywhere, I grip her waist and back her up against the wall once more—I have plans for Miss Buttoned-Up and they don’t involve staid missionary position with the lights off.
Let’s see how much she wants to let go.
I kiss her, coaxing more of those greedy little whimpers from her throat as my hand travels under the dress once more to find her drenched and scorching hot.
I break free from the kiss as I slide my fingers past the crotch of her underwear to the silkiness beneath. I rub one fingertip over her clit, watching her eyes grow unfocused.
My other hand grapples with the tiny, frustrating clasp at the back of her neck. It feels like a bra clasp but the hooks may as well be welded together for all the luck I’m having. I reluctantly remove my hand from the delicious, soft slickness between her legs and try with two hands, my frustration to see what the dress conceals building and making my fingers clumsy. On my third attempt, while she’s given up waiting and is clearly intent on driving me insane with the kisses she’s pressing over my neck, jaw and mouth, I say, ‘Are you particularly attached to this outfit?’
Confusion registers, chasing away the lust, but she shakes her head. ‘No, why?’
I press my mouth back to her arched neck—I can’t seem to get enough of her taste and scent. ‘I said I’d ruin you.’ I look up. ‘I wasn’t joking and I’m afraid this dress is going to be the first casualty.’
