I take her hands and yank her to her feet, spin her around and bend her over the wide arm of the chair.
‘Hurry,’ she says as she braces her arms on the cushion and spreads her feet wide, staring back at me over one shoulder. My knees weaken at the exquisite sight, her red hair splayed down her pale back, her post-orgasmic flush staining her cheeks and her ruined clothing bunched around her waist—a sign that neither of us had the patience to do this primly or properly.
Who knew the poised woman delicately sipping her drink hid such a sensual being? Such an unexpected siren?
I position myself at her entrance and grip her hips, every cell urging me to rush while my brain clamours to go slow and enjoy every second.
But we have all night.
Patience spent, I surge forward, my cock swallowed by her tight pussy. I fist the fabric of her dress and thrust in the last inch until our joint moans tell me I’m as deeply seated as possible. For a few glorious seconds I suck in calming breaths and simply enjoy the view. Her skin is like porcelain, her pale ass cheeks round and her hair a wild, tousled mess across her bare shoulders. The dress ruched around her waist gives the impression of bonds, a reminder that, despite being the most put-together woman I’ve ever met, Orla was as impatient to let go as I was to help her.
I grip the dress and her hip tighter and begin to thrust, every slap of our flesh together and every gasp of her pleasure riding me harder until sweat stings my eyes.
‘Touch yourself,’ I say, because I’m not going to last much longer and I want her coming with me. I want to make her come all night. I want to prove to her that we’re the same on one level. That, like this, we fit together perfectly.
She whimpers but complies, her hand disappearing between her thighs, where I feel her stroke my balls before she sees to herself. I grit my teeth, the drugging pleasure sucking me down. ‘Are you close?’ I grit out.
She cries out but doesn’t answer, and I’m running out of time.
I widen my feet, still thrusting at a punishing pace, abandon my grip on her dress and slide my finger along her crack to tickle her asshole. That does the trick, and as she screams a hoarse cry, her muscles clamping around me, I let go, fiery heat rushing down the length of my cock as I fill the condom.
We slump forward over the chair, although I’m careful to take my own weight and not crush the fantastic woman under me as I catch my breath.
She recovers first, wriggling free and turning to cup my face and smatter hot kisses over my lips.
‘Wow.’
My chest burns but I grin.
‘Glad you had a good time.’ I just didn’t know she’d embrace it so thoroughly, so honestly and so fucking sexily.
‘I hope you didn’t plan on getting any sleep, because we’ll be doing that again.’ She tugs me towards what I know is the bathroom, and as I watch the sway of that gorgeous ass, I concur.
Yes; yes, we will.
Orla
I RISE FROM the desk chair in my hotel suite, a triumphant smile making my cheeks ache while a surge of adrenaline leaves me searching the bed for Cam. I want to share my news with someone. With him. Jensen’s made up their mind and signed on the dotted line this morning.
Then I remember that he’s gone. After the sex marathon, I spent half the night working while he slept. He woke around six, crept up behind me where I worked and kissed me goodbye. Such a gallant, old-fashioned gesture, I practically swooned…
As I look at the debauched but empty bed, my sense of achievement dwindles a fraction. It shouldn’t matter—I don’t need to share my success in order to feel its validation, but a celebratory orgasm might have been nice…
I stretch out my back muscles, frowning when I realise how long I’ve been sitting in one place. I’ve hustled this deal for the past three months, a deal snatched from under the nose of my main competitors—the firm now run, rather sloppily, in my opinion, by my younger brother under the critical tutelage of my father. A firm that should have been mine to run by rights after my years of hard work and the long hours that cost me my marriage. Another casualty of my father’s expectations…
Thinking of my ex, and how he bailed after seven short months because he couldn’t handle a wife who worked harder than him, sours my mood further.
I ignore the well-worn path of anger and rejection that courses through my body every time I think about how I was overlooked, passed over on the basis of my sex, as if my years of commitment and my qualifications counted for nothing in the eyes of my old-school father. What century does he even inhabit? I’m the eldest. I put in the most work. I’m the best qualified—the company was mine by rights.
When the sting in my lip tells me I’m taking out my frustration with my own teeth, I relax my jaw and sigh. Even this success with Jensen’s feels somehow tainted by the past. No matter how hard I work, I can never quite reach the finishing line.
Casting a look of longing at the empty bed, I head for the shower, recalling the pleasure I shared with a stranger to sweeten this morning’s professional victory.
Cam—my reward.
Yearning builds in the pit of my stomach. He claimed my body, used it and his to drive us both mindless with desire. His obscene stamina. His wicked, inventive challenges and almost impossible positions… I’ve never experienced anything like it. He effortlessly brought out the sexy side I wanted to embrace the minute we stepped into the lift.
Who even was I with him?
I ache, aware of every step I take, every muscular twinge—all Cam’s fault…
But he was gentle too. Thorough and attentive and considerate. My breath catches as a feeling of invincibility courses through me. After a night like that, I can accomplish anything. Alone and without validation.
The hot water spray buffets my skin, reminding me of Cam’s rough, calloused hands gripping and possessing. The water on my breasts and between my legs mimics the glide of his demanding tongue, the caress of his dirty mouth, and when I press my fingers to my clit, trying to banish the renewed flutter of hunger, I relive every single orgasm of our decadent night together.
This is what well-fucked truly feels like.
I sigh a happy, sated sigh, the emotional impulse as unexpected as the man himself. Perhaps he’s a good-luck charm, if I believed in luck. Perhaps letting loose, embracing my wild side, is good for me, allowing me to achieve some much-needed work-life perspective. Either way, I can’t deny I feel more alive, more enthused for the months ahead than I have in years.
I shampoo my hair, hair that Cam wrapped around his fist as he pounded us both to oblivion that last time, sometime in the dark early hours. He fell asleep soon after, splayed on his stomach, his muscular back and tight buttocks a visual feast I struggled to tear my eyes from. I was so energised, my mind so focused, I worked through the rest of the night. Even now I’m in no way tired, although pulling all-nighters isn’t that unusual for me. When you run an international
