His Innocent Seduction Page 3

  I’m a sexual person. I thought I wasn’t. But the way I feel when Michael walks into the bar is... I know I want this. It’s just been stress that’s kept this part of me at bay for the last few years.

  ‘I want to fuck you,’ I say for good measure.

  His eyes link to mine and something passes between us. A silent promise. A something that sets my pulse racing even as it relaxes me.

  ‘Come upstairs.’ It’s gruff. I’m glad. I like that I’m getting under his skin. I’ve only ever seen him be cool and in control, debonair and so sexy. But this is sexier still. Impatient and a little shitty.

  The door opens, his driver holding it for us. I step out, shooting a cursory glance around myself. It’s all high-end vehicles, as far as the eye can see. I haven’t paid attention to where we are. I probably should have.

  ‘This way.’ He nods to the lifts. I walk beside him, my insides reverberating with absolute need. He presses a button for the lift. My heart is racing. I wait, watching the illuminated numbers count downwards. Waiting. Waiting. Each second drags.

  Finally, the doors ping open and we step inside. When the lift shuts, I feel every single movement he makes, every exhalation, every inhalation. I turn to face him, watching him, and he’s looking at me, appraising me, wanting me, needing me. Desire flushes my body.

  I need him.

  ‘Sex is...’

  But I don’t let him finish. I don’t want to hear what he has to say. I’m done talking. I launch myself at him, smiling as our lips connect because I glimpse surprise on his face before I’m too close to see anything else.

  And then his hands are on my body, pushing me back onto the wood-panelled wall, his own frame so big and strong, glued to mine, imprisoning me where I am. His leg slides between mine, separating my legs, and I break the kiss only so I can moan properly, swearing into the silence of the lift.

  I honestly feel, in this moment, like if he doesn’t get his cock inside me right now I might die.

  ‘Please,’ I groan, need making the word strangled.

  ‘Please, what?’

  I have no idea what he means.

  ‘Please fuck me, Michael.’

  ‘Here? Now?’ he asks, and I vaguely register, in the back of my mind, that he’s teasing me.

  How dare he? I tilt my head back, glaring at him, and then reach sideways, pressing the emergency stop button on the lift. Okay, it’s dramatic and—for the briefest of seconds—I hope not illegal, but hell, if he’s not going to take this seriously then I’m going to damned well make him.

  And the impulsive gesture does have him straightening, his expression tightening, his eyes locking to mine.

  ‘Yeah. Fuck me. Here. Now.’

  A muscle jerks in his jaw.

  He looks around the lift, then back at me. His breath is forced, rushed, tortured. Good.

  I shouldn’t be the only one struggling for air.

  ‘See that camera up there?’ he mutters, jerking his head over his shoulder.

  Belatedly, I realise that there’s a familiar little globe in the lift. I blush. So maybe this wasn’t my best thought-out plan. Not the sex, just the stopping the lift part of it.

  But then he angles my body, pushing me into the corner of the lift, his large frame concealing me from the camera’s view.

  And his hand slides into my pants, his eyes watching mine as he pushes his fingers past the elastic waistband of my underwear. He touches my clit and I whimper. He drops his head, sucking my lower lip into his mouth, between his teeth. I whimper louder. His fingers move faster.

  ‘You’re wetter than the ocean, baby.’

  I am. For him, I am. ‘Please.’ I say it again, simply but desperately.

  He kisses me then, his head pinning mine to the wall of the lift as his fingers move over me. I thrust my chest forward, my nipples throbbing inside the lace of my bra, my whole body trembling. He slides a finger inside my pulsing core and I cry his name, breaking the kiss and moving my head over his shoulder. But he turns his head, catching my mouth in his, obscuring me from the camera’s view once again.

  The lift beeps and then begins to move.

  We’re going upwards but I don’t care. I’m flying up into the sky, like a bird or a meteor. I am on fire.

  I dig my nails into his shirtfront, clinging on for dear life. I grind my hips down, needing more, needing so much more. His tongue duels with mine. The doors ping open. Neither of us makes a move to leave. He pulls his finger out of me and then runs his hand over my clit again, faster, harder, and my knees buckle. If it weren’t for his weight against me I think I’d collapse to the floor in a muddle.

  I explode.

  There’s no other way to explain it. I feel like my every cell has become a bolt of lightning, searing through my skin and zapping out into the world. I feel like I am a goddess. Eternal and all-powerful. I don’t realise I’m screaming his name until he grins and kisses me, swallowing the cries into his mouth and soul.

  I smile against his mouth, weak now, and strong too.

  ‘Come inside, Millie.’ He pulls away from me, standing straighter, holding an arm out to stop the lift doors from pinging shut.

  ‘And you’ll fuck me?’

  He laughs gruffly. ‘We’ll see.’

  * * *

  I have no idea what’s holding me back. It’s new terrain in that she’s a virgin but sex, at the end of the day, is sex. So why? Why am I standing in my kitchen feeling like I’m the victim of some kind of abstinence torture, aching to possess her, feeling at the same time like I can’t? Like I shouldn’t.

  Because there’s some kind of vulnerability to her. I feel like...there’s something. I can’t put my finger on it but there’s an air of sadness that lies just beneath the surface.

  And while I have slept with more than my fair share of women, it’s never been out of anything other than mutual desire.

  I’m not someone women regret. At least I don’t want to be.

  Would she regret me?

  Probably.

  And there it is.

  The reason I’m pouring us a wine instead of carrying her over my shoulder into my room and throwing her down on the bed like she’s been begging me to do.

  She’s a twenty-three-year-old virgin and that makes no sense. There has to be a reason for it. A long-term relationship gone bad? Maybe she’s run away from a cult? Or she’s a member of a religious faction? In any event, something’s changed and, whatever that is, I’m pretty sure it’s something I definitely don’t want on my conscience.

  She wants me to fuck her but it’s like she’s got a lion on her heels.

  Why?

  Does it matter? My dick is indignant.

  My brain holds tight. It matters. A bit. Enough to stall me.

  I carry two wine glasses through the apartment. She’s on the deck, her arms braced on the railing, her eyes glancing across the view. There’s a huge black void—the ocean—but you can hear and smell the sea, the boats coming and going, the water lapping, to know it’s there.

  The city is to the other side, all shining lights and high-rises, old wars and ancient grudges.

  I hand her a wine. She turns to face me. ‘To good old-fashioned sex.’

  I laugh, despite my misgivings. ‘Not too old-fashioned, I hope.’

  She shakes her head and her cheeks are still stained pink from how I made her come in the lift. God, that was hot. She was hot. She’s like a livewire, ready to blow.

  ‘Tell me why.’

  It’s a challenge now and, before she can offer a whimsical demurral, I shake my head.

  ‘Tell me why.’

  Her teeth massage her lower lip. I drop my hand to my side, perfectly still. Watchful.

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why are you a virgin?’

  ‘I haven’t had
sex,’ she replies very literally.

  I respect that—the quickness of her mind. ‘Why not?’

  She swallows, her eyes flicking away. My brain surges, certain that I’m onto something. This isn’t just happenstance—what happenstance could explain this, anyway? There’s a reason. A mystery. Something behind her choice not to have sex—and now, something behind her choice to sleep with me.

  ‘I just haven’t.’

  ‘I don’t buy it.’

  ‘Tough.’

  I laugh. ‘Now, now, don’t get all defensive. Don’t you think I have a right to know?’

  She shakes her head. ‘It’s just sex. That doesn’t confer on you any right except to fuck me.’

  ‘Another excellent point, Millie.’ I move closer, my eyes locked to hers, sipping my wine. ‘And yet...’

  ‘And yet?’ She has to tilt her head to look up at me.

  ‘I don’t want to be something you wake up and regret.’

  Relief fleetingly passes across her face. ‘I won’t.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because I’m in my head.’

  I laugh softly. ‘And I want to be in your body.’ I push my hips forward so she can feel my rock-hard dick against her flat stomach. Her breath catches in her throat. She shivers. ‘But I’m not some teenager without a degree of self-control. If we do this, I want to take precautions.’

  Her eyes spark with mine and there’s a silent challenge in her steel-blue gaze. ‘You think you’ve got self-control?’ she murmurs, ducking down and sliding out from under my arm, moving down the balcony a little way.

  I watch, without following. ‘Yeah. Enough to know I have to be sure my partner in bed is there because she really wants to be.’

  ‘Oh, I want to be there,’ she promises, sipping her wine before placing the glass down on a table.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ I say honestly.

  She shrugs. ‘You don’t need to flatter me. I’m not here for compliments.’

  I bite back a laugh. She is unlike any woman I’ve ever known.

  ‘I just mean you could surely have had your pick of guys at any time before now.’

  Even in the subdued lighting of the balcony, I see her face pale. Curiosity grows—and also the certainty that I’m right. There’s more to this than just an insanely hot proposition. I’m good at reading people and there’s something about Millie that speaks of a vulnerability, something she’s working her hardest to hide from me.

  I think back to every encounter we’ve had. To the way she spent the first month she came to O’Leary’s avoiding my eyes, like she wasn’t even sure how to talk to me, let alone look at me.

  And now, this. Why?

  Nothing adds up.

  ‘Millie...’ I groan, and now I step closer. Her chin tilts at a defiant angle. ‘I want you,’ I say thickly. ‘I’m surprised by how much, to be completely honest. But I’m not the kind of guy who takes advantage of anyone.’ Out of nowhere, I think of my mum, and the way my dad made an art form of walking all over her. I am not Clint Brophy. I never will be. I soften my voice. ‘If this is because you’re hurting or sad or something has happened, I need to know that now.’

  She reaches for her wine again, sips it, then replaces the glass.

  ‘My mother died.’ She says the words clinically, but that doesn’t matter. I hear the throb of grief as it bursts through her.

  ‘When?’ My own response is clinical too, like I’m in court, where I make it a necessary habit to keep my emotions at bay, even when I feel them deeply.

  ‘A while ago.’

  ‘I see.’ I don’t.

  ‘She died.’ Millie swallows, her throat jerking convulsively. ‘And after the funeral, after everything had calmed down, I packed up my life and came away. I’m travelling because she never got a chance to. I put my life on hold when she was sick, Michael. I put everything on hold because she needed me.’

  Her fingers curl around the bottom of her shirt and, as I watch, she lifts it up slowly, painstakingly slowly, inching it over her flat stomach, to her breasts, then over her head. She looks at me as she drops it to the floor, at her feet.

  ‘But now... I want to make up for lost time. I want to do everything and see everything and I want to sleep with a guy. I want to be fucked by someone hot and who I’m really attracted to. I want to be fucked by someone who knows what they’re doing. I want to learn from a master.’ She wiggles her brows, but I’ve stopped looking at her face. Hell, I’ve practically stopped breathing.

  How many times have I fantasised about her tits?

  How many times have I imagined what they’d look like beneath the shirts she wears to work?

  More than I can remember.

  And the reality is so much blindingly better than my fantasies.

  Full and round, pale cream in colour, barely contained by a scrap of lace fabric, her dainty peach nipples visible beneath the fabric.

  My dick jerks in my pants.

  I step closer.

  Her breathing gets louder.

  ‘You want to learn from a master?’ I repeat, moving closer still.

  She nods wordlessly.

  ‘You want to learn about sex?’

  Another nod, her eyes burning through my soul. A soul I am on the precipice of selling to the devil...

  ‘Fine.’

  She exhales with my simple declaration, her relief as evident as that which I feel in my chest. I close the distance between us, reaching behind her and unhooking her bra. She makes a noise from deep in her throat. ‘But I have rules.’

  Her head jerks to mine. She’s so close I could drop just an inch and kiss her.

  ‘What rules?’ She’s thinking the same thing as me, her eyes chasing my mouth.

  I roll my hips to show her how turned on I am. She groans.

  ‘You’ve missed out on so much.’

  She still doesn’t speak.

  ‘It’s not just sex, Millie.’

  I drop the bra down beside her then cup my hand over one of her full, round breasts. She makes a choking noise. Her innocence is captivating.

  I keep my eyes on her as I take her nipple between my thumb and forefinger, lightly at first, rolling it a little, watching as pleasure darts through her, contorting her face, bringing her eyes shut.

  Then I clamp my fingers on it more tightly, until her hips buck forward. I don’t let go. I keep my grip there and she whimpers, her eyes saucer-wide.

  ‘Sex isn’t just sex.’ The words are gruff. Suddenly, I release my grip and she moans, her own hand lifting to her breast, running over her nipple as though she can’t believe how sensitive they are.

  I drop my head, taking her nipple in my mouth, and now my teeth clamp down on it, hard enough to make her body slam into mine and an expletive to drop from her full, pink lips.

  ‘I’ll fuck you, Millie, on two conditions.’

  ‘What are they?’ Breathy, saturated with pleasure, intense.

  ‘First, I get to show you everything that comes first. I want to go down on you until you’re exploding with pleasure. I want to tease and torment your body with every damned thing it can possibly feel and then—only then—will we have sex.’

  ‘Why?’ she whispers, but she’s wrapped her arms around my waist and she’s moving her hips, desperate to get my hard cock closer to her cunt.

  ‘Because it’s what you deserve.’

  I move my mouth to her other breast, this one unused to my touch. I flick her nipple with my tongue and she cries out my name, tilting her head back towards the stars.

  ‘And second?’ She digs her nails into my hair and now she’s lifting her legs, trying to get them wrapped around me, trying to get closer still.

  ‘It doesn’t happen until I say so.’

  At this she stills, her body rig
id in my arms suddenly. No, not rigid. She’s trembling, desire an unstoppable force.

  ‘I can’t do this until I know you won’t regret it. It’s just how I’m wired. I’m not that kind of man.’

  ‘A man who fucks random women?’

  ‘You’re not a random woman now,’ I say seriously. ‘You’re a twenty-three-year-old virgin who just buried her mum, and you deserve your first time to be mind-blowing and one hundred percent guaranteed to be something you won’t wake up and wish didn’t happen.’

  ‘And you think that’s what you’ll give me? Mind-blowing sex?’

  At that, the silent challenge in her words, I can’t help it. I drop to my knees in front of her, kneeling at her feet as I separate the button of her jeans and then push the zip down.

  I hear her breath—so forced, so raspy.

  I push her lace thong lower, just enough for my tongue to be able to reach her wet clit. I stroke it and she runs her hands through my hair, her needs a palpable force between us.

  ‘Agree,’ I demand, my fingers splayed on her hips, holding her steady. ‘Agree to do it how I want, and I’ll be the first man to fuck you, Millie.’

  She doesn’t say anything. I move my tongue a little faster. Fuck, she tastes good. I ache for her. I ache for her to the point where I almost want to scrap my stupid rules and just make this happen now. Right here.

  But she whispers, ‘Yes...’ and I know it’s the right choice—for both of us.

  I stand up before she comes again, feeling like a right bastard but wanting her to ache for me as I am for her.

  ‘That’s enough for now.’

  She stares at me like I’m the worst kind of asshole on earth.

  ‘No.’

  I laugh softly, showing my torment. ‘I’ll have my driver take you home.’

  She glares at me. ‘No.’

  I laugh again. ‘Come back Friday.’

  ‘Friday?’ She looks at me with anger and then amusement. ‘You’re unbelievable.’

  ‘And you’re impatient.’

  She nods. ‘Maybe. But only because I’ve waited a long time for this.’