His Innocent Seduction

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 rigid 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.’

My eyes spark with hers. ‘And a few more nights won’t kill you...’

She pulls a face, steps back from me and straightens her jeans. ‘I wouldn’t bank on that.’

CHAPTER THREE (#u03716890-b4c0-5ffc-93e5-6857f25c965d)

THREE NIGHTS LATER we are back in his penthouse, and I can say with certainty that he was abso-fucking-lutely wrong about one important thing. Waiting has almost killed me. Waiting, longing, yearning.

When he sent me home the other night, it was like I was a grenade with the pin pulled. I have been slowly exploding ever since, the slightest touch an agony. Bras are now my enemy and my salvation—the fabric against my nipples is a form of torture that I frankly love.

But it’s not enough. I need Michael. I don’t want to fuck around with endless foreplay. I’m twenty-three and I want to have sex.

The resolution I’ve formed since leaving his place the other night sits inside my chest like the first flash of a sparkler’s ignition. It hums and buzzes beneath my breast, fizzing life and light into my veins, demanding attention.

I’m not letting him put an end to this again.

I want him. He wants me. No more of this ‘be patient’ bullshit. This is the night I’m going to lose my virginity. He probably doesn’t realise that yet, though.

He loads the balls into the pool triangle with precision and experience, as though it’s an action he’s undertaken thousands of times, and I watch him unashamedly. He’s dressed for work, except he’s shrugged out of his suit jacket at some point and rolled his shirtsleeves up to expose tanned, toned forearms that are doing funny things to my tummy. I’m not sure there’s anything hotter than Michael Brophy in a state of casual undress.

He leans forward and his eyes flicker to mine. Something in his gaze arrests my breath and makes my head spin.

‘You’ve really never played?’

I shake my head.

‘You have missed out on a lot,’ he tsks, and my stomach clenches. He straightens, pushing away from the table and striding around to me slowly, almost sauntering, so I have a few moments to calm my fluttering pulse. It doesn’t help. Standing right in front of me, his eyes scan my face and then drop lower, to the hint of cleavage exposed by the silk camisole I slipped into. Teamed with jeans and stilettos, it felt like a good mix of casual and sexy when I left my house. I’m nothing like the women he usually takes home but he’s looking at me as though I’m the sexiest person he’s ever known.

‘You look...beautiful.’

My pulse races, but I level a droll stare at him. ‘I told you, I don’t need compliments.’

He runs his finger higher, to the base of my throat, his touch just a whisper where my pulse is raging. I want to pick up where we left off. I want him on his knees in front of me. And so much more.

I suck in a shallow, rasping breath. We’re so close that if I lean forward, my nipples will brush his chest and suddenly I ache for that touch. I sway, just enough, and at the moment of contact, sharp bolts of electricity fire through me, hot and pulsing. His eyes show amusement when they meet mine.