Chapter 22 Saoirse Friday 17 December
Miles carries a fast-asleep Bea in from the car and up in the lift. I’ve roughed him up well in the car. He stands with his daughter slumped against him like a saggy little bean bag, his hair messed up and his tie loose.
That tie.
Soon I’ll have payback for all the times he’s made me clench my thighs together under the table as I watch him put it on. And seeing him with Bea… well. My ovaries perform a salute worthy of a St Patrick’s Day parade.
As the lift takes us smoothly up to the penthouse, he stares at me. And I stare at him. A glance in the mirror over his shoulder tells me he’s roughed me up pretty well, too. My lips are swollen, my lipstick long gone, and my hair is a mussed-up mass of curls.
‘I’ll put her in bed, and then I’m all yours.’
It sounds more like a threat than a promise.
‘Do you want some help with her?’ My voice comes out in a squeak.
He smiles. ‘No, baby. I’ve got it. Just wait for me in my bedroom.’
Shit shit shit. His bedroom, of irresistible man smell and battered pillow fame. I. Am going to be in. It. With. Him. Naked.
My face must reflect every one of those thoughts, because he grins and shakes his head at me as the lift doors open.
‘Close your mouth.’ He winks. ‘For now, anyway.’
I gape at him as I trot down the corridor after him. He is rude.
Housekeeping has been in to perform a turndown service on Miles’ room, so it’s immaculate, but it still smells like him, and that gives me a hell of a kick.
This is the mysterious lair he emerges from each morning, fondling that dratted tie.
Now I’m here, in the inner sanctum, where he sleeps, dreams, and possibly…
does other things… that may involve thinking about me.
Oh my God.
I wriggle out of my tights—gussets have never and will never be sexy—and brush my teeth with a toothbrush from a spare vanity kit I find in the well-stocked master bathroom.
This room is incredible. I eye the enormous twin shower.
The idea of being in there with Miles… Or in that oval marble bathtub. I let out a shuddery breath as I spit.
I’m back in the bedroom, hovering uselessly, when he appears and shuts the door quietly behind him.
He pads over to me and slides both his hands around my waist, pulling me towards him.
I love his hands. I ogle them when he pours out my tea in the mornings.
Strong but slim. Manly, but with long, tapering fingers that are now bunching up the silk around my hips.
Holy moly.
This is happening.
‘Did she settle okay?’
‘She didn’t even stir when I put her nightie on. She’s completely knackered.’
‘Poor little pet.’
‘She had a ball. But I don’t think anyone had as good a night as me.’
His hands move up over my waist and rib cage as he stares at me. I do what I’ve wanted to do since puke-gate and put my hands flat on his chest, either side of his tie. I have a little grope.
Yep, he’s still stacked.
I touch his tie. Slide a finger under it, lifting it up before letting it drop back down.
‘Every morning, when I have to watch you knot your tie, it’s like torture.’
I’m rewarded with a little smile. ‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously. And I ogle your back muscles. They get all bulgy under your shirt when you’re tying it.’
He laughs now. ‘Bulgy? You like things that bulge, do you? If so, you’re in luck tonight.’
‘I hope so.’ I think I’m breathing a bit too heavily already.
He pulls me right up against him, and his hands move to my bum and begin to knead it.
He’s definitely already bulging; his erection’s prodding me just above my pelvic bone and I make a little noise at the feel of it, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.
There are those muscles, flexing under my hands.
He groans. ‘Saoirse, Saoirse. God, you’ll be the death of me. I’ve been thinking about you for weeks now, like some creep, and haven’t been able to stop. If I had any confidence you felt the same, I would have made a move a lot sooner.’
Yep.
He’ll be the death of me, too.
My name on his lips is enough to kill me.
His mouth covers mine and he brings a hand to the back of my head, crushing our faces together.
I wind one arm more tightly around his neck; the other presses down his glorious back and over his bum.
Oh, good Lord. His bum. It’s so tight and firm under those suit trousers he’s wearing. It’s delicious.
It’s everything.
I grope it harder, curling my fingers around his flesh while his tongue invades my mouth and shows me exactly what it’s capable of.
He pulls away, just enough to mutter, ‘I need to get you naked. I need it, baby.’
I gasp something that’s probably please as he unbuttons my cuffs before walking around me. He sighs into the back of my head as he undoes the tiny buttons at the collar and unzips me.
‘Fuck.’ He turns me around and slides the dress down my body to the floor. He glances quickly at my face before his gaze rivets to my boobs, and the biggest smile hits his face. Those dimples are out.
‘Oh, my God. Oh, my… sweet Jesus.’ He hasn’t even seen them with my bra off yet, and it’s as if he’s a kid who’s just seen Santa. He shakes his head. ‘I swear, baby, you have the best tits I’ve ever seen.’
‘So that’s all I needed to do to make you smile like that.’ I’m already addicted to this version of him. ‘If only I’d known.’
‘I’m a simple man, gorgeous.’
His hands move up my sides to cup them. He brushes his thumbs over my nipples, through the lace of my red balconette bra.
It’s only cheap, but it feels like the best underwear choice ever.
My nipples react to his touch like crazy, hardening into little pebbles just like when we were watching the choir, but better, because right now there’s almost nothing between my skin and his.
‘Does that feel good?’ His voice is hoarse, his expression rapt.
‘So good. It feels so good, Miles. Take it off.’
‘You take it off. Please, baby. I want to see you take it off.’
Because I’d do anything this man asked, because he’s making me feel like the most desirable woman on the planet right now, and because I’m as desperate to get my clothing off as he is, I reach behind and undo the hooks at the back of my bra, letting it slide down over my shoulders.
I drop it on the floor, watching for his reaction.
He bites down on his bottom lip.
‘Saoirse. Sweetheart. They are fucking perfect.’
He weighs my boobs in his hands, his palms brushing their soft underside, and I shiver.
He bends.
Kisses one nipple.
A lick.
And then a hard suck.
My knees are going to give.
‘Miles.’
His fingers roam over my boobs. Gliding. Pressing. Rolling my nipples.
‘I need you naked. Take this off for me.’ He hooks a finger under the waistband of my matching thong and snaps it lightly before his hand rolls around to my bare bum cheek.
‘I want you naked too,’ I protest, but I pull the thong down and step out of it, because his voice is low and hypnotic and kind of powerful, and that gruff bossiness that he’s prone to, that can be pretty irritating in real life, is really, really doing it for me right now.
‘You’ll get to strip me in a few minutes, I promise.’
He leans in close to my ear.
‘Just humour me. Because right now, the fact that I have you completely bare and so beautiful, and I’m fully dressed, is really turning me on. And I was hoping it might turn you on, too. Besides.’
He lifts the end of his tie and brushes the silk up my stomach so, so lightly before flicking it over one nipple and then the other. His breath is hot in my ear. ‘I thought you liked my tie.’
Oh. Oh. Oh. Good Lord. The pulse between my legs is hammering away, and that entire area is slick with wetness. I try to say okay, but it gets stuck in my throat. I grip his shoulders.
So strong under that crisp white cotton.
So big.
He’s right.
He has me naked, in his bedroom, and I’m so exposed, and frankly, he can do whatever the hell he likes to me right now and I’ll be melted butter in his hands.
He kisses me, harder than before, as his hands roam everywhere. Squeezing my bum cheeks, kneading them, sweeping up my back, clawing at my hair. I’m glued to his front, the most sensitive part of my body pressed against his erection.
I stand on my tiptoes to get him between my legs and squeeze. The fabric of his trouser leg is coarse enough to deliver a shot of friction that, right now, feels like a breadcrumb from heaven for my sensitised skin.
He jerks and pants. ‘Fuck, baby. I’m trying to hold on here. Phew.’ He leans his forehead against mine and exhales. ‘Okay. Bed.’
I lie back on the cool sheets. The skin all over my body prickles with anticipation. Miles admires me for a moment.
‘Look at you. Just look at you.’
He nudges my legs apart and climbs onto the bed so he’s crouching over me on his hands and knees. His tie pools around my breastbone as he bends to kiss me and tickles my skin.
Oh, golly.
He was right.
He should never take this tie off.
It shifts as he moves, so close to my nipples that I may scream with frustration. His tongue sinks deep into my mouth. Its feverish laps give him away: he’s as desperate as I am. I grab at his hair, his neck, his shoulders, my back arching, my bum lifting off the sheets.
And then, thank fuck, he pulls his face away and drops his mouth to my nipple.
His fingers trail down my stomach, over my hip, down my thigh.
They brush back up my inner thigh. Almost all the way.
And stop. I squeak in frustration. My nipples are aching, but that’s nothing to the throbbing between my legs.
He releases my nipple and smiles down at me. ‘You’re very patient. And you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Look at you, spread out on my bed, just for me. I’m going to reward you.’
He scoots down the bed. His head lowers. His tongue dips between my legs and bam, he’s there, exactly where I need him, his strokes firm and rhythmical and perfect.
There’s no teasing now.
Thank God.
I wouldn’t be able to take it.
He slides two fingers inside me and adds a third, a moment later. The intense pressure of his fingers and his tongue combine in what must be a bloody miracle of nature. This is everything.
The heat builds and builds and builds, and I scrabble at the sheets.
Push down against his fingers and that blessed tongue as hard as I can.
Open my legs wider and ride the wave of ecstasy inside me as it crests, and shatters, and fluid warmth suffuses my entire body from the inside out.
I’m vaguely aware that I’m crying out a string of nonsense as Miles’ fingers and tongue work as hard as they can.
As soon as my orgasm subsides, he’s back on top of me in a flash, a wonder of starched cotton and hard muscle and warm mouth as he holds me tightly.
‘Jesus.’ He sounds agonised. ‘You are—that was—you’re delicious. Perfect. Perfect.’
I’m wrung out.
I’m limp and useless and seeing stars.
But if I have any motor skills left, by God, I’m going to use them to get this man’s clothes off.