21
Bonnie
Caught off guard is the understatement of the year. My reflexes are ten seconds behind Jack’s.
Before my legs can tell my brain, Jack has lifted me up by my thighs and I’m straddling his warm, hard torso.
Gasping, I wrap my arms around his neck for support, and I instinctively squeeze his waist with my thighs like the greedy lust-crazed animal I am.
My skirt strains at the seams.
We are eye to eye, heat bouncing between us. So much heat my skin feels like it’s boiling.
I can ’ t catch a breath, but I can feel his.
I can’t talk. I’m completely incapacitated, floating mid-air on strong forearms as if I weigh nothing.
“I fucking love your face,” he breathes out against me. “Those lips, those cheekbones. Goddamn it, those eyes . Even when you scowl at me like I’m the worst man on Earth.”
“Speak for y-yourself,” I stutter. “You have some seriously sexy eye energy going on.”
He chuckles. One of his hands slides to my thigh from where he’s holding me in an invisible chair. He brusquely pushes my skirt up until it bunches around my waist, exposing me to Jack and anyone with binoculars in Canary Wharf.
Spread open, naked and squirming, I gasp louder this time. “You’re a little primal, Jack,” I say breathlessly.
“Just a little?” He smirks. “Maybe I’m behaving myself too much. I don’t want to scare you off, darlin’.”
His black T-shirt rides up his stomach.
Skin on skin.
My clit rubs against warm ab muscles.
Delicious. Wet. Friction.
The sensation sends shivers running down my body like a sexy taser. Holy fucking hell. Can you die of heart failure from being too turned on?
A deep moan escapes me from the depths of a place I never knew existed . I’m mildly embarrassed. The guy hasn’t even touched me and I’m already spasming like a cow banging against an electric fence.
His stomach muscles jerk. “I knew you’d be drenched under that skirt. You’re dying for me to touch you, aren’t you, Bonnie?” My name has never sounded so sexy.
“ Yes ,” I whimper as my clit grazes his stomach. My hips buck but he holds me tight, pressing my body taut against his.
His biceps flex under the strain of holding me. He’ll get used to it; I’m never climbing down.
His mouth takes possession of mine, pushing my lips open as his tongue thrusts against mine.
I’m caught in a wolf’s jaw. Exactly how I imagined alpha wolf Caleb from the Red Moon Canines. I moan, digging my fingers into his back like a horny virgin mate.
Don’t stop. Never stop.
A deep groan of approval vib rates from the back of his throat into my mouth.
I don’t know who’s making what soun d. Grunts. Groans. Pants. Breathing like we’ve just broken through an ice lake. I try fruitlessly to clench down on his stomach.
I shouldn’t be let loose on dating apps. I clearly have no restraint. Neither does the big bad wolf claiming me.
I’m seeing stars over a kiss.
Although I’m not sure if this qualifies as kissing. There’s nothing delicate about this, there’s no gentle teasing or tongue skimming lips waiting for a response. No, this is being fucked in the mouth.
Moaning into each other’s mouths like two Neanderth als, I grind myself to oblivion against his hard stomach.
We’re both breathing too hard to continue the kiss.
His arm fatigues under my weight. He walks us backwards until we collapse on the black leather sofa in the corner.
My knees fall on either side of him as I land on top of a very hard swollen cock in just the right spot.
He’s covered in way too much fabric. It all needs to come off.
I’m about to free him from his jeans but Jack has other plans. His hand slides around my inner thigh until he palms the slit between my legs.
“Soaking,” he says in a ridiculously husky voice, his head tipping back onto the sofa. “You’re abs olutely fucking drenched .”
His fingers graze up and down my opening with just enough pressure to tea se me but not enough to tip me over the edge. It’s delicious torture. His arrogant smirk tells me it’s not by accident.
With my skirt bunched around my waist, I’m mooning all of the financial district straddling Jack but it’s a price worth paying.
“Jack. Please. ”
His thumb finally grazes my clit, and I’m so receptive I moan, grinding against his hand,
begging him with my pussy.
“Yes,” I whimper.
“So wet and perfect. You feel better than I ever imagined.” He brushes my clit with his thumb in lazy controlled circles, grin solidly in place, telling me who’s boss.
“Jack,” I cry, grabbing handfuls of his hair. It must hurt.
“That’s right, darlin’ ,” he says roughly. “You’re going to moan my name when I make you come.”
He slips one finger deep inside me.
Oh. Yes.
A second follows, thrusting deeper this time. “First with my fingers. Then my mouth. I’m going to fucking devour you,” he growls. “Then my cock. And you’ll keep coming until I say stop.”
I agree with his excellent plan. And poem. “Yes!”
My muscles squeeze and lock around him as he fucks me with his fingers. His thumb circles my sensitive clit faster and harder, and his fingers thrust in and out of my wet heat.
Tingling sensations shoot through my body. Delicious shock waves controlling my limbs make me buck and shudder around him. I’ve lost all ability to function.
Nothing else matters except my overwhelming carnal need to come hard on his hand.
“Jack. Yes. Jack. Jack.” Random words blurt out of my mouth as he brings me so close . . . so close. “Make me come . . . I need to—”
There’s a knock at the door.
I jump out of my skin, going rigid in his arms.
He shushes me.
Clearly not as alarmed as I am to know there’s someone waiting outside his door, he continues to slide his fingers in and out of me.
Working me into a frenzy.
Repeatedly.
Relentlessly.
I need him to stop, but I want him to continue. I need him to make me orgasm so loudly that all of Canary Wharf hears me.
“Jack.” Jess knocks again. “Bradshaw Brown is waiting for you in the boardroom with the senior team.”
Fuck off, lovely Jess. Please fuck off for . . . thirty seconds.
I sink my mouth into his shoulder to stop from crying out.
“Yes, Jess,” he growls into my hair.
“You also have a meeting with Newham council in forty minutes,” she persists. “Shall I tell the Bradshaw team to reschedule?”
He curses loudly, and I hope to God Jess didn’t hear. “Give me five minutes, Jess. I’ll be with them.”
I close my eyes, trying to block out the footsteps of Jess walking away. My inner muscles quiver, and I know this will be the motherfucker of all orgasms. Vagina shattering. I might never recover.
Jack’s hand disappears, and I’m planted back on my feet on shaky legs with my skirt still bunched up.
“What the bleeding hell?” I stammer, gaping at him as he stands to his full height.
“Not now,” he says with a low chuckle. Bending, he takes the hem on my skirt and pushes it down over my hips and thighs. “I’m sorry, darlin’. Later. It’ll give you time to fantasise about me.”
I’m going to throttle him.
I glare at him until common sense slowly seeps back into my head. “You’re right,” I mutter. “None of the training videos on how to present
to clients advised rubbing one out on your audience beforehand.” I blow out a deep breath and smooth my cavewoman hair back into a work-appropriate ponytail.
He lets out a low laugh. “Yup, it’s probably best you wait until after you’ve presented.”
“After I present, you have a meeting with the council.”
He raises his brows, amused. “Easy tiger. All good things come to those who wait. Are you okay to present?”
Oh, God. Am I?
“Is this your master plan so I say yes to everything your team asks and agree to do the work in half the time?”
“You got me.” He straightens out his T-shirt which never looked like it was ironed in the first place.
“I fluff all the design teams before my staff interrogates them. How else do you think I build forty-story buildings so quickly?” He checks his watch.
“I’ve got something to do before meeting the council so you’ll need to knock ten minutes off now. ”
Interrogation? Knock ten minutes off?
Oh, Jesus.
He smiles, brimming with cockiness as he tugs on my ponytail. “Do the demo for me with your hair down.” My hair falls around my shoulders. There’s no please . He makes it sound like I’m going to do a private dance for him rather than present the designs for a converted factory.
I’m too aroused to become indignant.
“Do you have anything to cover nipples?” I ask breathlessly, looking around the office for miracle band-aids.
His lips quirk. “Besides my mouth, no.”
The man is impossible.
His smile slips. “But if I see any of my team leering at you, I’ll throw them out the window.”
“That’s not helpful,” I mutter, nerves bubbling in my belly. If I thought I was anxious before, now I have to do it in front of a man I just dry-humped.
“Hey,” he says softly, lifting my chin. “Whatever happens between us is separate from the project. You don’t need to worry about that. Do you trust me, Bonnie?”
I give a small shaky nod. “You’re still an asshole though to leave a girl hanging.”
“I am,” he agrees cheerily as he adjusts the massive monster tenting his pants without a shred of shame.
“And someone needs to go at you with a lawnmower,” I grumble. “I have first-degree beard burn now.”
He grins at me. “I’ll try to be gentler next time.”
There’s a next time.
I blow out a huge breath, placing my hand on my lower stomach to calm myself.
I’ve rehearsed this presentation a million times in the mirror. I even recorded an audio of myself doing it and added pauses to make it sound more authentic. I know what I’m going to say, how I will stand and what I’ll do with my hands. Everything is one hundred percent prepped.
But none of those dress rehearsals were with an aroused clit.
This is not good. I’m not wearing underwear; our most important client has rubbed me into oblivion and now I have to walk into a team of construction leads and talk about the plans for waste management of a factory.
I must look . . . fucked.