18. Ethan
Ethan
I’ve never pressed an intercom button so fast.
‘Detour,’ I bark at my driver, looking wildly out of the window to get my bearings. ‘Take us to the Kingsley Westminster.’ Our newest hotel—the one where we met—and also, critically, the closest to our current location.
Sophia withdraws her hand from my thigh and collapses back in her seat. When I look over, her smile is that of the cat that got the cream.
Not yet, sweetheart. But you’re going to.
Let’s just see if you can walk afterwards.
We sit in charged silence until the car pulls up under the porte-cochère and two valets promptly open our doors.
I take Sophia by the hand and march her through the lobby, its cool serenity instantly soothing me.
This really is a compelling new addition to our portfolio as well as a welcome reminder that we’re very, very good at what we do here at Kingsley.
‘Mr Kingsley!’ the blonde at the reception desk exclaims when she spots me. ‘Were we expecting you, sir?’
‘Which suites are empty?’ I demand, ignoring her question. It’s none of her business. ‘Is the Jubilee free?’
‘I—um—yes, I believe it is. Give me a moment, please.’ She glances from me to Sophia and down at her monitor. ‘Yes, it is. Will you be requiring it?’
‘Yes. Just for the afternoon.’
I couldn’t make it clearer that I’m about to take Sophia up there for a quickie, but no matter. All I care about is getting this woman naked and on a bed, and ideally in the next two minutes. Now that I’ve decided to go down this road, the blinkers are on.
‘Of course. Can I send up any—’
‘Nope. Just the key card.’ This gossip will be all over the break room by the end of the day, I’m sure, but I don’t care. I hold out my hand, causing her to fumble as she activates the card.
When I have it in my hand, I waste no time in getting Sophia into the lift. As soon as we’re alone, I walk her backwards until her back hits the wall. I put a hand out and close it over the front of her neck, my grip light but proprietary.
I stare down at her. I like my fingers around her neck. I like the way she’s looking up at me, her cherry-red mouth parting as her tits heave under their silk.
‘My God,’ she says softly. ‘You really are good at delayed gratification, aren’t you?’
‘I’m very good at it.’
Her lips curve up into a little smile. ‘What are you going to do with me?’
I shrug. Now that I have her here, it’s simple. ‘Everything.’
‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep, okay? It’s not fair.’
‘I would never.’ As I hold her in place, I skim the fingertips of my opposite hand down the gauzy fabric of her sleeve. ‘You are a very beautiful woman.’
Her face softens. My admission has pleased her, I think. How can that be? How can a woman who looks and acts like Sophia does be in the slightest bit uncertain about my attraction to her?
‘I was beginning to wonder if you’d noticed that I was a woman at all. You certainly haven’t been getting your money’s worth.’
My fingers drift over her bicep to her breast as if of their own accord, and she shivers as I graze her nipple.
‘Believe me, I’ve noticed. You’re far too beautiful to be safe. Hiring you was the most self-indulgent thing I’ve done in a very long time.’
‘Until now. A whole afternoon of doing whatever you like to me.’
I frown as I flex the hand I’m using to collar her. ‘We said an hour.’
She laughs. ‘An hour won’t be nearly enough.’
She’s right. She’s so fucking right. An hour won’t even scratch the surface of what I want to do to her.
The lift comes to a halt, the doors opening on the top floor. There are only two penthouses up here, right below the roof terrace where I first met Sophia, and the Jubilee is the most desirable, with its breathtaking views of the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Bridge.
I’m under no illusions that Sophia is easily impressed. She was born into obscene wealth and has been gallivanting around the Med with Thaddeus Karavitis for the past few years, after all. Still, the soft gasp she makes as we enter the suite and the iconic view hits us is gratifying.
‘Fuck, I love this city.’ She makes a beeline for the bank of French doors leading out onto the terrace. ‘Look at that! How the hell you got planning permission for this place, I will never understand.’
The answer to that is that my father greased palms while I committed to all kinds of extortionate conservation budgets for Westminster Cathedral. I love this city as much as Sophia does, love the sheer, unapologetic splendour of these majestic buildings that provide a home for our government.
But, right now, my eyes are fixed on one perfect sight—and it’s not Big Ben. It’s the spot of crimson in this sea of neutrals, the woman whose sensual curves make it impossible to look at anything else.
I slide my hands into my pockets as I take her in. ‘Come here.’
SOPHIA
I turn away from the panorama to the man standing in the middle of this sumptuous suite.
Ethan Kingsley. Anally retentive billionaire CEO, emotionally inadequate father, probably badly traumatised son, and a beautiful, beautiful man. Finally, finally, I’m alone with him, properly alone, in a room that presumably has an actual bed—not that I’ve spotted the bedroom yet.
He’s standing perfectly still, a commanding figure with his hands in his pockets, and he’s watching me with precisely the level of ravenous need I’ve wanted from him for the past week.
I cross the thick white expanse of carpet, not stopping until I’m close enough for him to sling an arm around my waist and tug me flush against him. And then his other hand is gripping the back of my neck, and he’s lowering his lovely, frowning face to mine, and Jesus. About bloody time.
His kiss is hard and hungry and unyielding.
There’s no easing into it. His lips may be supple, but they’re relentless over mine, his tongue licking along the seam of my mouth, seeking access.
I open for him immediately, and he plunges inside my mouth, fucking it with the kind of entitled assurance that makes me want his tongue between my legs right now.
Ethan hasn’t just held back on me this past week.
He’s made me hold back on him, too. So if he’s going to unleash himself, I’m damn well going to go for it.
I slide one hand over his perfectly broad shoulder and clamp the other one to the back of his head, my fingers buried in his soft hair, so I can really kiss him back.
And I do. I go for it, letting my lips slide against his and my tongue entangle with his, matching him beat for beat.
He groans a little inside my mouth, a sound so full of defeated delight that it has my pulse ratcheting up, and grabs my bottom, pulling me even closer. He’s hardening already, and it toughens my resolve, because I will get this man naked today if it kills me.
‘Dress. Off,’ he says against my lips before kissing me again, and I immediately reach behind to get the top of my zip undone while simultaneously trying to keep my mouth glued to Ethan’s.
I fail spectacularly.
‘You do it.’ I spin around and tug my hair over one shoulder, giving him access.
Deftly, he pulls the zip all the way down before pressing his mouth to my shoulder and snagging the skin between his teeth.
He doesn’t stop there but kisses and licks a line towards my neck.
I get the impression he wants to gorge on every single inch of my body today.
He turns me back around and pushes the top of my dress down so it’s pooling around my waist, then he’s gathering me up in another all-consuming kiss, his hands roaming everywhere: sliding over my back and tangling in my hair and grabbing my bottom.
I allow myself to melt into the sensation of being devoured by him.
I called it during that first interview.
The appeal of this guy is that he is so disinterested, so disengaged, that when he really wants you, his focus feels chemically addictive.
Like it’s lighting you up from the inside.
It’s funny to think that he’s already fucked various parts of me several times, yet all I want is to be naked on a bed with him. Vanilla as fuck, but there you go.
He holds my neck in a firm grip as he uses one hand to shove my dress down over my hips.
As soon as it hits the ground, I step out of it.
I’m in crimson lace underwear today—it’s Dolce and Gabbana, like my dress—with a full suspender belt and nude stockings.
Even I couldn’t justify staying bare-legged any longer in this shitty weather.
He presses his forehead to mine and glances down my body, his hands going to my bare waist. ‘Fuck me. I don’t know where to fucking start.’
‘We are starting,’ I say sweetly but firmly, ‘with you getting naked. I need it. You’ve been hiding yourself away all week, and I’m done waiting.’
That gets me a pained laugh. He straightens up and fixes me with his CEO Look.
It’s a sexier version of the look he gave Miles and Charles Montague earlier when they were pushing back on his proposed job cuts.
He really is disgustingly handsome. ‘Let’s not forget who’s calling the shots here. Or paying your salary.’
‘So tell me what to do, why don’t you?’
His eyes linger on my breasts in their decadent Italian lace. ‘Loosen my tie and take it off.’
‘Yes, sir.’ He’ll see how good I can be, how obedient. I’ll have him wanting to drag me off to one of his lovely hotels every single lunchtime.
I put his collar up and loosen the tie, taking it off over his head.
‘Unbutton my shirt.’