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Her legs begin to tremble, her response little more than a needy rasp.
‘Five.’ Her hips jerked, reckless and vulnerable.
‘Higher,’ I demand. ‘And you can do the maths. Add your misdemeanours up.’
‘The math,’ she corrects. ‘Not plural.’ Her forehead creases as she prepares her answer. ‘Five for throwing toast and five for insulting your choice in radio.’
‘And five for making my breakfast go cold. And another five for using the wordmathwrong.’ She opens her mouth to protest, closing it again as I cut her off. ‘And a forfeit. You’ll make breakfast again, afterwards. Entirely naked.’ As I stand, I remove my hand, sliding it to her hip to turn her around. ‘And because you want this too much, I won’t use my belt, I’ll use my hand instead.’
My arms around her waist, I begin loosening her jeans from behind. She trembles so hard, I worry her legs might give way. Jeans and underwear at her knees, I place a hand between her shoulders, bending her body down across the table as I sweep the breakfast dishes away.
Her head on her hands, she stares out of the window as I slap her arse. We’ll call it a warm-up.
‘Don’t forget to keep count.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
LOUISE
‘Louise, those projections are in. I dropped them off upstairs, and I can tell you they’re none too happy about the figures.’
‘They need to take off those rose-tinted glasses.’
I hadn’t meant to answer her, other than to offer the blandest of deflections. Barbara has to be the most indiscreet PA I’ve ever known. But she’d caught me off guard, lost to my thoughts. Okay, dirty thoughts. I was busy replaying the highlights of yesterday through my mind.
My core flares as I recall my hipbones grating against the table with each thud of his hand. They’re still a little sore today, to be honest. The sting in my cheeks eased when he placed both palms against me as he’d bent to kiss my ass. The sensation of his fingers trailing my ear as he’d gathered the hair draping my face. The flare of absolute need as he’d knotted it hard at the base of my skull. The deliciousness as he’d pushed inside slowly, push against pull as he held my hips and my hair.
He’d taken me slowly—he’d had to. There hadn’t been much leverage due to my position and clothes. Somehow, this had added to my desperation and the taint of hurried dirtiness sitting at the edge. Recalling the slow sensation of him behind me—filling me, taking me—sent waves of remembrance between my legs.
Taken. What a cliché, but taken me he had, further and further down into the seductive rabbit hole until I’d come hard. Bent across the table with my jeans and panties pulled tight and digging into my open legs.
And afterwards, as Dan helped me stand, I’d taken his face in my hands and kissed him. We’d never reached the bedroom, fighting each other through our kisses and falling hard against the sofa. Fierce kisses turned to tenderness, and we’d fallen asleep, almost curled around each other like a pair of cats. For a little while, at least.
Back in the office, I come back to my senses, wet, my ears hurting due to Barb’s excited squeal.
‘You’re thinking about a man, aren’t you?’ The delight in her voice is obvious even without the screech.
‘What? No!’ I begin immediately. ‘I was thinking about the projections.’ And I was, but not the work kind.
‘Oh, have you a beau? Will we meet him at the McCartney opening? Just wait till I tell the girls! We thought...well, you know...’ Her words trail off as she caught herself.
‘No, I don’t think that I do know.’ Fleetingly, I wonder why I was even asking. Who cares what they thought? But all of a sudden I’m determined to discover what Barb meant.
‘Well, you’ve no man. A powerful job...’ Barb moves her hands in a weighing motion. ‘No interest in the lovely single men working here. And, well, you’re just so...masculine.’
‘Masculine?’I repeat, shock colouring my tone. Fucking hell. Barb is right. As in, hers is a name that fits perfectly. Why am I surprised? I’ve heard her barbed gossip before.
‘Well, not exactly masculine,’ she wheedles. ‘But not exactly feminine, either. Dominant!’ she exclaims as though she’d only just located the word.
I almost laugh... almost. ‘It’s called professionalism.’ My voice matches how I suddenly feel.Ice-cold. I know my reputation precedes me unfairly. I’m considered a bit of a cold fish, perhaps even a little unfriendly because of how I’ve chosen to conduct myself. I’d also been labelled the Ice Queen, but that had to be sour grapes and bruised egos, because the gibe had come from a man.
It seemed my own sex had now joined in the fun.
‘So,’ I begin, ‘are you going to tell me what people think or do I have to run a poll?’
‘Well, it only... see, people assumed you were, you know, batting for the other side?’
This time I do laugh, not sure about batting, but I was battered, all right. For pleasure. But gay?
