I curl my fingers inside her and press my thumb to her clit. The timing is perfect – Rose cries out and a second later, Emmy comes apart with a strangled gasp, grinding down onto my hand as the orgasm takes her. I lock my mouth onto hers, drinking in her sounds and tasting her as she comes undone.
She relaxes as the wave subsides, and I gently withdraw my fingers. Her gaze is wide with surprise and awe, and I hold it as I raise my hand to her lips. She opens and I gently push my fingers inside, letting her taste herself. She licks my fingers clean and gives me the most beautiful shy smile I’ve ever seen.
“Good girl,” I say, before pressing a kiss to her lips and claiming the taste of her back for myself. Our tongues tangle lazily as we soak in the moment and I don’t miss the way she shivers in my arms. It takes every ounce of willpower I’ve got to get my cock to calm down.
Tonight’s about Emmy, not me. I want her to feel safe to explore this side of herself, not beholden to trading orgasms tit for tat. I pull back slightly and she sighs against me, snuggling into me as a dreamy smile drifts over her face. The curtains fall on the scene in front of us, and we’re left in the semi-darkness as the other voyeurs gradually collect themselves and retreat back to the main bar. We sit like that for a few minutes, my brain exploding with the high of introducing Emmy to something new and my cock still aching. I’m just starting to think about suggesting another drink when I realise she’s gone perfectly still.
I glance down and realise she’s out cold, her cheek nestled against my chest, lips parted in the softest sigh. And just like that, I’m fucked. Not because of the sex, thoughJesus fucking Christ, the sex.
But because this woman just came on my hand in a room full of strangers and now she’s sleeping on me like I’m the safestplace in the world. I press my lips to the top of her head and breathe her in.
Yeah. Totally fucked.
She wakes around an hour later with a start, looking around as my suit jacket slides off her front and onto the floor. I carried her upstairs to my office and laid her down on my sofa, then spent the following hour pretending to work while watching her sleep.
I don’t know who the fuck I was kidding when I thought I could get involved with Emmy and keep it strictly physical. I’ve kept everyone at arm’s length for so long and now this curious, beautiful woman is threatening to break every boundary I’ve ever set.
“What time is it?” she croaks out, picking my suit jacket up off the floor and throwing it around her shoulders. My cock perks up at the sight of her in my jacket, at the casual way she claimed it for herself. She looks so good in my clothes.
“It’s around 11pm,” I reply, rising from my chair and making my way over to the sofa. I sit down next to her and she gives me a sheepish look.
“I’m so sorry I fell asleep. God, how embarrassing.” She covers her face with her hands and I gently pull them back away.
“Don’t apologise. You had a big night. You were worn out. I clearly did my job right,” I reply, giving her a reassuring smile.
“Just tell me I didn’t drool on your sofa,” she says, running a hand over the fabric as if looking for a wet patch.
“No drool but your snores are totally adorable.” I grin.
“I do not snore!”
“Yes, you do. But like I said, it’s a cute little snuffly noise so I’ll let you off.” I dodge her palm as she swats at me, faux indignant rage all over her face.
“Is this your office?” she asks, casting her eyes around the room. My large, mahogany desk is set towards the back of the room and there are bookshelves lining the walls on either side. The sofa is next to a large lamp, opposite my ensuite bathroom. The Peloton sits on the other side. It’s not a huge space but it’s cosy and suits me well, plus I know the sofa is comfortable having spent plenty of nights sleeping on it myself in Salt’s first few weeks.
“Yes,” I reply. “I practically camped out here as we were developing the building and turning what used to be an old townhouse into a den of iniquity. Or a ‘sex dungeon’ as one of the people who tried to protest our license called it.” I snort at the memory. Fortunately, we count a few very influential Westminster types among our founding members and the challenges were quashed rather rapidly.
She smiles. “I like it.”
Emmy looks like she belongs here. On my sofa. In my jacket. In a room I designed entirely for myself, she fits as if it was built for her. Christ.
She jumps off the sofa and goes to my bookshelves, which do largely hold books. However, there are a few discreet boxes here and there which storeotheritems. Some of which I’ve not had fun with in months. She traces the spines with her fingertips and I feel a wave of pleasure flow over me that has nothing to do with our little deal.
“Ulysses,MobyDick,AnnaKarenina…The Time Traveller’s Wife?” She pauses, raising an eyebrow at me.
“It’s a classic too. Just a different era,” I reply. She smiles.
“It’s one of my favourites,” she says softly, before returning to the shelves. “What’s in here?”
She indicates a wooden chest near the bottom and I feel a tiny adrenaline spike.
“Nothing for today,” I say, with a smirk. “A lesson for another day, if you fancy it.”
She gives me a bold smile and I already know I’d crawl over broken glass for this woman.
“Promises, promises, Mr Pullman.” We share eye contact for a moment longer, a playful tension palpable between us. “I’d better get going,” she adds, turning back to me.
“Of course,” I reply, rising to meet her.
