“Do you like the idea of someone watching us?” I ask.
She doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
She shifts underneath me, and I gently pull out of her, feeling our cum trickle out of her the moment I pull out.
I set her down gently on the floor, supporting her elbow to ensure she’s stable. She straightens her dress, and I watch in awe as tiny, wet droplets fall to the floor. An animalisticpossessiveness claws its way up my spine when I see both of us mixed together, dripping out of her.
Good, now Harrington will know exactly who she belongs to.
The double doors burst open and Natalie rushes through.
“Ms. Clarke, Mr. Browne,” she says, her cheeks flushed. “Did you find any pieces you might like to display? I can start the paperwork.”
Her eyes flick around the room before locking on the slightly crooked frame on the wall behind Gemma—askew from what we just did. She freezes; her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Like she wants to speak but can’t quite form the words.
I smirk to myself. I wonder ifshewas watching.
I slip my hands into my trouser pockets, in a far better mood than I was when we first arrived. “We’ll take all of them.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Gemma
Max:The design team loves the collection. Well done, Clarke.
I smile as I reread the message, a surge of pride blooming in my chest. Of course they love it. The art was a bloody good idea.
We completed the paperwork for Alexander’s collection before leaving his estate.
At least Max seemed to have worked out some of his caveman frustration by the time Alexander finally rejoined us, thank God. I’m glad he humped his frustration out, because I thought he was going to cock his leg and pee on me if Alexander flirted one more time. I didn’t take Max to be the jealous type; I’d guessed he’d be the opposite. Turns out he’s quite the territorial alpha male, and I don’t mind it one bit. He just gets dirtier and dirtier.
My fingers dance across the screen as I type my reply.
Me:Do I get a reward?
Three dots appear.
Max:Only if you’re a good girl tomorrow night.
Tomorrow night. Dinner.
A tickle develops low in my gut, and I catch myself smiling at his text. Is that excitement? Or am I just horny? I can’t tell.
The sound of my doorbell buzzer causes me to jump. “Every single time,” I mutter, clutching my chest.
I pad over to my window, peering out at the street below where the postman has already hurried off, leaving a small, innocuous-looking parcel by the building entrance.
Speaking of being horny, that must be my butt plug.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I snatch the parcel and head back inside, tearing into the wrapping as soon as my arse hits the seat.
The product packaging is sleek and black, wrapped in a pretty pink bow. I unravel the ribbon and flick the lid off the box, revealing the glistening jeweled butt plug tucked into its soft, purple silk box.
“Well, hello there,” I murmur, lifting the plug from its cushioning.
It’s slightly heavier than I expected, stainless steel with a jeweled end that catches the light, casting colorful prisms across the opposite wall.
“This is far too pretty to stick up my arse,” I say to myself.
