My gaze rises, his meeting mine head-on. Electricity dances between us, the force almost tangible. The look, his words—it’s all a little shocking. A little exciting. And a lot sexy. He’s thinking about... does he want to gothere—literally.
All the throbs and tingles.
The skin of my throat starts to heat and prickle, and I know the flush will be visible, but as I stare up into his face, I can’t find it in me to care. All I can think is that he wants me, but not as a client—it’s not about the money. He made that clear at the bar.
But he dates women for cash, my mind whispers.Wines, dines, and—you know the rest.
But, God, imagine the experience. Imagine the wealth of his experience.
I expect he gets a tonne of repeat business.
A man who knows his way around a woman’s body. A fantastic fuck.
And don’t I at least deserve one fantastic night in my twenty-six years?
‘You’ve gone awfully quiet,’ he purrs, twirling me around the room.
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘You can start withyes, please, Will. Then maybe addharder, and then’—he bends his head to whisper the rest in my ear, and I physically convulse at the hard utterance of—‘fuck.’ The tendrils of anticipation are too hard to resist, and every inch of my body is ready to give in. ‘Fuck me, Will.’
‘I-I haven’t had sex in months.’ I’m not sure where the confession comes from. Or the untruth because it’s been more, ‘Like thirty-six months.’
Dammit.
My heart pounds in my chest, the room suddenly too hot. I try to pull away, pull from his arms, except he’s wrapped both around me, and they’re as tight as a vice. My body stiffens, terrified again—of rejection, of further hurt—as thoughts swim through my head, half formed and fully noxious.
I can’t face rejection twice in one night. I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be dancing with him, and I certainly shouldn’t be spilling my guts to the man who may or may not have been paid to fuck me.
And then I realise his lips are on my neck, and his hands are on my ass again...
‘Do you feel that?’ He pulls me against him, his long fingers holding it belongs to him. And let me tell you, it’s impossible not to feel.Not to imagine. ‘Your dry spell is about to come to an end. I’m going to fuck you so long and so hard you won’t be able to stand.’
Pulling back, he meets my gaze with a question. My answer isn’t from my head or my heart. It’s from someplace else entirely.
‘Yes.’ God, yes. ‘I like the sound of that.’
Chapter Seven
WILL
Taking her hand in mine, I pull her from the room.
‘What’s your hurry?’ she asks breathlessly as my long strides eat up the floor between the bar and the elevators. ‘Wait, I can’t run in these shoes.’
‘I’ll carry you if I have to, and shush, woman. I’m concentrating on a plan.’ A plan to devour her as soon as I can. Thirty-six months. How does that even work?
I push the call button and turn to her, a little too fast given how she jumps.
‘A room,’ I begin, but she’s already shaking her head.
‘Sir Lancelot—God knows what trouble he’ll cause if left alone.’
‘Arse.’ Her hand still in mine, I pull her to me. We’re both a little drunk, though barely beyond the first buzz. ‘I’d say we could book a room and stay just an hour or two, but I don’t think that’d be enough.’
‘You don’t?’ Her green eyes stare up at me, guileless. So trusting.Silly girl.
‘A couple of hours might be enough for me.’ I stare down at her. ‘But I suspect after your hiatus, once you get your claws into me, you won’t be satisfied until I’m left a husk of a man.’
