‘Not a pervert,’ I mewl, ‘‘mmmnot the one using the toothbrush wrong.’
‘Wrong?’ he questions, tilting the brush the opposite way.
‘No!Nooo.That’s better.’ He tilts it back. ‘Yesss.. .that’sright.’
My fingers are like claws in his arms—if he moves, he’s going to pay. In moments, I’m panting and grinding as the handle slides wetly, tingling and vibrating, pushing me toward that unseen edge. Suddenly, it clatters to the floor, leaving me breathless but not quite done, my hands now fisted in his hair. I pull his head down and kiss him hungrily, a wet, tongue-sucking kiss. I pash him—kiss him passionately—not coming up for air.
‘Come back to bed,’ he whispers hoarsely, the words dripping with promise, an erotic fog enveloping us as real as the steam-filled room.
‘I need to go to work.’ My voice is a little breathless despite inhaling his words, not yet ready to relinquish his mouth.
‘All work and no play.’ He groans, his hands dropping to cup the swell of my arse.
‘Pays my bills,’ I gasp as he begins to lift me onto the vanity, my legs sliding wider. ‘I need to be responsible. My boss is a real hard-arse.’ He stills, peering at me through those liquor-lustre eyes. ‘I think he’d tie me to his desk, given half a chance.’
‘Are you enjoying getting to know him in a less than professional capacity?’ he purrs, his hips pulsing into mine.
‘Oh, yesss!Think I’m in for an amazing performance appraisal.’
‘Ah.’ He groans, hips retreating a touch. ‘You deserve a raise on the strength of your oral skills alone.’
At this I giggle, lowering my lashes in an exaggerated fashion, the lack of subtlety in the male form making a towel tent. ‘I think the performance indicator agrees.’
He joins my laughter, his rather smuttily, lowering his mouth to mine again.
I whisper his name as he presses into me, closing my eyes, without really considering closing my legs.
Restraint. I know I need some. Not to be in restraints, but a bit of self-control wouldn’t go amiss.
‘You’re sure you don’t want to be late?’ he whispers, taking the lobe of my ear between his teeth.
‘I can’t,’ I groan, without conviction, pushing back against him.
His fingers skim my wetness, breath leaving my body in a sigh. ‘Then this must be one of those things,’ he murmurs, kissing my cheek. ‘Things capable girls do for themselves.’ His hands fall away, his body following suit.
‘What?’ Dazed, I blink rapidly as he pauses, reaching the door.
‘I’ll leave you to finish that off,’ he says, ‘you being a capable girl and all that.’
And with that, he leaves me weak legged and willing, confused and clinging to the sink.
Entering the bedroom some time later, squeaky clean and as horny as all hell, Kai is seated inthe chair—though sprawls might be a better description—looking both heart-stoppingly handsome and incredibly louche. How he manages to look disreputable, I don’t understand, dressed as he is in his usual Saville Row affair; charcoal pants and a pristine white button down.I bet he rarely buys off the rack. Mobile to his ear and speaking Arabic, he smirks as I enter, making a lazy gesture to a luggage cart at the end of the bed.
The cart hangs heavy with garment bags. A whole new wardrobe, judging by the boxes of high-end shoes stacked at the bottom. A designer wardrobe, and not for him. I stare uncomfortably at the bags that seem to hang heavy with reproach.
He buys fuck-me heels so he gets to fuck me...in heels; which friend has the benefit here?
I jump with a start as his hand runs down the curve of my robe covered butt. Switching to English, his voice is quiet but ice cold.
‘Not possible.’ Reaching over my shoulder, he plucks one of the bags from the rack, lying it against my chest and letting go. ‘I must speak with her today... I don’t care.’ The bag slides down my chest a little before I wrap it in my arms, turning with a frustrated gesture.
Watching me, his conversation reverts to rapid-fire Arabic, guttural and hostile almost. With his eyebrows drawn together in censure, he indicates the bag in my arms. ‘Maa-i-khussni,’ he growls, ending the call, his eyes still on mine. ‘Not my problem at all.’ His eyes are wary as he places the phone down. ‘Well, dowehave a problem?’
‘I can’t wear this.’ I hold the bag out by the hanger.
‘Then choose another.’
‘No, I mean I can’t keep taking stuff from you. Clothes, cars. Favours.’
