Page 42 of Unstitch

Maybe it’s just me. Maybe Anton’s reputation precedes him in the business world.

I don’t really care, because Max has walked up behind me and is sliding the straps of my sundress off my shoulders. It’s one of those long, boho ones made from a kind of white cheesecloth that looks like a baby’s muslin. It has elasticated smocking all across the chest and then flares out.

Basically, it’s very easy access.

He buries his face in my neck and inhales sharply against my hair. ‘Believe me, I didn’t invite you here to reminisce about your sister.’

‘No?’ I manage.

‘Nope.’ He winds an arm around my waist, tugging my back against his front.

‘If sending a young lady a text saying “Get over here and suck it”, in capital letters, I might add, is your way of inviting her over, then you might want to work on your etiquette. Maybe watch some Bridgerton.’

He laughs softly against my hair. ‘You’re not a lady. Or you won’t be by the time I’ve finished with you.’

‘Rude,’ I say with difficulty, because his hand has snaked up from my stomach to close over my right boob, and I really, really love the way he’s touching me.

‘I’ll watch it if you come over and watch it with me,’ he whispers. ‘No fucking way am I sitting alone in that godforsaken flat and watching some period drama.’

‘That’s a good idea. You might need me there to take the edge off for you. It’s very raunchy.’

He nips at my ear. ‘Sounds like a date, young lady. And you look fucking beautiful, by the way.’ His fingers flick at my nipple through the smocking, and I arch against him, but he removes his hand and backs away from me. I turn, pouting as he looks me up and down.

‘You should have a crown of wild flowers in your hair,’ he murmurs, reaching above me to grab the bookshelf and effectively caging me in as his gaze darts over my face. ‘You’re a beautiful, ethereal, untamed nymph. If I was a man of paint you’d be on every surface of every wall I own—I’d never get tired of trying to capture you.’

I stare up at him in astonishment. This man gives me whiplash. He orders me over to suck his dick and then spouts compliments Julia Quinn herself would swoon over. Who the hell does that? ‘Um, thank you,’ I say haltingly.

His grin turns wicked, and now I swoon, because that’s the Max I know and, um, lust after.

‘But I can’t paint for toffee,’ he drawls, pushing off the bookshelf and strolling over to his desk, ‘so, instead I’ll take a striptease and your very best blowjob, if you please.’

29

MAX

She goes slack-jawed with disbelief at my curveball and I mentally punch the air as I pull my heavy swivel chair away from my desk and take a seat. I make a show of settling into a comfortable position and shoot her a cocky grin.

‘Go on. I’m waiting.’

‘Such a twat,’ she mouths, but I can tell by the heat in her glare that she wants this, too.

‘What’s your point?’ I ask. ‘Get on with it, for God’s sake.’

She reaches for the top of her flimsy little sundress. I already know she’s not wearing a bra—the weight of her tit, full and heavy through the fabric told me that. I could flip the top down in a second and have both tits untethered, but it’s also deeply gratifying to have Darcy expose herself for me.

She doesn’t flip it, instead tugging at the sides and dragging it down her body. She shimmies a little as she pulls it over her hips, and then it’s falling to the ground in a soft white cloud that she neatly side-steps.

‘What an obedient girl you are,’ I drawl in a voice dripping with sarcasm, because we both know no one in their right mind would call Darcy obedient. ‘Is that a thong? Give me a look.’

She smiles and twirls around slowly, her arms floating above her head in a way that recalls that wonderful dance she gave me, hips swaying slightly as she moves. I adore everything about this woman, but most of all I adore how utterly unselfconscious she is in her own skin. Her thong is white and flimsy, intersecting that creamy expanse of hip and arse in a way that makes me want to go over there and tug it in two.

But after I ruined her custom-made bodystocking, she made me promise not to ravage her clothes or I wouldn’t get nice things. So I behave myself.

‘Off,’ I grunt. ‘Then get over here.’

She spins back around to face me and shoots me a dazzling smile. I swear, I wasn’t joking about that flowery headdress bullshit. She looks like a pre-Raphaelite nymph come to life, and I am powerless to resist her siren’s song.

The powerlessness of my resistance is now manifesting as a rock-fucking-hard cock, so I lean back in my seat and unbuckle my belt. I need to stick it in some part of her glorious body without delay.

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