Page 33 of The Rebel

‘I’m good.’

‘Great, because I’m too ravenous to share. Here’s the plan. I’m going to shovel this ravioli and strawberry parfait into my mouth as fast as humanly possible, then I’m going to do some work.’

‘But what if you feel like sorbet after eating all that?’

His tone is silky smooth, rippling over me like a caress. My skin pebbles into tiny goose bumps and my nipples harden to tight peaks, immediately drawing his gaze.

‘Some of your ice-cream cones seem to have a cherry on top,’ he says, with a wicked smirk.

I laugh and he joins in. ‘Okay, you can stay.’

‘Good.’ His eyes darken as they sweep over me. ‘Because you’re not the only one with a sweet tooth and I have a sudden hankering for some ice-cream.’

Heat flushes my cheeks as I remember exactly how good he is at licking. ‘You know, we’ve never had sorbet in bed. It might be fun.’

‘That’s what I’m thinking.’

He’s thinking a lot more than that by the lascivious glint in his eyes.

I swoon a little. I’m light-headed from hunger. My excuse and I’m sticking to it.

‘Eat,’ he commands and I do as I’m told while he slouches on my sofa and flips through the magazines on the coffee table.

The ravioli is divine, succulent slivers of Moreton Bay bugs encased in handmade pasta and covered in white wine sauce. The deconstructed parfait is just as good, with strawberries, meringue, cream, lemon curd, and a berry coulis artfully arranged on a triangular white plate.

Only when I’m done do I glance up to find him watching me, his gaze riveted to my mouth.

‘What? Do I have something on my lip?’

‘Not yet, but you’re about to.’

He launches himself off the sofa and I yelp, pushing back from the trolley and skittering around the work desk. The villa isn’t small but it’s not built for chasing either and I’m soon cornered by a big, hulking, brute of a man with one thing on his mind.

Luckily it’s the same thing that’s on mine.

‘I know a good way to work off that meal,’ he says, leaning forward to brush a kiss across my cheek.

His lips are like a feather grazing my skin, barely there but making me shiver with the slightest touch. He trails butterfly kisses along my jaw towards my ear.

‘By the way, that blowjob blew my mind,’ he whispers, flicking my lobe with his tongue so his warm breath fans it and makes me bite down on my bottom lip to stop from whimpering. ‘You give great head.’

‘So do you,’ I manage to say. It comes out a high-pitched squeak as he places his hands on my waist and lightly guides me towards the bed.

I’m taking mincing steps backwards but he’s not in any hurry, every step punctuated by a kiss: on the point of my shoulder, on my collarbone, on my jaw.

It’s pure exquisite torture because I want that talented mouth on me in other, more sensitive areas.

The backs of my knees hit the bed and he steadies me when I fall backwards.

‘These really are very cute,’ he says, plucking at the hem of my pyjama top.

‘Wouldn’t you prefer sexy?’

‘What’s underneath is all the sexy I need.’ He tugs at the hem and peels the top off, his gaze zeroing in on my breasts. ‘Oh yeah, so fucking sexy.’

I don’t move because I sense he wants to take this slow, and I’m rewarded when he places his hands on my shoulders and slides them lower. Over my biceps, my elbows, my forearms. He reaches my hands and covers them with his, then guides them towards my breasts.

‘I want to see you do this.’

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