Page 9 of The Deal

“Can you point me toward your bathroom?” she asks, gesturing to the sticky mess down the front of her clothes.

Usually, I’d comply with a request like that, but I have other plans for this one.

I step forward and grasp hold of her hips, tugging her body closer. “I could,” I answer, gazing down at her, and again, her loveliness takes me aback.

I noticed her beauty the moment I saw her through the window downstairs, but up close … her flawless skin, full lips, whisky-coloured eyes that are flecked with chocolate brown, and the smattering of freckles that dot her cute, upturned nose are a lethal combination. Her face is free of makeup, but she doesn’t need it. She’s a natural beauty, and I love that. The women I usually bed are not only heavily made up but, more often than not, surgically enhanced.

“I had plans of cleaning you up another way,” I state.

She arches one of her sculpted brows. “With what? A garden hose?”

I chuckle at her response. “No, I had something better in mind.”

“That being?”

“My tongue.”

My hands slide down to her tight arse, palming each cheek in my large hands as my eyes flicker down to her mouth. I’m desperate to kiss those plump lips of hers, and I hate that she doesn’t want me to.

Instead, I lean in and place a soft kiss on her forehead. It’s an intimate move, which is something I’ve never done before, but I try not to overanalyse it. My lips are on her for the interim, so that’s all that matters.

Raising one of my hands, I fist her ponytail and twist it around my wrist, tugging slightly. I take a moment to stare at her mouth, again contemplating taking what I want. I’m not used to being told no, so it only makes me crave her kiss more. I’m more accustomed to pushing women to their limits than yielding to their expectations.

I bring my face down to her ear, sucking her lobe into my mouth and lightly biting on the fleshy part. “How does that sound?” I whisper.

“It … umm … sounds promising,” she breathes. It’s followed by a whimper when my tongue tracks a path along her jawline, giving her a taste of what’s to come. I like this woman; there’s something sexy yet endearing about her.

I’m grinning again, which isn’t something that happens often. I’ve been told more than once I’m more of a serious type—some might even call me brooding.

Releasing her, I step back and size her up from head to toe. My cock is still straining painfully behind the zipper of my trousers, so now that I have her blessing to take things further, it’s time to get this show on the road.

I’m curious to see how this night pans out, and I can only hope she lives up to the hype I’ve given her in my head.

I shrug out of my suit jacket and toss it over the back of the settee. Once my cufflinks are removed and shoved into my trouser pocket, I roll each sleeve of my dress shirt to the elbow.

My eyes remain fixated on her as she observes my every move … specifically my hands. Is she wondering how they are going to feel as they caress every inch of her tight body? Or maybe she’s imagining my fingers buried deep inside her.

Just the thought has a growl bubbling in the back of my throat, and precum leaking from my cock. I bet she’s already ripe and ready for me.

There’s only one way to find out.

I take a step towards her and raise my hands, fully intending to undo the buttons on her blouse, but my eagerness takes over as I grasp each lapel and tear it open instead.

She gasps when the buttons go flying, hitting the marble floor below with successive tings.

I lean back and admire my handiwork, my gaze taking in her spectacular tits that are practically spilling out of the plain cotton white bra she is wearing before skating down over her flat abdomen. She’s borderline too thin for my liking but still has curves in all the right places.

I’m so busy leering at her body that I completely miss the scowl she’s now sporting.

“The fuck,” she shrieks.

I casually lift one shoulder. “I’m an impatient man.”

“You’ve just ruined the only white blouse I own,” she says, squatting down to collect the buttons scattered around our feet.

And now I feel like a complete arsehole.

Reaching for her, I wrap my fingers around her upper arm. “Leave them,” I tell her. “I’ll replace the blouse … hell, I’ll buy you an entire new wardrobe if you want.”

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