Page 2 of Captured Fantasy

I ran a hand over my temple to smooth a stray hair and washed my hands. I was feeling less claustrophobic now that I wasn’t boxed in by people. And the air conditioning in the bathroom worked a hell of a lot better up here. Not ready to leave my hiding place, I soaked the towel again and laid it over the back of my neck and leaned against the sink.

Last night had been hours of frustration that set me up for the mood I was in today. Amadeo and I had waited on the wharf for three hours only to find out the missing product had been delivered to the wrong territory. That entailed us driving an hour both ways to pick it up and an extra thirty minutes to ensure it was processed.

Getting ditched by the girl at the bar hadn’t helped my mood.

I was still antsy and in the back of my mind, I wondered how tasteless it would be to try and fuck one of the girls behind the bar downstairs. They were both pretty, although I preferred brunettes. For a moment, I stood swishing my scotch in circles before emptying my glass.

Still a little damp, I put my shirt and jacket back on. Just as I turned to leave the room, the door on the other side opened and a woman walked through. She was rubbing something on her hands, some kind of cool scented lotion. She didn’t notice me for a moment. I froze as she looked up and let out a gasp, her hand going to her chest.

For a moment, I was speechless as we stared at one another. There was an air of elegance in the way she stood there, balanced on her black heels. She wore a black dress that hugged her body, just reaching her knees, with long, transparent sleeves. The hands she clasped together were slender with trimmed nails and square tips. They were feminine, but capable, as if she was used to working with them.

She had light beige skin with the faintest trace of freckles over her nose. Her features were striking, her nose structured with a little curl to her nostrils that I found incredibly sexy. Medium brown hair framed her face in soft curls, hanging just past her shoulders. Her mouth was delicate and tinted with the faintest trace of rose lipstick. The eyes that rested on me were an arresting shade of bluish purple.

Everything came together to create an elegant woman just coming into her prime. If I had to guess, she probably had at least seven or eight years on my twenty-three. My dick twitched and I shifted my leg to conceal the half-erection growing in my pants.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice soft.

“I just needed a moment, it’s crowded downstairs,” I said.

She nodded, her delicate mouth curving a little at the corners. Who was she? I studied her brashly, my eyes dragging over the curve of her pretty breasts, the faintest traces of cleavage visible.

Judging by her looks, she wasn’t part of the outfit. Most likely she was the housekeeper or she worked for the catering company. Either way, she was fair game. Maybe this was the universe trying to correct my terrible evening and give me an opportunity to turn today around.

“What are you doing up here?” I asked, crossing my arms and leaning back against the wall.

She folded her hands in front of her slender waist. “Making sure everything is in order, I suppose.”

So she was the housekeeper then. I pushed off the wall and moved closer and she took a step back toward the doorway. In a lightning fast movement, I reached behind her and pushed the door shut, backing her against it. Bracing the heel of my hand above her head, I bent close and brushed my mouth against her throat. She smelled extraordinary.

“Are you looking for something?” I murmured.

Her mouth fell open and those hooded eyes fastened on mine. The air between us was thick with tension. All of the sexual frustration from the night before returned in full force and I hardened fully, my cock pressing against the zipper of my pants. There was something about her that felt like pure electricity and it drew me in, holding me.

She swallowed and her lips parted. Her gaze fell to my mouth. My God, I didn’t want her—I fucking needed this woman. The part of my brain that felt like I should be a gentleman told me to back away.

The other part, the dark underbelly of my desire, wanted to ruin the perfect purity of her. She looked like she’d never let go in her life, like no one had bothered to ruin her hair and makeup while she whimpered with pleasure.

“This is highly inappropriate,” she whispered.

I shrugged. “Yes, it is. Would you like me not to touch you?”

She shifted her hips against the door and her lips tightened. Now that I was up close, she looked a little fragile. Her slender throat bobbed as she swallowed and I dropped my gaze, lingering on the faint freckles over her collarbone.

Her throat was so small I could have wrapped my hand around most of it. I bit back a quiet groan, mentally scolding myself for being this horny at a repast.

She was as perfect as that fine set of dishes in the glass cabinet downstairs, all set up with frosted glasses. A secret thrill went through me at the thought of what she might look like on her back, her soft waves tousled and her thighs spread open for me. She was probably wet beneath her tight skirt.

“You never answered me,” I said.

“About being touched?” Her eyebrow rose a little.

The way that word left her mouth had me throbbing. Without bothering to hear the rest, I sank down to my knees in front of her black heels. Her ankles were slender and they curved up to the delicate back of her knees, marked with blue veins and light freckles. When I pushed my fingers up beneath her skirt, shifting the material up her thighs, she let her head fall back and her eyes closed.

“Who are you?” she asked breathlessly.

“Just one of the outfit, not important. Are you married?”

I might be a bastard, but I didn’t fuck around with married woman. Everyone needed a few lines they weren’t willing to cross.

---