Page 82 of The Reluctant Billionaire

With my cock.

But that’s not why I’m here.

I’m here forher.

‘Thanks, Ash,’ she says to the guy as she stands aside to usher me inside. ‘Hello, stranger,’ she says to me.

I stroll through, hands in my pockets. I’m absolutely thrilled to see that her office has walls and a door, both of which are completely opaque.

All the better to ravish her behind.

I close the door and turn the lock before pressing her up against it. Her hands go straight to my head, pulling at my hair as she guides my mouth to those beautiful, pouty lips. She’s fucking beautiful, and she seems as hungry for me as I am for her, which is a miracle. I cup her jaw with one hand and the underside of her breast with the other while busying myself with kissing off that lipstick.

God, she’s perfection. I use the hand on her jaw to tilt her head so I can lick and nip down that swanlike neck and inhale her gorgeous floral scent. Her hands are moving over my shoulders. Down my back.

‘How the hell are you in a three-piece suit?’ she gasps. ‘I left you looking like Mark Zuckerberg this morning in your t-shirt.’

‘I’ve got a few hanging in the office.’ I pause to kiss her collarbone. ‘I’ve got a meeting later and averyhot date tonight.’

‘Mmm,’ she says, arching into me. ‘Very hot. Yeah. You should wear this all the time.’

‘Not my favourite outfit in July.’

‘I get that. Just stay indoors. You look so gorgeous.’

I pull away and grin at her. That red lipstick is looking nicely smudged against her ripe, swollen lips. The buttons on her dress are a bit of a pain in the arse, but I can take them.

‘Why don’t you give me a tour of your office?’ I ask, stroking my fingertip gently down the slope of her adorably pert little nose. It makes her look younger, somehow. Her freckles are clearer, her skin more sun kissed, after spending most of the weekend by my pool.

‘With pleasure.’ She spreads her arms wide. ‘This is my office. Now I really want to get under that suit.’

I tut. ‘Not going to happen, sweetheart. I’m just here to service the boss. Are you her?’

‘I am.’

I lean in and lower my voice, taking her hand in mine. ‘Come with me, then. This your desk?’

‘Yes.’

‘This your chair?’

‘Yes.’

I hold out my hand. ‘Please, have a seat.’

‘Thank you.’ She sinks gracefully into the leather swivel chair and I look down at her, admiring the view.

‘This place suits you. It’s veryyou.’ I mean it. It’s an equally stylish but more colourful version of the lobby, with oversized arrangements of fresh flowers everywhere, stunning, hyper-feminine canvases in muted pinks and blushes, and a couple of blown-up building shots that look similar to the ones in the leather portfolios downstairs. Against one wall is a long sofa whose grey-green velvet looks a lot more luxurious than mine and reminds me of the colour and texture of the sage leaves in my garden.

‘I love it.’ She looks around the room, and I see pride and possession on her finely wrought features.

She’s earned this.

She’s worked her arse off for this office.

This is a microcosm of her kingdom, and she is its queen.

And what a fucking queen.

---