Page 82 of The Naughty List

Hollyneeds to get in the zone.

He stares up at me and I stare down at him. What the hell am I supposed to say?

I clear my throat, give hm a little nod. “You may stand,” I tell him and he smiles at that, rising to his feet and bowing his head in return.

“Please, this way,” he says and leads me through to his living room.

I find a rich burgundy chaise longue waiting there ready for action, right in the middle of the room. It has gold cushions that I fluff up beside myself before I take a seat. It’s quite a majesty.

“May I offer you a drink?” he asks.

“Yes, please. I’d love one.”

“And what can I get for you? I have everything. Tea, coffee, juice, spring water.” He pauses. “And the very best champagne…”

I know what he wants me to take from him.

“I’d love a champagne, please. Thank you very much.”

His whole face lights up, like I’ve granted him a favour, and I want to giggle because it’s so damn cute to watch him dash through the double doors into the kitchen. He uncorks the bottle in a flash, but only pours one glass.

“Are you not having one?” I ask when he arrives back, but he shakes his head.

“No, Miss Holly, this bottle is all for you.” He hands the glass over, and takes the flowers from my side. “I’m sorry, I should put these in water, so they are fresh for you later.”

“That’s no problem.” I raise my glass to him. “Cheers, and thank you.”

We’re both watching each other as he wanders back through to the kitchen and puts my flowers in a vase.

I get another set of prickles at the way he’s so devout with his attention. He’s staring at every move I make, from the way my fingers hold the stem of the champagne glass, to the way I take a sip and swallow. He heads over to me slowly once the flowers are safe, then drops to his knees on the floor by my legs. Veryup close and personalindeed.

That movement of his changes everything. The atmosphere morphs and heavies, and the want in the room feels almost palpable, it’s so thick. User 3267 reaches his hands up as though he wants to touch me, but they hover in mid-air, dithering.

“You can do it,” I tell him. “You can touch as well as look. You have permission.”

“Thank you.”

He wasn’t joking in his proposal when he said he likes feet. He peppers my toes with kisses through my leather sandal straps, almost delirious as he tells me how grateful he is. There is such fervour there already, my heart starts to race, thumping so fast I feel dizzy.

Eb was right.

I realise I’ve been an idiot to dismiss this kind of fantasy so easily – treating it like a spa visit, and not like a man who truly wants to worship a woman as a goddess in human form.

Time to get with it, and get myself in line.

I put down my champagne on the floor, and hitch my dress up, revealing my calves just an inch at a time.

His fingers are so gentle as he runs the tips up my skin. They give me goosebumps, and so does his mouth as he follows his tickles with kisses.

I’m already squirming when he reaches one of my knees.

“Want to see more?” I ask, and he nods.

“Please. Show me whatever you’re willing to grant me.”

That’s easy, since I’m willing to grant him everything.

He gasps as I stand up from the chaise longue and pull my dress up and over my head. His gaze soaks in the mottled purple and green of my thighs

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