Page 19 of Untether

‘God—yes,’ I pant. He can have whatever he wants, because I’m gonna take as much as I can get from him. I’ll take whatever he’s offering—ice cubes. Fingers. The lot.

Then he’s hooking the scrap of fabric to one side, and itfeels like he’s ditched the ice cube, because all I can sense are his ice-cold fingers, and god, are they better.

‘Fucking hell, sweetheart,’ he groans. ‘You are slippery as fuck for me. Bloody hell, you feel amazing.’

As does he. Those icy fingers slide and probe. They part my soaking flesh, and I arch my back to give them as much access as possible. Then he sinks two fingers deep inside me as his thumb finds my clit, and he practically detonates me like that. Yeah, I’m slippery, like he said, but his fingers are calloused, and his strokes are deliberately rough, and the friction and the cold are such an excellent combination that I might shoot off this bench in pleasure.

I turn my head right as his mouth leaves my jaw to search for mine, and then he’s kissing me. He’s kissing me hard, hand abandoning my breast so he can shove his fingers through my hair and grab roughly at my neck. His tongue is just as decisive and probing as his fingers. He tastes like the Old Fashioned he’s drinking, smoky and aromatic, and he may just be the best thing I’ve ever tasted. I writhe in his arms, both my hands going to that thick, glorious hair of his as I hold him as close to me as I can.

And still, he works me. He ramps up the pace. The pressure. The friction. I’m in a total state from his dirty storytelling, but in this moment I’m not thinking of that mystery virgin and her three admirers, because this reality I’ve found myself in is so fucking glorious that I wouldn’t be anywhere else.

God, I’vemissedthis. I can’t recall a time I felt like this. I can’t recall it being so heady, so urgent, so carnal. Like I’ll die if this guy stops. Like I want him to swallow me whole.

I wish I were in a bed with him. I wish we were naked, and those epic fucking shoulders of his were bare, his biceps flexing as he ranged that huge body over me and fucked meinto oblivion. His kisses are that of a man who’s desperate, and I wish I could undo him right here, like he’s undoing me.

Our teeth crash. Our lips slide. His tongue rampages, and I hang on for dear life. His magical fingers thrust and rub and twist until I don’t know which way is up. Until I don’t know my own name, conscious only of my orgasm building in me like the sweetest swell of heat. He seems to tell I’m close—probably because I’m pushing against his fingers and moaning into his sinful mouth—because he kisses harder. Rubs harder. Thrusts harder.

As he holds my head in a vice and tongue-fucks me like an animal, the heat grows molten, and I break. I come shockingly hard, violently even, bucking against the protective shield of his body and grinding my greedy pussy against his fingers to take every last drop.

And he kisses me through it all.

13

CAL

‘So.’ Gen narrows her eyes at me across the large glass coffee table. ‘How did last night go?’

I plaster on my signature cocky grin. ‘Piece of cake.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah. We’re full steam ahead,’ I tell her, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee and allowing myself a sip of my Americano while I enjoy the look of surprise on her face.

I could tell after our meeting with Aida that Gen was concerned. Concerned we wouldn’t hit it off. That I wouldn’t be able to thaw Aida out. Well, she has absolutely nothing to worry about on that front.

I should know.

The others are watching me, hoping for a juicy tidbit to spice up our morning meeting, no doubt. They won’t get it from me.

‘Well?’ Rafe demands. ‘Spill.’

He’s a bossy bastard. He should know that shit doesn’t work with me.

‘Nothing to tell,’ I lie smoothly. ‘We had a few drinks and a good chat, and that’s that. We ironed out some details, brainstormed a few ideas. She’s going to get cracking on the format for the original interviews with Simone Salem, so I’m assuming we’ll hear from her when they’ve banged out a strategy.’

Simone Salem, another household name, is Aida’s colleague from the BBC and, apparently, her best mate. She’ll be in charge of interviewing Aida for the show, though Aida will interview most of the experts they bring on.

‘So nothing happened.’ He’s like a dog with a bone.

‘Nothing happened.’ I produce my trump card. ‘I came here afterwards, for fuck’s sake. Check the logs if you don’t believe me.’

These guys don’t need to know that the reason I shot over here like a scalded cat after putting Ms Russell—or is it still Lady Russell?—in a cab was precisely because something happened.

Shehappened.

Sucking her scarlet lower lip into my mouth.

Burrowing under that glossy, dark swing of hair to the sleek neck below.

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