Page 16

JENNA

There’s a tearing sound as Geordie’s long fingers grapple with the lace. I pull away, staring down at the tiny white puddle on the floor. I was rather fond of that one—pretty and expensive, too—but it’s too late now. It’s history.

“Geordie,” I yelp out.

“Christ, sorry,” he says, releasing me. A rueful grin, so reminiscent of the boy I knew, breaks across his flushed face. “You did say I could do anything I want.” He huffs out a laugh like he’s not at all sorry.

“Yeah, although I didn’t imagine that would involve destroying my underwear,” I tease.

“Oh, believe me, it’s not only underwear I’m going to destroy tonight.” His eyes darken and his voice drops back to that deep baritone, all man, nothing boyish in the promise. “You wanna get rid of mine, too?” He flicks a finger at his waistband, pulling it out teasingly, and I almost groan at the thought of uncovering what lies beneath, very evident in the solid bulge.

I nod, suddenly a little shy, but I don’t hesitate, sliding the boxer briefs off his narrow hips, down those muscular legs to his ankles where he steps out of them. He pauses, as if to allow me a moment to admire him, and shamelessly, I do.

Oh, I’ve seen it all before. With the Highlanders, I usually kept out of the locker room, but occasionally I’d arrive unannounced on some urgent mission. The boys were mostly quick to cover up, respectful, understanding I was there doing my job not to ogle them, but sometimes I’d catch an eyeful. Some pants-less and towel-less rugby player, not the least bit modest, standing unashamedly with all his junk on full display, as if challenging me to look down or to flinch away. I’d maintain professionalism—eyes up, locked on faces—carrying on as if I wasn’t actually speaking with a naked man.

Tonight, I’m going to savour the beauty of an unclothed Geordie MacDonald standing in the middle of my hotel suite, dominating the space. He’s tall, although slightly less than ideal for a flanker—around six-foot, maybe six-one—and long-legged, like a young thoroughbred. My eyes rove up the length of him, taking in the lean muscle, lingering on the large erection, prominent in amongst a nest of golden hair. I swallow at the thought of taking that thickness and length inside me.

I follow the line of hairs upwards, narrowing where it’s flanked by taut abs, before bursting into springy curls between well-developed pecs. His broad shoulders and powerful upper body speak of dedication. Amateur player or not, he trains seriously.

I suck in a breath. The realisation I’ve surrendered control to him fires heat between my legs.

He advances with determination, one hand at my waist, another prowling around my neck, insisting my body meet his. He draws me in, crushing my breasts against his firm chest; the peaked nipples pebbled against my skin, and pressed to my belly, the hard length of him rearing up between us. I shiver in anticipation, want raging inside me like a firestorm. My hands, looped behind his neck, urge him forward, desperate for him to devour me with another kiss.

With mouth locked on mine, lips insistent, tongue probing, he edges me backwards across the room, leading me like his dance partner. As energy rises between us, a sharp current lighting up my every nerve ending, our pace quickens—a slow waltz transforming into a dramatic tango. My veins pulse and there’s an aching burn in my centre. I’m immersed in him, drunk with the taste of his tongue, intoxicated by his smell, the musk of his arousal blending with the freshness of aftershave, and the pressure of his body enveloping me as we stumble and whirl.

Then with an unexpected bang, there’s a sudden press of wood behind my thighs. We’ve come up hard against a desk, but Geordie immediately turns this obstacle into an opportunity, sweeping off a notepad lying there, thrusting a chair aside. He clasps my bum, giving it an appreciative knead, before lifting me onto the desktop.

“You know what, Jenna? I’m going to fuck you on this desk,” he growls. “But first, spread wide for me, sweetheart.”

He gives me a light shove, and I do as he demands, leaning back, thighs opening before him. I feel wetness erupt between my legs as he gazes down at me, licking at his lips, tongue flickering lazily, as if in contemplation of its next move.

It’s the only warning I get before his mouth is on me. Starting at one nipple, he taunts it, while one long finger plunges inside me, the thrust rocking me backwards. I moan as my muscles grab around it, seeking the pressure. He responds with a second finger, twisting and curling to find the perfect spot, leaving me grinding against his hand, writhing in pleasure, as his thumb circles my clit. I’m already chasing the sensation, arching to press closer.

One strong arm wraps around my waist, holding me in place, suspended. The splayed fingers say ‘I’ve got you, I won’t let you fall’.

His mouth leaves my heated nipples and slides down my stomach. He kneels before me, as if I’m a queen, him my willing subject. But the roles are reversed here—he’s giving the orders, and it totally turns me on. Geordie nips at me, teeth first teasing the crease above my hipbone, then moving to my thigh, deliciously inching closer to the place where I’m most desperate for his touch.

His mouth descends on my clit, replacing his thumb with an exquisite mixture of licking and sucking, as if he’s devouring me. Hands braced on the table, I lean back further, opening my body to him. He hums with satisfaction as I lose control, my voice no longer my own. The feral yowls and mewls only encourage him further. Every time I open my eyes, it’s as if Geordie knows, and his gaze flickers up to me. Without missing a beat of what he’s doing with his mouth and hand, his eyes are dreamy, as if spellbound.

The heady combination of rhythmic thrusting fingers and relentless mouth ignites my body. I climb higher and higher, my back perfectly arched, ready to dive off the cliff. Finally, I plunge over the edge, allowing a shuddering orgasm to rock me to the core, before I collapse boneless and weak, with only Geordie’s arm preventing me from sprawling across the desktop.

Still panting from the rippling waves of sensation, I open my eyes. Geordie’s blue-grey ones watch me with a satisfied smile as he withdraws his fingers with a slick, wet sound. I wince slightly, my muscles still clenched so damn tight, reluctant to release the hand that’s coaxed so much pleasure from them. He raises his fingers to his mouth, sucking each one clean.

“You taste so good, Jenna.” He leans in again and his words warm against my thigh. “Think I want to taste some more. I warn you now, I’ll be going back for seconds.” His tongue traces my length and my overstimulated nerves respond with a crackle, my legs jerking reflexively.

“You OK?” he asks.

I nod, even though the desk’s edge is becoming uncomfortably hard beneath me.

As if sensing my discomfort, Geordie rises and lifts me into his arms. With my legs wrapped around his waist, still chasing friction between us, he spins and strides across the room, carrying me as effortlessly as a tiny doll.

“Changed my mind,” he says. “Seems a shame to waste this big comfy bed, don’t you think?” He smirks, supporting me with one arm while whipping back the covers with the other before lowering me gently onto pristine sheets, cool against my overheated skin.

The bed is enormous, high off the ground, wide and sprawling.

“Fuck you’re beautiful Jenna,” he growls, “and I think you’re going to look more beautiful with this buried inside you.” He fists his cock one stroke, before reaching for the bedside table. He tears open the condom with his teeth before tossing it to me.

“That’s if this is still OK, sweetheart. I’ll stop right now if this isn’t what you want.”

I sit up, giving him a nod. Speech has deserted me as I bask in the afterglow of the orgasm .

“You need to tell me yes or no, sweetheart,” he says. “I can see you like me to boss you around, but honey, there’s one thing you’re still the boss of.”

“Yes,” I manage to say. “I want you. Inside of me.”

I open the condom and lean forward, allowing myself one stroke, feeling his weight, skin so soft yet hard. I unroll it down his length as he groans under the pressure of my hand.

He enters me—tender at first, then forceful. I relish the stretch and fullness as he finds his rhythm. We resume our dance, Geordie the choreographer, dictating the steps, me following, willing to go wherever he leads. It’s a dance of searing heat and reckless want, our bodies moving in perfect time to the music of our pleasure. Then suddenly, there’s no holding back, no finesse, just a relentless race to the finale, before he collapses exhausted beside me.

I lay sprawled across the centre of the bed, the body he’s tasted every inch of exposed in the glow of the bedside lamp.

“I’ll go deal with this.” Geordie pads across the lush carpet, hand curled around the condom.

My eyes follow his nicely rounded arse, taut skin, the long, lean muscled legs, the body of an athlete. In all my years of working with sportsmen, I’ve never once crossed the line, always kept it purely professional. Geordie may be in Dad’s team, but this isn’t pro sport. The line doesn’t exist here, and that thought triggers a rush of exhilaration.

I want Geordie, and for once I can have what I want. One taste of him, and I’m addicted. I want to drink him in completely. Get drunk on him. And I can, knowing there isn’t a hangover waiting for me in the harsh light of tomorrow morning.