Page 51 of Pretty Mess

He catches my finger and draws me gently forward until I’m standing toe-to-toe with him, me barefoot and him in very polished shoes. “And who told you that, little nosy?”

“I have my sources.”

He hesitates and then says almost reluctantly, “Do you like the place?”

“Fucking hell, Mac, it’samazing.”

“Please don’t call me that.” He sighs. “It’s the name of someone who might actually appreciate your company.”

I grin at him and, reaching up, I loosen his tie before pulling it slowly from his collar. “I think you like me plenty, Mac, or at least what my arse can do to your cock.” He goes still, watching me as I drop the tie to the floor, but it’s the stillness of a lion watching its prey.

It suddenly occurs to me that this is the first time I’ve taken the initiative. All the other times he’s been in the driving seat. I wonder if I should step back and let him take over. Maybe he wouldn’t like it any other way. But a glance down at the erection tenting his trousers tells me to dismiss that idea.

I quickly scramble out of my clothes, my reward being his sharp intake of air. For a second, I think he’s going to drag me close, but he remains still even as I smile up at him and start to unbutton his shirt. The material parts, showing his smooth, broad chest, and I slide my hands down his ribs, enjoying the feel of his hot, silky skin.

I pause when I reach his belt. “Yes?” I ask, and I’m startled at the hoarseness in my voice. My cock is already stiff and throbbing. Something about the way he stands still as I run the show is incredibly hot.

He raises one sardonic eyebrow. “Why are you asking me? You seem to be in charge.”

I shrug. “I like that idea.”

“God help us all.”

I snort and undo the buckle on his belt. I slide it free from his trousers and give the leather a crack. “Shit!” I flinch when it hits my fingers. “That fucking hurt.”

He makes a sound that is very much a snort, and I mock-frown at him. “Don’t mock me. I’ve hurt my finger.”

“Show me,” he says, and the mood abruptly changes. His voice is dark and deep and an incitement to sin, so I step closer and raise my finger to his lips, gasping as he takes it into his mouth and starts to suck. His mouth is hot and wet.

“Shit. It’s like my dick is connected to my finger,” I say in a breathy voice.

He lets my finger go. “What a stunning and erotic image.”

“I can’t help it.Everythingyou do is hot.” The usual cynical look comes over his face, and I roll my eyes. “It’s the truth. Why won’t you believe me?”

“Maybe because I’m paying you to be here. And I think you’re too smart not to pretend you appreciate me.”

The sudden jibe and dismissive tone of voice chills the heat that’s been building. It’s not that it isn’t true. It’s just that when we’re together, there’s no way I can pretend he’s not the hottest man I’ve ever been with, that the sex we have isn’t the best thing I’ve ever felt. And, of course, now I have to ask myself if he’s been pretending to behave like my arse, in particular, is the only one he’s ravenous for.

He sighs, and my eyes fly to his. “That was uncalled for,” he says softly. “Forgive me.”

I cock my head. “Was that… was that actually an apology?”

“No,” he snaps.

I grab his arm as he moves away, pulling him back to me. Then I step closer, winding my arms around his narrow waist. “No, that’s right. It was actually a command. Well, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“If you were surprised, would you stop talking?”

I grin. “No.”

“That’s not exactly shocking.”

He cups my shoulders, pulling me even closer, and I groan as my cock nudges his. He lowers his hands and cups my arse, encouraging me to grind against him as he kisses me. The kiss is like fire from the start, our tongues duelling as we struggle to keep our mouths connected. I snuggle closer, prolonging the kiss and writhing as my cock paints stripes on his trousers.

He pulls away and says something, but I don’t register what it is.

“What?” I say pouting.