Page 15 of Surprise Me Tonight (Claimed on Sight #1)

Stella

T he door clicks softly shut behind us.

There’s a pause, a heartbeat where neither of us moves, and then I step into the room, taking it in with a slow turn of my head.

It’s stunning. Clean lines, warm lighting, floor-to-ceiling windows The kind of space that makes you want to whisper, even when you’re alone.

But what catches me isn’t the suite.

It’s the view.

London sprawls out in every direction. I’m not usually a city person; I need the fresh air and open sky of the country. But this view of London at night is something else.

I walk toward the glass, pulled to it like gravity. My heels are silent against the carpet, but I can hear my own pulse in my ears.

I rest my fingers against the cool pane and breathe in slowly. The city looks endless. But it’s quiet up here. Still. Removed .

All day, I felt it brewing — in the line of his jaw, in the way his voice dipped when he spoke directly to me, in the moment he took off his tie like he knew I’d been imagining it undone since ten this morning.

I’ve been wound up tight since the meeting started, held together by politeness and professionalism and the thin line of every rule we agreed to last night.

And now I want to watch every one of them unravel.

His muffled footsteps cross the suite behind me, slow and deliberate. I don’t turn. I don’t need to.

He stops just behind me. Close enough to feel the heat of him, but not touching.

Yet.

The pause is deliberate. A final breath between pretending and not pretending anymore.

Then his hands slide to my waist — not grabbing, not hesitant. Just there. Solid. Warm.

I exhale slowly. My body responds before I even think. Leaning back. Letting him fill the space behind me.

His mouth brushes the side of my neck. A feather-light kiss, softer than I expected. Slower than I wanted.

“You,” he murmurs, voice low, almost strained, “have been driving me mad all day.”

I smile at the glass. “Likewise.”

He moves closer. His chest against my back. His hands sliding around my waist. His mouth pressing again just under my ear.

“You knew exactly what you were doing in that blouse.”

“And you in that suit,” I breathe. “Completely unfair.”

He laughs and tightens his grip just enough to tell me he’s no longer trying to be good .

I feel him hard against me, and every part of me lights up.

Still, I stay facing the window. My pulse steady. My body still. Because this isn’t about being overtaken.

It’s about stepping into something I want. And him knowing exactly how much.

His hand slides up my side, slow and sure, his touch deliberate. I finally turn, just enough to catch his gaze. The look in his eyes undoes me—hunger, raw and unfiltered, mixed with something deeper, something that makes my knees weak.

“You’re playing with fire, Stella,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. “Do you know how much I want to take you right here? Right now?”

I tilt my chin up, meeting his gaze. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

His lips curve into a smirk, dangerous and intoxicating. “Both.”

Before I can respond, his hand cups the back of my neck, his grip firm but not rough.

He pulls me closer, his body pressing against mine, and I feel the heat of him through our clothes.

The city outside blurs as his mouth crashes down on mine, hungry and demanding.

His kiss is fierce, his tongue invading my mouth, staking his claim.

I moan softly, my hands instinctively clutching at his suit jacket.

“Turn around,” he commands, his voice low and commanding. “Face the window.”

My heart pounds as I obey, my back now to him, the glass cold against my palms. I can feel his presence behind me, his breath hot on the nape of my neck.

His hands slide down my waist, fingers tracing the curve of my body before slipping beneath my skirt and pushing the fabric up over my hips.

I gasp as his fingers brush against the lace of my knickers, already damp with anticipation.

“You’re soaking wet for me,” he growls, his voice a mix of satisfaction and dominance. “Tell me, Stella, how much you want this.”

I stare outside, the city lights a blur through the glass. “More than I can say,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “I want you to take me.”

His fingers hook into the waistband of my knickers, pulling them down slowly, the fabric sliding over my thighs. I step out of them, leaving them on the floor, a discarded reminder of my surrender. His hand rests on the small of my back, guiding me, his touch both gentle and commanding.

“Spread your legs,” he orders, his voice firm.

I do as he says, my thighs parting, the cool air of the room a stark contrast to the heat pooling between my legs. His hand slides between them, his fingers teasing my folds, his touch deliberate and slow. I bite my lip to stifle a moan, but it escapes anyway, a soft sound of need.

“Such a filthy girl,” he murmurs, his fingers pressing harder, his thumb brushing against my clit. “You like being used like this, don’t you? With the whole city watching?”

I gasp at his words, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment and desire.

The idea of being exposed, of the city spread out below us, unaware of what’s happening here, only heightens the thrill.

“Yes,” I breathe, my voice barely audible.

“I do.” I never realised dirty talk could do this to me, but the way he speaks has me burning up.

Without warning, he steps closer, his belt already undone, his trousers loosened. I feel the tip of his cock press against my entrance, thick and insistent. “Hold onto the window,” he commands, his voice a mix of urgency and control.

I grip the frame, my knuckles white, as he thrusts into me in one smooth motion. A sharp cry escapes my lips as he fills me, his size stretching me, his hardness a stark contrast to my softness. He doesn’t give me time to adjust, pulling back before slamming into me again, his rhythm relentless.

“Stardust,” he groans, his voice strained. “You feel so good.”

His hands grip my hips, his fingers digging into my skin as he pounds into me, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing in the quiet room. My palms pressed against the thick glass, the city lights a dizzying blur as my head falls back, my hair cascading over my shoulders as he pulls of the bobble.

“Look at us,” he growls, his breath hot against my ear. “Letting me fuck you against a window for the whole city to see you. You like that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I pant, my voice broken. “Yes!” I know we are too high for anyone to even notice us but it doesn’t make the thrill any less exhilarating.

His thrusts quicken, his control slipping as he chases his release. I’m close too, my body tightening around him, my orgasm building like a storm. “Come for me,” he demands, his voice harsh. “Come on my cock.”

His words push me over the edge, my body shaking as pleasure washes over me, my cries muffled by the glass. He follows moments later, his grip on my hips tightening as he empties himself inside me, his grunts of satisfaction filling the air .

For a moment, we stay like that, his body pressed against mine, our breaths ragged, the city below us. Slowly, he pulls out, his hand sliding down my back, his touch tender now. He turns me to face him, his eyes searching mine, his expression unreadable.

But as our breathing slows and my pulse steadies, I feel it — the weight of his gaze. Still locked on me, like he’s trying to pin something down that he doesn’t quite have language for.

I brush my fingers his hair before I cup his cheek. His skin is warm beneath my palm, and mine feels flushed and alive, as though I’ve just remembered I have nerve endings.

“Come shower with me,” I murmur, not quite a question.

The bathroom is vast — glass and stone, rainfall shower, white towels the size of blankets. The kind of hotel luxury that feels a little absurd until you’re here, under the water, his arms braced on either side of me, steam curling around us like a veil.

There’s no sex in the shower. No grabby hands. Just warmth and hands through hair and the kind of silences that don’t ask to be filled.

Afterwards, we end up tangled on the bed, the duvet cool against our skin. He lies on his back, one arm folded behind his head, his other hand resting lightly on my hip. I lie facing him, head on his shoulder, the city still glittering quietly through the massive windows beyond.

It should feel strange — lying naked in a five-star hotel with my boss, after technically one and a half dates, if we’re being generous — but it doesn’t. It feels like something that’s been waiting.

“Tell me about your daughter,” he says, voice low .

I smile. “Vicky.”

“Yeah. What’s she like?”

I trace my finger lazily along the line of his chest tracing the outlines of his tattoos. “Bright. Stubborn. Beautiful. She’s studying psychology in Leeds, wants to be a therapist, probably because she had to grow up with two emotionally constipated parents.”

That gets a low laugh out of him. “You don’t seem emotionally constipated.”

“Yeah, well,” I murmur, “that took work.”

He shifts slightly, enough to tuck me in closer. “You’re proud of her.”

“More than anything.”

He nods, quiet for a moment.

Then I tip my chin up slightly. “Your turn.”

“For what?”

“Tell me something no one else knows.”

He turns his head on the pillow to look at me. The bedside lamp throws faint shadows across his face — softening him, making his features look even younger.

“I don’t sleep much,” he says finally. “I haven’t, since I left the RAF.”

I don’t ask why. I just wait.

“It’s like… my brain doesn’t shut off unless I’m doing something. Work. Sex.” He glances at me, eyes half-lidded. “Running helps. But I’ve got this… hum in me. Like if I stop for too long, it catches up.”

I nod slowly, fingers brushing across his ribs. “What’s it trying to catch you with?”

His mouth twitches. “That’s the bit I haven’t worked out. ”

We lie there for a while longer. The silence now is different — not heat, not aftermath.

Just the calm that comes when you feel in sync.