Page 34 of The Reluctant Billionaire (Love in London #5)

Aide

I ’ve put myself in Lotta’s work calendar.

The lunchtime slot.

It seemed appropriate given I plan to eat her.

Venus’ offices are, unsurprisingly, glossy and stylish and beautiful and expensive-looking.

Just like one of their founders.

It’s only been a few hours since we took our leave from each other, but I’m looking forward to seeing her in her working environment.

The building’s lobby is white, sleek and flower-filled, with huge, muted canvases.

White sofas flank low glass coffee tables on which rest big leather books.

When I leaf through one, I realise they’re portfolios of Venus’ work, everything shot in black and white.

Fuck, these guys are good at what they do.

The pretty redhead behind the lacquered front desk blushes and smiles as she hands me a security pass and ushers me to the bank of lifts. I shoot her a grin that’s more apologetic than encouraging, because, more often than not, my looks tend to be a curse.

Sometimes they work in my favour, though.

Like on shitty building sites when glittering, captivating heiresses so far out of my league it’s not funny decide, for some unknown reason, that they like how I look wielding an electric drill.

Then I thank whoever’s up there for them. I might give a nod to my old man, too. He was the original black-haired, blue-eyed charmer with the gift of the gab and the roguish Dublin charm. I may have inherited his colouring, but the charm’s definitely gone astray somewhere.

No matter.

If Carlotta likes the way I look, and speak, and touch her, the way I can make her feel, then my cup is full.

I exit the lift and make my way across an open-plan floor of sleek desks, accompanied by a sleek young MBA-type. He doesn’t need to open his mouth to tell me he’s American—the white t-shirt peeking out from under his immaculate blue shirt gives the game away immediately.

The space is smaller than ours. At Totum, we went for a lateral layout in a huge repurposed warehouse in Kings Cross, whereas here at Venus they have several floors. But whereas our office is bright and friendly and screams creativity, the vibe here is more grownup. More sophisticated.

Carlotta’s standing in the doorway to what must be her office.

I grin, because she’s a sight for sore fucking eyes.

She’s in the same longish, floaty floral dress she put on this morning and some fuck-me heels that I’m a big fan of.

The best thing about the outfit, though, is undoubtedly the tantalising row of buttons that run the whole way down the front of the dress.

She’s got her arms crossed and bright red lips that instantly makes me want to wipe her lipstick off.

With my cock.

But that’s not why I’m here.

I’m here for her .

‘Thanks, Ash,’ she says to the guy as she stands aside to usher me inside. ‘Hello, stranger,’ she says to me.

I stroll through, hands in my pockets. I’m absolutely thrilled to see that her office has walls and a door, both of which are completely opaque.

All the better to ravish her behind.

I close the door and turn the lock before pressing her up against it.

Her hands go straight to my head, pulling at my hair as she guides my mouth to those beautiful, pouty lips.

She’s fucking beautiful, and she seems as hungry for me as I am for her, which is a miracle.

I cup her jaw with one hand and the underside of her breast with the other while busying myself with kissing off that lipstick.

God, she’s perfection. I use the hand on her jaw to tilt her head so I can lick and nip down that swanlike neck and inhale her gorgeous floral scent. Her hands are moving over my shoulders. Down my back.

‘How the hell are you in a three-piece suit?’ she gasps. ‘I left you looking like Mark Zuckerberg this morning in your t-shirt.’

‘I’ve got a few hanging in the office.’ I pause to kiss her collarbone. ‘I’ve got a meeting later and a very hot date tonight.’

‘Mmm,’ she says, arching into me. ‘Very hot. Yeah. You should wear this all the time.’

‘Not my favourite outfit in July.’

‘I get that. Just stay indoors. You look so gorgeous.’

I pull away and grin at her. That red lipstick is looking nicely smudged against her ripe, swollen lips. The buttons on her dress are a bit of a pain in the arse, but I can take them.

‘Why don’t you give me a tour of your office?’ I ask, stroking my fingertip gently down the slope of her adorably pert little nose. It makes her look younger, somehow. Her freckles are clearer, her skin more sun kissed, after spending most of the weekend by my pool.

‘With pleasure.’ She spreads her arms wide. ‘This is my office. Now I really want to get under that suit.’

I tut. ‘Not going to happen, sweetheart. I’m just here to service the boss. Are you her?’

‘I am.’

I lean in and lower my voice, taking her hand in mine. ‘Come with me, then. This your desk?’

‘Yes.’

‘This your chair?’

‘Yes.’

I hold out my hand. ‘Please, have a seat.’

‘Thank you.’ She sinks gracefully into the leather swivel chair and I look down at her, admiring the view.

‘This place suits you. It’s very you .’ I mean it.

It’s an equally stylish but more colourful version of the lobby, with oversized arrangements of fresh flowers everywhere, stunning, hyper-feminine canvases in muted pinks and blushes, and a couple of blown-up building shots that look similar to the ones in the leather portfolios downstairs.

Against one wall is a long sofa whose grey-green velvet looks a lot more luxurious than mine and reminds me of the colour and texture of the sage leaves in my garden.

‘I love it.’ She looks around the room, and I see pride and possession on her finely wrought features.

She’s earned this.

She’s worked her arse off for this office.

This is a microcosm of her kingdom, and she is its queen.

And what a fucking queen.

I step between her desk and her chair, pushing the chair backwards, and get to my knees in front of her.

‘It’s a lovely room,’ I tell her. ‘You’ve got great taste. But you’re the most beautiful thing in it by a million miles.’

She raises a shapely eyebrow. ‘Thing?’

‘Thing,’ I confirm, cuffing her ankles with my hands and nudging her feet apart. I slide my hands up her legs, hitching the hem of her dress higher as I go. ‘Very tidy desk, by the way.’

‘What? Oh, yeah. I don’t like clutter. I like fabulous things, but not random shit everywhere.’

‘Makes sense,’ I say, but I’m thinking I know exactly how to make use of that very tidy desk surface.

‘How has your morning been?’ I ask evenly, staring down at her knees, her smooth thighs, as they appear from under the light, frothy fabric.

‘Tiring,’ she says, but there’s an edge to her voice that suggests anticipation rather than weariness. ‘I feel like I’m still playing catch-up.’

‘Poor baby,’ I say. I’ve got the dress almost all the way up now. My thumbs drag up her inner thighs. ‘How about you let me be the boss for a few minutes?’

‘Sounds good,’ she says in a breathy voice I decide I really, really like.

‘Good girl. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a guy who turns up to make you feel better every time it all gets too much?’ I bend and kiss her knees. Softly. Chastely. ‘Who does all the work?’

‘Mmm-hmm,’ she agrees. I doubt she’s aware, but she’s just opened her legs a little more for me and I spy a glimpse of the pale pink thong she was skipping around her bedroom in this morning, driving me crazy while we got ready for work.

It’s payback time.

LOTTA

I stare at the beautiful man kneeling between my legs.

His suit is so perfectly cut, its wool so fine and lustrous, I could weep.

But it’s not where my focus is, because I can’t stop looking at his gorgeous face.

At the seriousness in those intense blue eyes, as if he means business.

They rove over my body, tracing a path from my face to the apex of my parted thighs and back again, like they want to drink in every part of me.

Being the sole object of Aidan Duffy’s attention is a wonderful, mesmerising, heady thing. He’s Aide . He’s amazing and open-hearted and an exceptional human being. He’s also the most magnificent thing , to use his language, I’ve ever set eyes on.

His hair is slicked back today with a bit of gel—not enough to make him look like a wanker banker, but enough to neaten up his unruly mane of unfairly thick hair. It shows off the lean, gorgeous planes of his face. The hard jut of his jaw, covered by his neatly clipped beard.

Aide Duffy is like no one I’ve ever seen.

And he’s kneeling between my legs like a penitent.

I just hope he’s planning on worshipping me.

He must be able to see my thong by now, and he goes to push the fabric of my totally sick new Dolce dress up even further, then reconsiders.

With dextrous, careful fingers he locates the placket and starts undoing my buttons, one by one.

The silk chiffon tumbles south on either side of my legs as he goes.

He doesn’t stop once he has my thong exposed, but keeps on going until the entire dress is hanging open.

His satisfied smirk turns to something darker once he’s got me completely exposed for him.

My nipples, encased in their pale pink lace, are already hard.

He takes them in and then looks up at me.

His pose may be one of supplication, but in this moment there’s no denying who’ll be calling the shots here.

He will.

He runs his hands over my body. Up my thighs, brushing over my thong far too fleetingly before he strokes my stomach. The sensation of his large, calloused hands on my bare skin sends butterflies flitting below the surface. I watch, rapt, to see what part of me he’ll touch next.

My boobs.

Obviously.

He cups them, and weighs them with pleased, approving noises that make me restless, running his thumbs roughly over my nipples so the lace scratches them in the best way.