Naughty Or Nice. Rachael StewartЧитать онлайн книгу.
swimming like liquid heat through my veins, my core.
‘What is this, Eva?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I hope it’s you calling in a ten-year debt.’
I keep moving, ignoring the brief spike of pain, of heartbreak. Knowing I’m about to replace it with something far more satisfying.
‘Do you remember that night?’
His jaw clenches, his eyes ablaze, and I know he’s reliving it.
‘Yes,’ he grinds out.
His tension is palpable and I take conceited pleasure in it.
‘I remember.’
I push open a stall door, thankful for the opulent finish, and nudge him inside. A toilet wouldn’t be my ideal place to feed this need, but it’s certainly the most convenient. And, as far as toilets go, this is designed for a certain clientele—a sleek private vanity area, with space for a woman’s multitude of possessions or her derriere, should the need arise. How very convenient.
I back him inside, blindly locking the door behind me. ‘Do you remember how you left me?’
He falters and shakes his head.
‘No?’ I raise my brow at him, my fingers toying with the slit in the silk that rides high up my thigh.
‘I do remember.’
His voice is tight. It reverberates through my spine as I circle the exposed skin and raise the slit higher. ‘What do you remember, Lucas?’
‘I remember you wore a white number that barely covered your arse.’
I can feel the effort it takes him to form the words and my confidence edges ever higher. I hook my fingers into the fabric of my dress and spread it open across my thigh, loving how his eyes track the move, his breath hitching.
‘What else?’
‘I remember how your skin felt beneath my palms…the taste of champagne on your tongue.’
He gives a small shudder and his fists flex at his sides. I know he wants to reach for me, but something is stopping him. And I’m glad. I want to be in control. The one driving this…
I lift the fabric until it exposes the lace of my nude thong and watch him swallow heavily.
‘Do you want to know what I remember, Lucas?’
His eyes lift to mine, burning deep, and I don’t wait for his answer. I focus on the sex, the need, the desire that has lived on in spite of my shattered heart.
‘I remember aching for you so badly… I remember being wet and ready for you…’
I ease my hand between my parted legs and he exhales sharply, his eyes falling away once more, his fists tight.
‘I can remember wanting to do just this…’
I slip my fingers beneath the lace. Christ, I’m so wet. My thong is damp against the backs of my fingers. He does this to me. Without a touch he has me primed and ready.
I catch my lower lip in my teeth as I pull my fingers back over my clit, pleasure ripping through me, my hips gyrating into their touch. His eyes flare and I lock onto them, getting off on his reaction as much as the skilful touch of my own fingers.
I could come like this. I know it. Come and leave. Make him suffer. But it’s not enough.
‘Come here,’ I tell him.
He doesn’t hesitate. He steps forward, his hands reaching to cup my face, but I lean away from him. I don’t want him to kiss me. Not on my lips at any rate. It’s too personal—too close to my teenage dreams.
I press my free hand to his chest and look up into his questioning gaze. ‘Make me come.’
He cocks a grin at me. ‘My pleasure.’ He lowers his hand.
‘No.’
He frowns.
‘With your mouth.’
His eyes widen. ‘You like being in charge now?’
‘Always.’
I slip my hand out of my thong and gather up the skirt of my dress. ‘On your knees.’
As he follows my instructions, surprise floods me. I didn’t expect this swift agreement. And then he’s upon me, his mouth encasing my mound through the lace, the heat of his breath making me shudder, and my knees go weak.
He probes me with his tongue, his teasing through the fabric enough to make my legs buckle completely. He palms my behind. Holding me steady.
‘Why don’t you sit?’ he murmurs against me, encouraging me to the countertop. I go willingly, my dress hitched up to my hips, and the cold surface a shock to the cheeks of my arse. I spasm and he laughs. The sound resonates over my clit.
‘Easy…’
I fork my hand over his head and draw him against me. My other hand clutches the edge of the countertop. ‘I don’t want easy.’
This time his laugh is tight, and his eyes are now black with his own need. He catches the lace of my thong in his teeth and tugs. ‘These need to go’
I am captivated by him. For all I want to be in charge, I would actually let him do anything to me in this moment. I nod my head, my hand releasing him to grip the countertop.
He takes hold of the waistband just as the sound of people approaching reaches us—the unmistakable click of stilettos, women talking. The door opens and I tense. My eyes widen on to his, but he merely smiles as he continues with his task.
A stall door opens, a tap runs. The women are still talking, but I’m not listening. I’m focused entirely on not giving us away, my knuckles white with the effort of holding everything in as well as keeping my perch upon the vanity.
He shimmies down my thong, the thin cord stinging against my skin as he pulls it from underneath me. He brings it to my calves but doesn’t take it off. Instead he bends forward and lifts my ankles, ducking to position himself between my legs. The sharp points of my heels dig into his tailored jacket and for a split second I worry about damaging it—but then his eyes lock with mine and my brain empties.
I am spread open and bare before his hungry gaze. Outside our stall the women talk and talk, but all I care about is him and the crazy tumultuous heat swirling through my limbs.
His eyes lower as his fingers part me and I whimper. It’s a small choked sound that I cannot help and the women pause in their chatter. I have no idea if we’re discovered, but in that moment all I want is his mouth on me, drinking up the need I feel slipping from me.
Yes, Lucas, now, I beg silently.
And slowly he leans in.
His breath reaches me first, warm and teasing, and then the probe of his tongue. Its very tip flicks against my clit. I buck wildly, the whimper becoming a strangled squeal, and he breaks away, his eyes flashing in warning.
I bite into my lip so hard I fear I may draw blood. But the women continue with their chatter, and whether they’ve heard or not I don’t care.
He leans back in and this time I’m ready for it, my body set rigid as I anticipate the spasm, the pleasure, the—
Oh, my fucking God.
She ripples beneath me, her muscles straining to keep still, and I can’t help the smile that lifts my lips. How I’ve wanted this. Dreamt of it, even. Working her is a pleasure like none other.
Working her? My body mocks me. I am drowning in her. Her taste, her essence, her every