Unbuttoned by the Boss. Robyn DonaldЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘It wasn’t easy. I left the country.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘France for most of the time.’
‘Why did you come back?
‘I missed my family.’ She shrugged. ‘Stupid huh?’
‘No. Not stupid.’ He went to his pack and pulled out his training gear. ‘What did you do at university?’
She’d started law, of course. Had done okay, but didn’t have the family brilliance. ‘I didn’t graduate.’
‘Snap. I left to build the business. Why did you quit?’
She swallowed. ‘That boyfriend. Bad news.’
‘What did he do?’
Cheated, of course. He’d been a law student a few years ahead of her. But he’d only wanted to be with her because of her family’s prestige. She didn’t want to go there. ‘It’s more than past your turn for a question. Past girlfriends?’
He bent and tied his trainer laces. ‘No relationships Sophy, remember?’
‘What about Jayne McIntosh?’
His fingers stilled. ‘What did Charlotte tell you?’
Barely anything—it was a guess. So was her next question. ‘It wasn’t that she didn’t turn you on any more, was it?’
He stood. ‘I never liked this game.’
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing that matters,’ he said shortly. ‘I’m more interested in what’s happening now. Not the past, not the future, but now.’
‘And what is happening now?’ She drew in her lip, wondering if he’d go there—dissect their affair at all.
He paused too. Finally turned—away from her. ‘We’re going for that run.’
They got her some running shoes and shorts from a shop in the town and then he led the way—up the hill, round and down through the forest, finally returning to town and the thermal pools.
Back at the chalet she dressed in his jeans and he cracked the whip.
‘You get back to work.’
It was all right for him—he was sprawled on the sofa reading the paper. But she was on target so found going back to work wasn’t so hard at all.
A couple of hours later he went out, brought back some Thai takeaway for dinner. After they’d eaten Sophy felt as playful as a kitten—the happiness made her feel sparkly from the inside out. She’d had a wonderful afternoon, was pleased with her progress for the show, and had loved his quiet company. She stood up from the sofa, stretched her arms out and twirled round the room.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Expressing myself.’ She lifted her tee shirt and his smile widened. Oh, it was so easy to have fun with him. ‘Come into the bedroom and watch me express myself some more,’ she invited.
She danced the way through, peeling the tee shirt from her body. He followed, and she pushed him onto the bed and knelt over him, enjoying the dominant position. Well, she was wearing his trousers, so she’d be in charge. She knew he liked it slow, and she could do slow for him. She toyed with the edges of her bikini top. He reached out and teased one triangle down a little lower so her nipple was almost exposed.
She slapped his hand away from her. ‘No. My job.’
His mouth made an ‘oh’ and his grin went wider. And thirty seconds later his fingers were back teasing—ruining her concentration.
‘Stop it.’ She batted his hand away again.
‘Make me.’
She paused, an idea bolting in. ‘Okay.’
She got off the bed and went out to the table covered in all her supplies. The ribbon was scarlet, a thin smooth satin. She picked up some scissors too.
He saw them as soon as she went back into the bedroom. Guessed her intention immediately. ‘Oh, no.’
‘Hands up.’
‘No.’
‘Why, Lorenzo—’ she knelt on the bed ‘—you wouldn’t be afraid, would you?’
He gave her a piercing look and held out his hands with a pained sigh. ‘There was me thinking you were straightlaced.’
‘Maybe I’ve discovered a ribbon of recklessness,’ she joked. It was his fault. His influence. His touch. He made her feel free. He made her feel as if she could do anything, try anything, and he’d still accept her.
She bound his wrists together. Wrapped the ribbon around the headboard and tied that too, so his arms were caught above his head. She looked down at his face. He had a smirk. As soon as she finished, he flexed, the ribbon went taut.
His smirk vanished. He stiffened and pulled harder.
‘I don’t think you can break it.’ She leaned closer to him, letting her breasts touch as she taunted. ‘We girl scouts know how to tie knots.’
He pulled again. She saw it dawn in his eyes—that he really couldn’t get free. ‘Sophy. Untie them.’
‘No.’ She straddled him.
‘Sophy. Joke’s over.’ He looked very serious, his eyes black.
‘It’s no joke. And it’s not over.’ She tickled her fingers up the underside of his arms—his biceps bulging as he tried to rip free of the ribbon again. ‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered. ‘I won’t hurt you.’
The tenor had changed completely—he really wasn’t comfortable with this, was he? She studied him. Raw, vulnerable, yet fiercely proud. Something pulled deep in her heart. This powerful, independent man was at her mercy—and he didn’t like it.
And what had begun as an almost kinky, definitely playful tease, turned devastatingly intense. She spread her fingers wide, ran her palm slowly up the centre of his chest, feeling the warm skin, up to where she could feel the thudding of his heart. Had he ever lain back and just let someone love him?
No. He never had. And he didn’t want to let her now.
But she wanted to love him—so much. And just this once, she would.
She moved off him, knelt at his side and started—slowly—even more slowly than when he’d tormented her that first time. She touched him, forgot time as she felt him, entranced in her exploration in seeing how she could make him respond. Making love to every inch of his skin and trying to go deeper—right into his bones, into his heart. He said nothing. Nor did she. But his breathing changed. She watched the straining in his body—knew what he wanted. She was breathless too—filled with yearning. She kissed him all over, her fingers either trailing or kneading every part of him—but the most obvious. She was saving the best bits ’til last. It was too wonderful to rush it.
But eventually she moved closer—her hands working together in sweeping circles—ever decreasing—narrowing in on her target. She heard his breath catch.
‘Sophy.’
She smiled and took him in her mouth. His harsh groan was the sweetest melody to her ears. He moved beneath her—arching, seeking.
‘I want to touch you,’ he ground out, his hips rising—chasing her caresses.
‘You already are.’ It was her turn to be fiercely proud— of the way she could make his powerful body buck, of the way she could make him cry out for her. The pleasure she could give him. She wanted to make him feel joy—as being with him filled her with joy. And the feelings surged through her, she lifted up looked down into his eyes. The beautiful eyes that she loved.
She