Everything You Want: Everything For You Trilogy 2 (34 page)

He emits a low, breathless chuckle. “Trust me, it’ll work.”

“How do you know?”

“Please don’t ask me that now.”

I freeze. I make a useless effort not to picture him sharing this with other more experienced women. With Amanda.

“Are we still okay here?” he asks, soothing me with gentle caresses and words.

I hesitate.

“If you tell me to stop, kitten, I will,” he reassures me. “I promise.”

I nod. He commences stroking again. He wants this so badly. I can feel the strain in his very touch.

“You won’t hurt me?”

He covers my back with his warm body and turns my head with oily fingers until he can look me straight in the eye and kiss me. “I give you my word, baby.” He lets me think for a minute. “Are we good?”

I hear the raw appeal in his voice. “We’re good.” I want to experience everything with Jack. To know what he knows. “Be gentle. Go slow.”

“So gentle, with you, kitten. So slow.” His hands concentrate only on pleasing and relaxing me in ways he knows I like.

But focus changes to the area of my body foremost in his mind. “We’ll try a thumb first. It’ll get you used to the sensation.” He slides back and forth and I feel the gentle heaviness as he lines up his thumb and presses rhythmically against me. “Relax. Give in to me, Tabby.”

I use my breathing and I feel no pain. He maintains a gentle force but uses his other hand to sweep throughout my sex until the separate sensations merge into one and I feel his thumb enter. His fingers simultaneously invade my other channel. I feel stretched and full and the gentle movements he makes all around me, in and out, build a sexual excitement unlike any other I’ve experienced. I moan and whimper repeatedly as I reach out for more.

“Feels good, huh?”

“So good.” It’s hard to speak.

He slows his fingers but stays inside me. I think he’s wants to hold me back and make sure I don’t come until he’s ready. I enjoy that he controls my body in this way.

“Sexy girl. Such a very sexy girl.” He kisses along my oil-coated spine.

The tip of his erection slides back and forth in my valley. Each time I stiffen he hushes and soothes me until I relax once more.

“It’s just the anticipation, kitten.” Once more his exciting fingers travel my swollen core, teasing and tempting until I’m straining back against him, seeking more.

“This will feel amazing, baby, I promise you.” He’s patient, taking things infinitely slowly until his breathing suggests he’s reached the point where he’s inflamed enough to come one way or another. His control amazes me. He delicately removes his thumb and nudges the tip of his erection against me and I feel the pressure building like before.

“It’s the same. Just more. Ride with it.” He distracts my mind, strumming me with purpose, making slow lunges with long fingers in and out of my sex until I’m thrusting against his tempo.

The compression builds relentlessly but I’m not hurting so I grow in confidence. And necessity.

“Relax back into it, Tabby. Don’t struggle. Work with me. I need you. I won’t hurt you, baby. You are fucking amazing.”

His stream of encouragement runs through me as tightness and tension elevates in my core. I’m so taut, so close to orgasm I could scream.

“Come for me baby.”

And the second I tip over into orgasm he slips inside. He’s inside me, around me and each small movement stretches me like a balloon about to burst.

“I’m coming,” I wail needlessly.

“Come, baby, come. Me too.” He rocks and the packed motion slams through every part of my sex. I arch off the counter rearing back on my arms. I’ve never felt a release like it. It engulfs me. Every muscle cramps and squeezes and Jack grunts hard. He jerks his body, keeping me in spasm far longer than I’ve ever been before.

I mewl, crying out with each new wave as the crisis just goes on and on.

Jack growls and releases in a warm gush. The top half of my body is liquid and molten and so weak it collapses back over the counter. Below I’m a seething mass of nerve endings firing all the way into my exploding brain with muscles knotted as I grip Jack’s body greedily to mine.

He covers my back with his chest, breathing as heavily as a marathon runner. His heart thumps so fast it scares me.

He drags my hair aside kissing and nuzzling my throat repeatedly between words.

“Thank you, kitten. Thank you for letting me be the one. I know you were nervous but you trusted me and it was the biggest turn-on ever. That’s why I –” He cuts off and hugs me tight.

In that unguarded moment, what was he going to tell me?

In a manner suggesting all his energy is spent, he urges himself up and eases very carefully from my body. He kisses me, reaches for kitchen-paper towels and wipes the oil gently from us both. He helps me to my feet and I tug my dress back down.

I’m totally shy about what we’ve both done. “I’d better shower.”

Instead of craving the closeness I usually do, I leave him standing there staring after me with a look of concern on his face. But I need to be alone to think about this and perhaps he understands how I might be feeling, because, for once, he gives me all the space I need.

Chapter Fifteen

“May I come in?”

I turn to see Jack standing in the doorway. “It’s your bedroom,” I remind him.

“It’s our bedroom.” He waits.

“Oh for God’s sake, just come in.” I don’t know why I’m being so snippy.

“Pretty overwhelming, huh?”

I glance up at him. “Well one of us was.”

“I can be a little overbearing sometimes,” he admits, making a half-decent attempt to sound rueful.

“Sometimes?”

“Okay, a lot of the time.”

“Try most of it.”

“That was the most historic thing that ever happened to me in that kitchen.”

I stare at him. Is that an attempt to lighten the mood? “Please don’t start making jokes about dipping oil and kinky morsels on Lenuta’s kitchen counter.”

“I won’t.” He struggles not to smirk but fails.

I roll my eyes. “You’d better throw that bottle away.” I’m mortified. I feel like I’ve been basted and stuffed. Which I agreed to, by the way. I’m now cooking away nicely in the self-generated heat of indignity.

“I already did. And cleaned up. She’s going to wonder what happened to it though. What are you going to tell her?”

“Me?” I squeak.

He belly-laughs. He’s teasing me. I snort. It is pretty funny. The spanking last night, unmentionable sex tonight. We’re breaking down quite a few barriers and now he’s managed to score through my thin icing of shame, my frustration has gone and I feel pretty mellow. Jack seems a lot more chilled too.

“What’s bothering you about it?” he asks, settling himself casually back on his elbows on the bed. I notice his hair is damp and presume he showered off in the guest suite. Did I expect him to pretend it never happened? That simply isn’t Jack’s way. He’s so cool about it, he’s probably done that sort of thing plenty of times before. Unlike me.

I set to brushing my hair in the mirror. “I’m wondering if your most recent lesson hypothesises that kinky sex is a useful tool in maintaining CEO mental stability.” It’s a blatant dig at this mentoring nonsense which plays less and less of a function in what’s really going on between us.

“Oh? Extrapolating, are you? I’m impressed.” He doesn’t look the least bit guilty that he’s taken me for a ride. So to speak.

“What will you do with your free time when you have nothing more to teach me?” I want him to admit this entire mentoring thing has been a sham from the start.

“And when do you anticipate that being the case, Miss Caid?” Scrub guilt. He sounds arrogant.

“When I get the Zee-Com account back.” I haven’t changed my mind about that, anyway. I’m more determined than ever.

He raises his eyebrows. “Confident are you?”

Lately I am. “Yep.” I cross to the bed and lie down beside him, nudging him over to his own side.

“Then I’ll just have to find other interesting stuff to keep you – I mean teach you.”

I turn to look at him. “Such as?” Suddenly I like this game.

He gives a dramatic performance of pondering my question. “Let me see...” He narrows his eyes on me. “How about navigating treacherous waters, for a start?”

An apt description of what I’m doing already, I might argue. But I’m less intimidated these days. Or... “Are you suggesting sailing, Mr Keogh?” I’d forgotten he owns a motorboat. The
cailín álainn
.

He settles back, staring up at the ceiling. “Fancy a journey upriver with me on Saturday?”

“Are you planning to teach me how to pilot your vessel?” Although I’m partly maintaining the innuendo, I jump up onto my knees, suddenly excited about the real prospect of a day out on the Thames. He nods. “What’s the first lesson?”

“How to get up early enough to catch the morning tide.”

I groan and flop back onto the pillows pulling the edge of the turned-back cover over me. He slides it away from my face. “Is that a yes?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Not if you rise at dawn, like I do.”

I throw him a look for an innuendo too far and he laughs. He glides his hands under the covers and pokes me gently in the ribs. “Get up. You’re not missing dinner, either.”

“You’re completely bossy.” I snort and leap as he tickles me into submission.

As we make plans for the weekend, over dinner, I’m the closest I’ve ever come to believing I could win Jack’s love yet. At least he spends his nights with me. Not her.

If only I hadn’t seen with my own eyes the things that have happened between them.

* * *

My week keeps getting better.

Brent Tapper fails to appear again at CaidCo and no-one admits to knowing his whereabouts. In one respect it’s a relief, except it leaves the final showdown between us hanging. My new plans for the business progress and I don’t know if it’s just me but the whole place seems energised and enthusiastic for the first time since Harry died.

I’m not sure if these new-found feelings of control in my professional life are influenced favourably by what is happening between Jack and me, or if my personal satisfaction is derived from things going well at work. Whichever way the circle turns, Jack is at the heart of it. I won’t allow myself to believe any longer he won’t truly be mine. Lately he gives me no reason for doubt.

On Friday afternoon, Libby phones through to my office. “Yes, Libby?”

“Miss Caid, I have a person here who wishes to see you.”

With Libby addressing me in such a formal way, I’m instantly wary. “Who is it, Libby?”

“Amanda Devereaux of Advance Advertising. She doesn’t have an appointment.”

“Too right she doesn’t. What the hell does she want?” My heart rate spikes. Amanda’s bad news at the best of times, but she’s never tried this before. The only time she’s spoken to me directly is to issue a warning. Oh God. Is this the girlfriend-to-mistress ultimatum finally heading my way?

“Ms Devereaux informs me she wishes to speak to you in confidence. Shall I schedule an appointment?” God bless Libby. It’s her professional way of giving me an out. But it would be the coward’s way.

I hear the woman protesting in the background and Libby’s attempts to placate her and to stop her storming past regardless. It reminds me of the time I bulldozed my way past Jack’s PA to give him both barrels. A woman on a mission.

Is hers to seek and destroy me?

I’m not going to be able to avoid this, yet I’m far from ready. The last time Amanda spoke to me she called me a slut and a bitch. Jack’s been spending all his free time with me since then. I expect she’ll have a whole hell of a lot to say about that. All bad and no doubt all my devious fault. Is this where she warns me to stay away from her man?

Is he? Should I? With no real frame of reference I’m completely out of my depth.

“Show her through, thanks, Libby.”

Libby ushers Amanda through the door. She makes a throat-slitting motion behind the woman’s well-groomed back and hangs her tongue out the corner of her mouth like a dead dog. I want to laugh at her antics but can’t. Libby can’t stand Amanda already and she doesn’t know the half of her.

“That will be all, thank you.” I have to show Amanda I’m not frightened of her. But I can’t imagine any good reason she would come here.

Libby shuts the door behind her sealing us uncomfortably together.

I’m struck once more by how perfectly turned out Amanda always is. She would intimidate any normal woman. She undeniably intimidates me. Her platinum blonde bob looks like it could stand up stylishly to the best efforts of a wind-tunnel. I find myself nervously twisting a long section of dark wayward hair ineffectually round one finger. At least mine feels soft. Hers looks like the bolt of a crossbow couldn’t penetrate the layers of lacquer. I rather wish I had one to try.

I make a hand gesture inviting her to sit. I don’t stand. Or trust my legs to. But I can be civil. At least as long as she is.