Sharing Nicely (8 page)

“Urgh.” I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and ran my hand into my hair. “I’m tired, Greg. I didn’t get in from the club till God knows what hour. I’m grumpy, I’m probably stinky and I’m certainly not sexy. Are you sure you want to come in?”

I just hoped no one else could hear the conversation because it would be blasting out of the intercom into the busy street. Although how busy it would be I didn’t know, I never left my flat until mid-afternoon.

“Yes, I really want to come in. Please? I promise I’ll be good.”

“Yeah,” I laughed, pressing the button to let him in. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

I opened the door then immediately trailed back into my bedroom. A stupid thing to do, all in all, but my brain ached and I just wanted to get back to sleep. A few moments later I heard the door close and the clump of heavy footsteps across my living room.

I waited for the bedroom door to open, but it didn’t. I crinkled my brow in confusion, then shrugged, snuggled down under my duvet and surprisingly quickly fell back to sleep.

* * * *

Next time I woke up it was past midday and I felt much more like myself. I got up, stretched, ran my fingers through my unruly hair and slipped my feet into my slippers. My stomach rumbled as I caught the scent of bacon on the air. I figured the guy next door was having his usual Sunday fried brunch
—
I’d often been able to smell his culinary delights from my room. I’d been tempted a time or two to knock on his door and see if he needed help eating the delicious-smelling food, but I’d resisted and stuck to my toast and cereal and exciting ready meals for one. I could cook, I just never had the time to do so—or to enjoy a leisurely meal with my neighbour, come to that.

I was intensely surprised when I walked into my living room and it was suspiciously clean. Mrs Morris usually came in on a Monday and tidied for me—I’d decided early on in my club-running days that I didn’t have enough hours in the day to clean a house and a business, so I employed the mum of one of my bar staff to keep the flat under control. It was Sunday, my place shouldn’t have been so tidy. I was fairly certain that I’d left a pile of magazines on the end of my sofa and that there’d been the remnants of breakfast on the coffee table too. I’d certainly not left the throws so straight and the bin so empty. The puzzle was soon solved, though.

“Morning, sunshine. Well, afternoon, actually. Would you like some pancakes?” Greg smiled at me from the kitchenette at the other end of the room. He had on my rarely used floral pinny—a present from an aunty at Christmas—and was standing at my cooker, a frying pan in hand.

“Erm, well, yes,” I stuttered. “Yes please, Greg.” It took a moment for my mind to register what had happened while I was still mostly asleep. I’d let Greg in earlier and he’d apparently kept himself busy.

“Okey-dokey, it’ll be ready in a minute.”

He turned back to the stove and flipped, elegantly, a thin crêpe. I shook my head. I was certain I was still dreaming. Sitting heavily in the chair closest to me, I started to babble.

“I’m sorry I was so ratty to you before. I was just tired. It’d been a long night then I left you all on your own. You should have gone home. You certainly didn‘t have to do all this.” I waved my hand around expansively like I was swatting at flies. “My cleaner comes in tomorrow.”

“It’s fine”—he smiled—“I enjoy this kind of thing and I don’t often get time for it. You were clearly tired. I did look into your room when I arrived but you were completely tuckered out. So I kept myself entertained.”

He walked towards me with a tray in hand. On one plate were two neatly rolled pancakes, decorated with slices of strawberries and icing sugar. On the other lay scrambled eggs, bacon and half a grilled tomato. There was another rarely used present from my aunt in the centre, a metal toast rack filled with slices of toast, a small ramekin of butter sitting in front of it.

“Well, you have been busy,” I gasped. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t know what you’d want.” His tanned cheeks flushed crimson. “So I made a few things.”

He rushed back to the kitchen and came back with his own plate of food and two glasses of orange juice.

“You’ve been shopping too,” I chuckled. “I didn’t have any of this food in.”

“Well, sort of.” He sat on the sofa opposite me and took a bite of his toast, chewed, smiled and continued. “I got Chester to bring it all over for me.”

I shook my head and continued to eat.

“This is quite the surrealest breakfast experience of my life so far,” I giggled, still unsure of how it had all come together. I honestly felt like I was dreaming.

“It’s pretty unusual for me too,” Greg confessed, sitting back and sipping from his glass, “but also the most pleasant breakfast I’ve had in a long time.”

It was my turn to blush, so I picked up a piece of toast and buttered it. Leaning my head forward meant my cheeks were covered with my hair.

“Aren’t you busy with work? Last time we spoke you said you didn’t anticipate getting a break until next week.”

“Well, yeah. I am really busy but currently I’m waiting to hear back from another company and until I get word there’s not much else I can do on this deal.” Greg looked the most relaxed I’d ever seen him, sitting there on my sofa and eating the breakfast he’d just prepared for us. He had on dark denim jeans and a bright white T-shirt, which didn’t have a spot of food on it. If I cooked, I ended up with more of the ingredients on me than in the pan.

We chatted and ate, indulging in a deeply intimate and domestic scene. Unbidden, the memory of what Darren and I had got up to in the bar the night before crept up on me and guilt lay in the pit of my stomach. How did women do it? Juggle more than one man? If I could just keep my emotions separate like I kept the boys apart then it would all be okay, but as I looked at Greg and tried to take in all he told me, all I could feel was the imprint of Darren’s hands on my hips.

“Oh, I’m full.” I made a show of patting my tummy when Greg had finished his tale. I put down my cutlery and sat back on the chair. “Thanks so much for that.”

“You’re welcome.” He got to his feet.

“Oh no, please, I’ll tidy up. It’s the least I can do.”

“No, I made the mess, I’ll clean it.” He grinned. “You just disappear into that bedroom and prepare yourself for a damn good fucking because, Kerry, I am desperate for you.”

How do you answer a statement like that? I was stunned and horny, very horny.

“Oh, I’ll go for a quick shower then.” I finally strung together something approaching a sentence. “Hurry up, though. I’m desperate for you too.”

I rushed into my room and the en suite, dropped my clothes then slipped into the shower and switched on the water. I danced from foot to foot as I waited for it to warm up. I felt the icy blasts and wished they’d erase the guilt I felt over fucking Darren the night before.

As the water warmed I berated myself. I was being silly—I wasn’t in a relationship with Greg or Darren. I was a free agent and it was fine for me to enjoy myself with both of the billionaires. Like buses, you wait for a hot, rich man to sweep you off your feet and two come along at once. I laughed bitterly and scrubbed at my skin.

I had forced thoughts of Darren to the back of my mind until I saw the bruise over my left hip. I didn’t know exactly what had caused it but I was certain it’d happened the night before.

I stared at it for a while, scrubbed at it, even though it hurt, and wished it’d disappear. Why couldn’t I forget Darren? I had Greg right there with me. I told myself to stop being silly and focus on one tasty man at a time.

I turned off the shower and dried myself. I had just slipped into a light silken nightie when Greg walked in. I was glad I’d spent a few minutes sweeping up all my strewn, dirty clothes into the laundry basket since he’d already tidied up the rest of the flat for me. I was worried he’d want to clean my bedroom too and maybe he’d change his mind about fucking me.

“Hey.” He walked across the room towards me.

“Hey,” I replied and felt the heat sweep up my neck and across my cheeks. He appraised me and the short, slinky shift I was wearing. I felt vulnerable and weak as he visually devoured me inch by inch.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he growled. He pulled me into him and held me tight.

I let out a deep, shuddering breath of relief when my insecurities stopped screaming in the back of my mind and I let myself enjoy the feel of his arms around me.

“I’m so glad you think so,” I whispered and kissed the skin just above his collarbone, “because you’re so hot I just want to grab you and hold you and do wicked things to you every single time I see you.”

“Really?” He moved a strong arm from around me and used a finger to tip up my chin and bring my gaze to meet his.

“Yes, really,” I replied. My heart thumped erratically. I didn’t know why I’d felt the need to confess such a thing, and I worried that maybe it was too much, that maybe I sounded a bit crazy stalkerish.

“Brilliant, it seems we’re completely in sync, because every time I see you I want you to do nasty things to me and with me. On top of me and under me. I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

He kissed me. His hand slid down my throat and rested on my breast as our lips ravaged each other, our tongues pressed forward and each sought dominance. Lust took over and thought and words became unnecessary. The brief covering I’d just put on he pulled off in a second and he pushed me down onto the bed before I could protest or even attempt to pull his top off. He pushed me over onto the centre of the bed and joined me there.

He was fully clothed and I felt the scratch of his clothes like a frustrating barrier between us. He kissed along my neck and collarbone and I brought my hands round to try to wrestle him out of his top.

“Stop it,” he commanded. “You’re distracting me.”

“But I want you naked,” I blurted. “I’m naked, it’s not fair.”

“I like it this way,” he said. “Now hush and let me kiss you all over.”

I let my hands fall back above my head and he continued kissing a trail along my body. I writhed beneath him, his lips soft and hot dragging lust up from my core to suffuse every last cell in my body. I wasn’t thinking, so when he captured my aching left nipple between his teeth, I brought my arms down from over my head and bunched my fingers up in the pristine white of his T-shirt.

“What did I tell you?” he growled and most disappointingly stopped kissing me.

“Erm…” I strived to remember but my mind was blank. All I could think about was how much I wanted him.

“You really are a naughty, naughty thing.” He shook his head then winked. His smile could only have been described as sardonic as he reached down to the floor and picked up my lingerie.

“Put your hands up.”

“Is this a stick-up?” I giggled, unable to resist the pun.

“Yes, can’t you feel my concealed weapon?” He pushed his crotch down on mine and I could feel how hard he was in there. I gulped.

“Okay, mister, I’ll come quietly, don’t hurt me.” I lifted my hands above my head and played along.

“Very good, but I’m pretty certain you’ll come loudly, young lady.” He grinned and tied my wrists together with the wisp of silk that had covered me moments earlier. I lay there, completely open to him, unable to cover myself from his sight, unable to touch him, to stop him. I was completely at his mercy.

I had never been so wet and ready in my whole life before.

“Same rules as last time,” he whispered as he moved in to kiss my earlobe. “Just yell ‘Diamonds’ if I do anything you want to stop.”

I nodded and he continued to kiss down my neck. His clothes-covered body scraped sensuously over my sensitised skin when he got back to the business of kissing me all over. And he meant
all
over. Under my arms, my elbows and my fingers all felt the caress of his lips. My neck, throat and collarbone, the flat of my chest and the hillocks of my breasts were all covered with kisses and nibbles as his hard, heavy body pressed against me and teased me without giving any satisfaction whatsoever.

I was a slave to his whim and I swore I would come if he just breathed on my clit, I was so wound up. It was wonderful. No one had ever taken such time to tease and arouse me. He nibbled my nipples and sucked each one until I sobbed and crooned his name.

And still he meticulously kissed lower. He didn’t rush over my stomach, he tickled my belly button and ran his hands over the soft swell. His lips followed and as he sank lower a gentle moan escaped his lips and caressed my flesh.

I was sure he could smell my arousal. He worshipped every little freckle and traced the faint stretch marks that I hate with his fingers. He showed no repulsion when he kissed them and I felt a blossom of something warm and tender in my chest when he stroked and soothed me. It was like he was trying to remember every inch of my body, so he could call it to mind at any moment, and that excited me.

“Oh, baby, where’d you get this bruise?” He gently stroked it then kissed gently over that betraying mark. I felt my cheeks flare with heat and I was glad he wasn’t looking at my face as I knew guilt was written all over it.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged as far as I could with my arms stretched above my head. I could have moved them down, it just hadn’t crossed my mind to do so. “I guess I must have bumped it at work last night. It was completely manic.”