She pushed open the door, and grabbed Nate’s arm.
“You need me?”
She shot him a wide-eyed stare. “Yes.” Then came a roll of the eyes. “I need your opinion on the dress, since you’re the best man. I told you about this dress before.”
He gritted his teeth. “Best man’s duties,” he grumbled, and in seconds, she’d grabbed his hand and was tugging him through the mid-morning crowds, bustling along the street, and then through the door the green-uniformed doorman held for them.
“I swear I don’t remember discussing a dress at Harrod’s,” he said on the escalator, because he could have done without the detour. He was dying to get to the hotel and take her. Just fucking take her. Throw her on the bed, rip off her panties, and slide into her heat. Anything for some relief for his aching balls. The relentless pressure in his dick from her emails and the images they’d stirred up was nearing painful levels, and he’d kept his computer bag on his lap for the entire ride into the city from the airport. The only thing that had kept him from pouncing on her in the car was the presence of those co-workers.
His brain functions had been reduced to a one-track level. He didn’t give a shit about lessons, or seduction, or submission. All he wanted was to have her. To own her body. To finish what she’d started.
“Yes. I told you,” she said insistently, waving her hand in the air as if she were trying to get him to recall a long-forgotten conversation. “The Herve Leger. You forgot?”
She parked her hands on her hips and stared at him pointedly. He stared at her hips. At her jeans. At her long legs. Her heels. He plotted the fastest course to stripping off the denim when they finally reached the hotel.
Yank the jeans down to the knees, and bend her over the bed. Ass in the air, her elbows on the bed, her back bowed.
He jammed a hand in his hair. He needed to find a way to be near her without operating like a walking hard-on. Because that’s all he was right now. A man led by his balls. She could have asked him to jump, and he’d be twenty feet in the air.
He shrugged and held up his hands in defeat. “Don’t remember the dress at all,” he said as they reached the next floor. She stepped off the elevator and he followed her, figuring the least he could do was enjoy the view of her ass as she walked. Maybe he was stooping to the basest levels today and objectifying her, but he didn’t care. She had the most fantastic ass he’d ever seen, touched, felt, held or . . .
Dammit. There he was again, speeding on the express train to Lust Ville.
He tried to redirect his mind to the meetings he and his team were having here in London this afternoon, and the trick worked briefly as they weaved through displays of designer dresses. Casey made a beeline for a light-blue dress, grabbed it and marched straight up to the saleswoman to let her know she needed to try it on.
Nate lagged behind as she headed for the dressing rooms, figuring he’d use the time to answer a few emails from business partners. That would help him in his quest too.
Then the neck of his shirt grew tighter, and he turned to find Casey jerking on it. “I need your opinion, goofball. That’s why I brought you here,” she said and practically dragged him to the dressing rooms, where classical music piped in overhead and the voices of other shoppers were hushed. It was like being in a church. She pressed her hands to his shoulders and pushed him down in a beige upholstered chair.
“Stay here. I’ll be right out to show you.”
She disappeared into the dressing room, and clicked the door shut behind her.
All his business thoughts fled his brain once more as he imagined her skimming down her jeans, tugging off her top, sliding those curves he loved into that dress.
He heard the door open and Casey popped her head out.
“That was fast,” he said, because she’d been in there for about five seconds.
She crooked her finger. He followed her lead, entering the dressing room. She was still wearing her jeans, her shirt and her shoes. The dress she brought into the room hung on a hanger on a hook. He pointed to the blue fabric and parted his lips, but the words he was about to say died quickly when she grabbed his collar, and pushed him against the wall. In an instant, her lips were on his, devouring him. All his questions and all his irritation leaked away in the wild hunger of her mouth. She kissed him relentlessly, sucking on his tongue and his lips so hard that he felt the kiss deep in his bones. It vibrated through his bloodstream. His brain went haywire. His body launched into maximum overdrive from the ferocity of her kiss. Her hands threaded through his hair as she rubbed her lush, delicious body along his, grinding her crotch against him, sending him spinning.
She broke apart, whispering, “You really had no idea?”
“No idea what?” His brain was still foggy and probably would be for days.
With lightning speed, she dipped a hand below the waistband of his jeans, stroking him. “Why I brought you here.”
He nearly growled from the temporary relief. “I really haven’t been able to think straight since the plane.”
She unzipped his jeans, freeing his erection. He was ready to get down on his knees and thank the heavens for her touch. Her soft nimble hands stroked him, and he began rocking into her fist, seeking friction, seeking heat. He didn’t care what she was going to do to him right now. As long as she didn’t stop touching him anything would be okay.
A groan rumbled through him.
She pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh . . . you need to be quiet. Harrod’s is a very classy place,” she said softly in his ear, her breath tickling his skin. “I need you to do that for me. Can you promise me you won’t make a sound?”
There was something so sexy about her voice right now, in the way she owned every single second of his pleasure. She’d taken charge, and she seemed to relish mapping out all the details of whatever it was she planned to do to him.
“I promise,” he said. He would agree to anything right now.
“Then,” she said, lingering on every word as she breathed hotly in his ear, “fuck my mouth.”
She dropped to her knees, pushed his jeans down a few more inches, and dived in. There was no teasing, no licking, no flick of her tongue against the swollen head of his cock, and he was damn grateful. He didn’t want finesse or foreplay. He wanted to be touched.
“Just like that,” he said on a groan. “All the way.”
She stopped, and shook her head. The message was clear. She was in charge, and he had to listen. He mimed zipping his mouth shut, and she returned to lavishing attention on his cock.