“We’ve got time for this,” he says against me, his fingers driving deeper and finding my G-spot with ease. “Grab the pillow, babe. This is gonna be quick.”
The cocky smirk on his face as he says those words should really put a damper on this, but it doesn’t, not at all. Mainly because I know he’s about to fulfil that promise and have me screaming in seconds.
Doing as I’m told, I smother myself with the pillow as he gets back to work. His tongue and teeth assault my clit as his fingers hit the right spot over and over until I’m chanting his name and quickly screaming out my release only a minute later.
I pull the pillow from my face just in time to watch him wipe my juices from his chin with the back of his hand.
“Fucking addicted, babe,” he confesses, looming over me and stealing a kiss that would have made my knees weak if I could actually feel them. I groan as I taste myself on him, and my hips roll in my need for more.
But he doesn’t give it to me.
Instead, he stands and takes a step back.
“How? How do you still look like a fucking god?” I spit, knowing that I look like a wrung-out, panting whore right now.
My eyes run down the length of his still perfect suit until I find the massive bulge in his trousers.
Heat floods me and my mouth waters.
“No time, babe,” he growls, his voice raspy and full of need. “Get dressed.”
“You’re no fun,” I mutter, sliding from the bed and praying my legs hold me up.
He watches me with amusement. “I beg to differ, Hellcat.”
Turning my back on him, I upend the bag he brought, my curiosity more than piqued about what he thinks I should be wearing for this little mission.
There’s a part of me already groaning, thinking there’s a sleek black dress in here that will make me look like a fucking mafia Barbie.
But I’m soon proven wrong, and I can’t help but smile as I realise just how well he knows me.
“Someone’s been busy,” I mutter, grabbing the underwear from my pile and pulling it up my legs.
“You should see my wardrobe. It’s all ready for my wife.”
I glance over my shoulder, needing to know if he’s serious or not. Of course, he totally is.
“Theo, I don’t need you buying me things.”
“I know. But I want to. There’s a massive difference.”
I start to argue but quickly shut it down. Now is not the time.
He watches my every move as I pull on the silk and lace bra, followed by the slim-fit black trousers and perfectly fitting blazer, which shows off a healthy amount of the bra beneath.
“Fuck. I have no chance of sinking this boner with you looking like that.”
A satisfied smirk pulls at the corner of my lips before I sit in front of my dressing table, quickly pulling my hair back into a messy yet stylish bun and applying my makeup, complete with blood-red lipstick.
“Now?” I ask, standing before him, ready to go and deal with my enemy first hand.
“Like my best fucking fantasy come to life. My wife is a fucking bad-arse.”
“Well, obviously. Shoes?” I ask, not seeing any with the clothes.
“I thought you’d probably castrate me with them if I bought you heels.”
“Wise.”