‘The god of sensual desire,’ I say, flexing my hips.
He grabs my wrists and rolls me, pinning me back on the bed, pushing into me, hard and huge, so I groan as satisfaction spirals through my gut. ‘I think that might be more appropriate for you, Grace.’ He drops his head forward, kissing the underside of my breast. ‘Maybe you could get that tattooed right here?’
I laugh, shaking my head. ‘That would hurt.’
He thrusts into me again, hard and fast, and pleasure is like starlight on my eyelids. I moan, digging my fingers into his back, and he’s pushing into me again.
‘Only a little bit.’
I don’t believe him.
‘And only for a minute.’
I don’t believe him but I’m shifting out of this earth, finding my place in another. Pleasure is like a lightning rod, like the lightning on his hip, and it’s cleaving me in two.
‘Liar,’ I moan, lifting my head up, seeking his lips as I come, hard, completely, wrapping my legs around his hips, burying him deep in my body.
But he’s not a liar. He’s completely honest—I love that he’s being so frank with me. Not a hint of this is masquerading as anything that it’s not. This is no-frills fucking—and it’s exactly what I need.
* * *
I leave just after one. Grace is fast asleep, her breath heavy, her beautiful body naked, so that I watch her while I dress, pretty much unable to tear my eyes away, and then lift the sheet up to cover her. Despite the warmth of the day and evening, the night has come in cool, the humidity has dropped, and I don’t want her to wake up uncomfortable.
I grab the rubbish on my way out, pushing it quietly into the waste bin in the corner before taking the lift to the second floor and going into my own hotel room. It’s identical, except mirrored.
But it’s close enough, so I can lie in my own bed, staring at the ceiling, imagining that I’m still in her room, that I can reach out and grab for her in the morning, like I wanted to yesterday, when I woke up in Sydney and needed to bury myself in her more than I can say.
I already feel the stirrings of desire; my cock’s ready for her again. But we have a deal—soon it’ll be morning and we’ll be working again. I’m not messing around with this—I do actually need to spend these three days appraising the course, seeing if it’s the right investment for me. I can’t let fucking around with Grace distract me. Extending the trip’s not an option.
So for now we’ll sleep, in our separate but similar rooms, and in the morning she’ll be Miss Llewellyn again.
I fall asleep with a smile on my face.
* * *
I wake up, disorientated and sore all over, but sore in the best possible way, as physical reminders of his possession strafe through me. I sit up, looking around. No Jagger.
There’s a note, though, on the side of the bed he slept in last night.
Thanks... You were great. Zeus.
It makes me smile in a way that stretches my lips and makes my cheeks hurt. My phone buzzes with a call and I reach for it, and the smile dies.
Gareth.
A couple of weeks after we broke up, Penny changed the photo of Gareth on my phone. Now, when he calls, instead of the photo taken the day we signed the lease on our new offices, smiling, side by side, I get a purple cartoon picture of the devil.
I’m still weirdly disorientated, but it must be early because my alarm hasn’t gone off yet. Why the hell is he calling me?
I swipe the phone to answer. ‘Hello?’
My voice sounds shitty. Good. The guy got married yesterday, after all.
To someone else.
‘Hey, Gracie.’ I hate that he still calls me that. I stiffen in bed.
‘What is it, Gareth?’