‘Then let me talk,’ he says softly, gently, his voice husky, as though he’s been up all night.
But I can’t do this. Twice I’ve let myself fall for guys who found it disgustingly easy to turn their backs on what I was offering. I’m not going to let him in again. Maybe I’ve finally learned my lesson?
‘It’s been thirty-four days,’ I say quietly. ‘What could you possibly have to say to me now?’
‘Thirty-four days? Is that all?’
I jerk my eyes to his because he sounds as absolutely stunned as I feel. Like his time has been running as slowly as mine. But he has no right to feel like that! This was all his decision.
‘You can’t be here.’
He lifts a hand, running his fingers through his hair. ‘I have to be here.’
I shake my head, making an impatient noise of frustration. ‘Stop it. Just stop. Stop acting tortured. Stop acting like you’re messed up by this. Just stop.’ I come around from behind my desk, bringing my body toe to toe with his.
‘You’re in Australia. You came to play golf with your brother and then you’ve come to Sydney. Why? You want to fuck me again? For old times’ sake?’
He stands completely still, staring down at me, and anger flashes inside my belly. I lift my hands, pushing at his chest, but he stays completely still. My fingers curl in his shirt and I lift up onto the tips of my toes. ‘You want to fuck me right here, on this desk? Meaningless sex while you’re in town?’
He’s struck mute and I’m thrilled. Thrilled to have confused him, to have made him think. Thrilled to be firing questions at him he can’t answer.
I make an angry noise as I crush my lips to his, and my kiss is heated by fury. I push him with my body as I kiss him, and he lets me, stepping backwards, sitting on the edge of my desk, his legs forming a triangle in which I stand. I push at his shirt, lifting it from his pants, my fingers touching his bare hips. ‘Is this what you came here for?’ I grunt, pulling the shirt so a button flies across the room.
‘Grace...’
But I don’t let him speak. I don’t want him to speak. ‘Just shut up!’ I say. ‘Don’t say anything.’ I’m crying, salty tears running down my cheeks. ‘Just don’t talk.’
His breath is raspy, loud, tortured. I don’t care. I flick his jeans open, pulling his cock out of his pants, glaring at him, daring him to stop me as I run my hands over its hard length.
‘Fuck. I did not come here for this.’
‘Shut up,’ I say again, so angry, so dark. I kiss him again, using one hand to dislodge my underpants and push them down my legs.
I scramble up onto his lap and now I stop kissing him, I glare at him as I straddle him and take him deep inside me, crying hot, stinging tears as he fills me up. It is madness and it is perfection.
It is some kind of earthly coming together. I stare at him, my pained eyes locked to his as I move my hips. His expression shows me so much but I blot it out. I don’t want to think about what he feels or wants. I don’t. This is about me.
I’m so damned angry.
I dig my nails deep into his shoulders and then I’m coming, so hard, so fast, so completely. My orgasm spirals through me and I tilt my head back, groaning quietly, keeping my voice low as pleasure arrows through my nerves.
I feel like I’ve been flooded with blinding light. I am glittering silver.
My lungs work hard to keep air pumping through my body and then I lift my head up, looking at him once more.
‘Is that what you came for?’ I ask, despite the fact he hasn’t come. That doesn’t seem relevant.
A muscle jerks in his jaw.
And now, with him still so hard inside me, I’m sickened by what I’ve just done, by whatever madness has driven me to this. I lift up off him, climbing awkwardly off his lap, off the desk, placing my feet on the floor and turning away from him while I smooth my skirt down. ‘Is that what you came for?’
The words come out mangled by sadness.
‘No.’ A single, gruff response.
But he doesn’t say anything more and I spin around to face him, my expression stiff. ‘Just go, Jagger. Just get out of here.’
‘No.’