My cheeks flush pink. ‘Like I said, I make a donation each year.’
‘A considerable one, I’d bet.’
Last year seventy per cent of my income went to the charity. I shrug. ‘It’s important.’
‘I think...’ He pauses, frowning, shakes his head.
‘What?’
He drives a hand through his hair. ‘This might sound incredibly condescending, but I think your mom would be so proud of you, Avery.’
* * *
His words are still floating through my mind, making me buzz and glow, when the plane touches down. Unlike a commercial flight, there have been no announcements as to our location, the flight crew obviously clued in on the fact Barrett is surprising me.
Before we disembark he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a silky black piece of fabric.
‘May I?’ He holds it up towards my face.
My pulse hums, the idea of being blindfolded by Barrett sparking a thousand and one thoughts and not one of them is PG. ‘Uh-huh.’
He turns me around, lifting the fabric over my eyes and tying it behind my head, so I can’t see a thing.
He has to guide me down the stairs, and then ease me into a waiting car. It begins to move. With my eyes blindfolded like this, I’m hyper-aware of everything. The gentle thrum of the engine, the rustle of Barrett’s clothing as he moves, the feeling of my dress against my body, my nipples against the fabric—I didn’t wear a bra—his masculine scent, then the sound of something—a soft buzzing noise. I frown, lifting my hands to the blindfold, instinctively wanting to remove it to investigate that latest noise.
But Barrett’s hand on mine stops me. ‘Leave it.’ It’s a gruff command.
My heart turns over in my chest.
A minute later, the unclicking of a seat belt. His, not mine. His body moving, and moving easily, which makes me think we’re in some kind of limousine, with enough space in the back for a man of Barrett’s size to move freely.
His hands on my ankles make my breath snag. Anticipation begins to hum inside me, desire a raging torrent.
‘You said multiple orgasms, right?’ His hands move slowly up the insides of my legs, his fingers tracing invisible lines, and I nod, mumbling something that might have been a, ‘Yeah, I did.’
I lift my butt off the seat as his fingers connect with the silk of my thong, making it easier for him to slide it down my legs. My dress is cotton. He bunches it up my legs, higher and higher, the feeling of it rubbing against me almost enough to make me weep and come, all at once.
His hands are firm as they grip my knees, pushing them apart, exposing me to him completely, and for a moment there’s nothing. Just me in the back of a limo—I presume—with this unbearably sexy Brit crouched between my legs. But then his lips press against me, his tongue pushing into me, his mouth sucking my clit; my sex, his mouth, we’re so wet, I’m so turned on, heat flashes in my belly. I move my legs but his hands are firm, refusing to let me shift, keeping me just as he wants me, his dominance fierce and flaming. I arch my back and push further forward on the seat, giving him better access—not that he needs it. He is so good at this. It reminds me of the first night we were together, of the way he effortlessly brought me to the edge of climax again and again and then withdrew, but this isn’t like that. There’s no withdrawing tonight, there’s no taunting, no point-scoring.
This is Barrett at his best.
I’m on the edge of an orgasm and he must know that because his hands curve around to my ass, pulling me even closer, pressing me hard against his mouth so I feel his tongue and his lips and the stubble on his jaw and the sensual overload is impossible to cope wi
th.
I crumble in his hands, against his mouth, moaning words that make no sense, words that have their own cadence and etymology. I am in freefall and I have no idea if Barrett would ever be able to catch me but I don’t care. The fall feels too good to give a shit about the landing.
* * *
‘Are you ready?’ Thirty minutes later, my body is floating. Barrett clearly took my objectives seriously. The car trip here—to wherever we are—has been an invasion of all my senses and I am practically in the clouds now.
‘To sleep for a year?’ I joke back, smiling in the direction of his voice.
And, despite what we’ve just shared, his hand over mine feels intimate and warm, his fingers curling through mine like they were designed for that.
What the hell is happening to me? Since when do I think soppy crap like that?
‘No sleep right now, princess.’