“What were you saying out there?” he asks softly, coming up behind me and placing his hands around the small of my waist. His breath smells like wine. “You don’t want Steph to be right about what?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell him, closing my eyes and leaning my head against his chest. “Stupid girl nonsense.”
“Mmmm. Sorry I took off like that,” he murmurs against the top of my head. “There’s only so much I can handle.”
I’m not sure if he means the wine or the social situations, so I don’t say anything except, “I wanted to get out of there too.”
“Good,” he murmurs, his hand briefly sliding over my hip. I want him to slip it lower, in between my legs, and flip up the hem of my dress, but he takes my hand instead. “Come here.”
He leads me down the long, cavernous hall, my sandals echoing as we walk. At the end, there is a large ornate mirror and a hall leading to the left and right. To the left it’s blocked by a heavy door, and to the right there is a locked, floor-to-ceiling iron gate between the room and what looks like a hall to a maintenance area. A cart full of towels sits outside an open door, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone around.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to be in this area,” I tell him. I turn around but the look in his eyes grows molten and I immediately know what’s going on. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and a lone shiver slides down my spine.
“I don’t think so either, love,” he says gruffly, taking a step forward until my back is pushed against the gate. “But there are no dogs here.”
I bite my lip and wrap my hand around his neck as he presses against me, the hardness in his jeans digging into my hip. He groans quietly, lips at my neck, pushing me further into the gate. The bars hurt my back, but it’s a good kind of hurt. All the pain you get from sex is a fair trade, especially when it’s coming from Lachlan McGregor.
He puts his hands on my thighs and slowly skims his palms up, the hem of my dress lifting with them. They leave trails of stardust and heat then pause at my hips. He lets out a heavy exhale against my neck.
“No panties,” he murmurs. “Why do I have to leave you again?”
I swallow, my heart pinching. There is no room for anything except sex, especially here, especially now. “Because you’re a smart man who is going back to a promising career.”
“But how smart am I when I have to leave a woman like you behind?”
I shut my eyes. “New rule,” I tell him, my hand slipping to his jeans and undoing his fly. “We are never to mention the fact that you are leaving. From now on.”
He pulls back and stares at me, one hand dipping down between my legs, the other cupping my cheek. His lips are wet, parted, so entirely suckable, his eyes fraught with some wild emotion I can’t read.
“I’m not sure I can pretend that,” he says thickly.
“You don’t have to pretend,” I tell him, moaning softly as his fingers slide along my wetness. “We just won’t bring it up. Live in the now. Always now.” My hand finds the stiff, hot length of his cock, and I pull it out of his pants. “By the way, you don’t wear underwear either.”
He closes his eyes and hisses softly as I wrap my fingers around him. “Just trying to keep up with you,” he says, voice rich and raspy.
“I appreciate the effort,” I manage to say as he dips a finger inside me. My body seems to exhale from his touch, as if I need him in order to breathe. Everything aches for him, and I clench around his finger greedily, wanting more, needing more.
But this isn’t about me. I slide my hand over his cock, dragging the silk of his precum down his rigid, heated length. I want to unravel him. I want to bring him to his knees. I want, more than anything, to undo this man and leave him the way he’s leaving me, like a string pulled and a top spinning, over and over again, waiting for the fall.