He removes his hand, replacing it with his lips. ‘Shhhhhh.’ he mumbles against my mouth.
‘Oh God, I feel cheap.’ I whine, leaving his lips and dropping my head to his shoulder. How am I going to walk out of this place without burning bright red and looking as guilty as sin?
‘You’re not cheap. Talk crap like that, I’ll be forced to kick your delicious backside all over my bathroom.’
I snap my head up from his shoulder, looking at him in confusion. ‘Your bathroom?’
‘Yes, my bathroom,’ He smirks at me. ‘I wish they would stop strangers roaming around my home.’ he muses.
‘You live here?’ I’m puzzled. He can’t live here. No one lives here.
‘Well, I will do as of tomorrow. Tell me. Is all this Italian shit worth the outrageously expensive price tag they attached to this place?’ He looks at me expectantly.
Does he actually want me to answer that? ‘Italian shit?’ I splutter, completely insulted.
He laughs, and I think I might slap him. Italian shit? The man is an ignorant arse. Italian shit?
‘You shouldn’t have brought the place if you don’t like the shit that’s in it.’ I fire at him, completely outraged.
‘I can get rid of the shit.’ he quips.
My eyebrows shoot up in a, you-didn’t-just-say-that expression. I’ve spent months breaking my back sourcing all of this Italian shit and this unappreciative swine is just going to get rid? I’ve never been so insulted, or pissed off. I try to wriggle my hands from under his, but he tightens his grip. I shoot him a scowl.
He grins. ‘Unravel your knickers, lady. I wouldn’t get rid of anything in this apartment,’ He kisses me hard. ‘And you’re in this apartment.’ He’s taking my mouth again, possessively, greedily.
I won’t read into that statement too much. My libido has just jumped to attention and I’m happy to comply. I attack him with equal force, thrusting my tongue into his mouth, circling his with mine as he lifts his grip from my hands. They impulsively fly to those taut, rippling shoulders that I love so much.
Wrapping his arm around my middle, he releases my lips and lifts me up from the counter, leaving me hovering above the surface as his other hand finds my knickers and yanks them down my legs. He rests me back down, removing my shoes and letting them tumble to the tiled floor on a loud clatter. I join him in his stripping party, reaching up and pushing his shirt down his broad shoulders, revealing his bare chest in all of its glory. He’s cut to complete perfection. I want to lick every square inch of him.
As I trace my eyes down, I recoil slightly at a nasty scar that’s running across his stomach and rounding onto his left hip. I never noticed it before. The light at The Manor was dim, but that is one hefty scar. It’s slightly faded but bloody big. How did he get that? I elect to not enquire. It could be a sensitive issue, and I don’t want anything to upset this moment. I could just sit here and gawp at him forever, even with the scar that looks so sinister, he’s still beautiful.
I scrunch his shirt up between my hands and chuck it on top of my dress. He raises his eyebrows at me.
‘I’ll buy you a new one.’ I shrug.
He smirks and leans forward, bracing himself on the counter and capturing my lips – all brooding and careful. I reach for his trousers and begin unfastening his belt, whipping it out of his loop holes in one swift pull, instigating a snapping sound to erupt around us.
He pulls back on an arched brow. ‘Are you going to whip me?’
Huh? ‘No,’ I answer uncertainly. Does he like that sort of stuff? I throw his belt to join the pile on the floor and slide my hand between his tight narrow hips and the waistband of his trousers. I wrench him forward so we’re nose to nose. ‘Of course, if you want me to…’ Did I just say that?