JC Harroway - The Proposition / Her Every Fantasy

I hold his stare for one beat, two, my belly tight with anticipation, but I don’t kiss him as I want. Instead I step away and slip off my sandals.

His eyes grow wide and then wider still as I slide my Capri pants over my hips. I’m wearing a black cotton thong and a strapless bra—no more revealing than half the bikinis here.

‘What are you doing?’ Excitement and awe war in Cam’s eyes and I roll my shoulders back, the fact that I can impress him spurring me on to exhibit my best assets.

I scoop up my pants and drape them over his arm and then add my camisole top.

‘I’m letting loose.’ I press a kiss to his startled mouth, ignore the stares I’m attracting, stride to the swimming deck slowly and confidently and dive into the cool Mediterranean.

The water is warm after the initial shock. I break the surface and look up, expecting to see Cam’s impressed face looking down at me, but he too is on the deck, stripping off his T-shirt and shorts and then following my lead by executing a perfect dive.

I have a split second to register the jealousy that heats my blood at the way some of the women ogled his spectacular physique, but then he surfaces not far from me and swims my way with long, confident strokes.

We tread water face to face, both grinning.

‘Is that loose enough for you?’ I ask, splashing him in the face.

He grips my waist and presses a kiss to my mouth with a growl that promises retribution. ‘You’re fucking irresistible, Orla Hendricks. There are a couple of guys up there I thought I might have to resuscitate—this gorgeous body is much too hot for general consumption. I can see I’m going to have to be on hand to protect the male population from your hotness.’

The air leaves my lungs in an excited rush, the familiar taste of triumph. ‘Does that mean you’ll be joining me in Zurich?’ I mentally tsk at the flare of euphoria—a stupid, girlish reaction for which my libido is totally to blame.

He grins wider and then drags my body against his so I feel his hard cock pressed against my stomach. ‘As long as you accept my conditions and you’re happy to travel in style.’

‘My first-class ticket was style,’ I say, rubbing my lips against his, tasting salt and Cam.

‘You’ll like my style better; now let’s get going before I change my mind and buy the Abella just so I can watch you do that again.’ We break apart, laughing, and swim to the yacht’s stern, where a crew member is helpfully waiting with two fluffy white monogrammed towels and our neatly folded clothes.

I dress quickly, driven by the heat in Cam’s eyes, as if he’s already mentally undressing me, almost promising the minute we’re on board his private plane I’ll be crying out his name.

By the time we reach the marina, my pulse pounds with excitement. ‘What about your luggage, and what will you do with your car?’ I slip into the leather passenger seat, eager to get in the air before he can change his mind.

He dons his sunglasses, guns the engine and pulls out of the parking spot. ‘I have everything I need.’ He indicates the leather messenger bag on the back seat. ‘And I’m shipping the car to Sydney—I bought it for my cousin.’

I gape, my mind reasoning that we have sports cars in Australia. But by the time we get to Monaco’s private airfield and I see the cute little Cessna on the tarmac, I’m grinning—there is something to be said for Cam’s travel-in-style sense of hedonism.

Cam

MY EYES STING with the trickle of sweat, but I can do nothing about it while I’m braced on both hands over Orla, who is close to climaxing. The minute we boarded the plane she jumped me, and I only too happily obliged, stripping us both while I headed for the craft’s king-sized bed.

I know she’s close because she clutches my arms until her nails dig into my skin, her staccato breaths becoming trapped in her throat. I’ve watched her come so many times in the last twenty-four hours that I’ve lost count. And this time is just as addictive. She lets go, her release real and joyful and noisy as if she’s not expecting it, as if it creeps up on her, as if she’s embracing this sex-only proposition with both hands.

I ignore the needs of my own body and dive once more for her nipple—she loves it when I give her just a scrape of my teeth. Orla likes a hint of rough with her pleasure. Who’d have guessed this passionate, sexually adventurous woman and the serious, put-together financier I met at the bar are the same woman? If it wasn’t for our differences outside of sex, she could be made for me.

‘Cam… Oh, my…’

She comes with her beautiful eyes on me and I follow her—bareback. She’s too fucking tempting and my control was shot to pieces the minute she suggested we ditch condoms for the duration of this sexy little interlude she proposed.

I collapse on top of her, spent for now, and then roll to the side as I slip from her body, my dick still half-hard. How could I be anything else? She’s incredible. She blew me away with that stunt on board the Abella . I’ll never forget the sight of her clad only in the skimpiest of underwear, her lithe, toned body glowing in the sun as she dived into the sea. I wanted to run around scouring the image from the eyes of everyone there, male and female.

My breathing slows and I rest my head on my hand, wondering, who is the real Orla? The siren or the CEO? Perhaps neither.

She’s certainly the most ambitious and driven woman I know. But what about life? Relationships and family and the future? What does the real Orla want beyond global domination of the financial sector? I’m not even going to pretend to understand what she does for a living outside of the fact I’m certain my father would have used her wealth-building services.

She turns to face me, one thigh slung over mine, sliding the wetness we’ve both left between her legs over my skin. I hold in a groan because I want her again, and I’ve barely caught my breath.

She wriggles until she’s comfortable, using my shoulder as a pillow. I kiss the top of her head, the scent of whatever shampoo she uses filling my senses. I breathe her in, congratulating myself on the impulse to accompany her. I was tempted the minute she asked in the hotel gym, but I wanted to push her, to see how far she’d go for my company, and boy, has she surprised me.

My first impressions of her were all wrong. Yes, she carries the poise and polish of her wealth, but with a little encouragement, when she’s not glued to her phone or her laptop, she’s more than willing to let loose and embrace this thing between us—two people who couldn’t be more different united in a pretty constant need to slake our fierce attraction.

Who knew a woman so tightly controlled could be so hot, insatiable and demanding? Thank fuck she suggested a continuation of the sex, otherwise I might have resorted to some unflattering trawling of the M Clubs in search of another chance encounter…

Her small hum of contentment vibrates through my chest. I grip her closer, holding her wet dream of a body closer.

‘Glad you said yes?’ she mumbles from under her cloud of dishevelled hair.

‘Too right.’ She’s become my favourite distraction technique from my personal predicament, fucking her the only thing that switches off the constant feelings of fury and futility. Better than hiding, drinking, gambling and pounding my body to exhaustion at the gym combined.

I snort a short laugh. Perhaps that’s the answer to my father’s legacy—to immerse myself in a sex coma so profound I’m numb to the sheer audacity of the man. How dare he think he can control me from the grave with his last will and testament and make amends with money for a lifetime of indifference and absence?