Rachael Stewart - Getting Dirty

I soften my hands in her hair, caressing instead of holding. I drag in a breath and then my brain rips through the haze— you fucking idiot —and sends guilt and hatred hot on its tail.

And it’s not her I loathe. I know that with ice-like clarity now.

It’s me—all me.

Something flickers in his gaze, and for a second I worry that it’s regret I can see. I don’t want Ash’s regret. I want the fire back. The same fire that has me all wet, aching, needier than I can ever remember. It’s the perfect antidote for life. Powerful, all-encompassing, a perfect distraction.

I release his cock and put right his underwear—but I don’t zip him up. I’m not done yet. Not if I have my way. I lick my lips as I stand and take pleasure in his touch as he tilts my head towards him, his thumb and finger gentle on my chin.

‘You’re pretty talented.’

‘Call it practice.’

His eyes flash and his fingers flex. He didn’t like that…

‘I’ll bet you’ve had plenty of practice too.’ I throw it back at him and run my teeth over my bottom lip. I want to push him. I want to toy with his obvious conflict. I want this twisted game to go on for however long he will play it. ‘I bet your tongue is skilled in so many ways—or do you use your fingers more?’

I take hold of his hand upon my chin and slowly lower it down my body. My breasts prickle inside the confines of my bra as he travels through the valley between them and over my exposed midriff, which has me sucking in a breath.

He isn’t stopping me, but that war is back. I can see it in his gaze. At any moment he’s going to back away and leave, and the very idea is making my heart beat that little bit faster and urging me on.

I lift myself up on tiptoes and lean into his ear, my free hand working my skirt up, my other hand drawing his hand down. ‘Feel how wet I am…just for you.’

I slip his hand inside my lacy knickers, press his fingers into my wetness. His breath hitches in my ear, a curse hot on its tail.

Better. So much better.

My lips lift in victory as I dare to lean back, to meet his eye, and slowly I circle my hips over his touch, my hand still tight on his.

You’re not going anywhere, Ash, not yet.

His lips are deliciously parted and I love it, taking advantage to sink my tongue inside his mouth and coax his own into action. He comes alive at last, his fingers moving of their own volition, his mouth crushingly sweet as he takes control.

He slips his fingers deeper, enters me as his thumb grazes my clit and I buck on the spike of pleasure that runs through me, the continued onslaught of his mouth catching my sigh of ecstasy.

I raise my hands to his shoulders and cling to his body for support, my lower half on a shameless ride of its own.

I struggle to catch my breath as his thumb works me to fever pitch, his mouth endless in its brutal exploration of my mouth. I tear my lips away, press my forehead into his shoulder and remember the audience taking in our brazen display, enjoying what they can see, what they can hear.

I look to where his hand is buried in black lace. His movements are quick and dizzying, his fingers in deep. He’s skilled, all right, and I’m seconds away from combusting. My nails bite into his shoulders, my body tenses up and I fling my head back to look at him, to register the blazing heat of his gaze.

‘That’s it—come for me, princess.’

His words, his hand, his skill… Every muscle floods with heat, my insides are wound so tight, and then I burst from the inside out.

‘Fuck…’ My eyes clamp shut, my body spasms and he locks his arm around my waist, holding me tight. He won’t drop me. I won’t fall. It’s perfect—perfect and safe.

His thumb rolls over me, slowing against my heightened sensitivity, and then he palms me, his hot heat pressed against my wetness until my body eventually stills and my breathing calms.

My head falls forward, he withdraws his hand and reality seeps in.

Nothing’s changed. Life is as it was before. But for those blissful few minutes it was gone, and for that I am grateful.

Slowly I raise my lashes and calm my expression. He doesn’t need to join me on the comedown. He doesn’t have to shoulder what I do.

‘Thank you,’ I whisper.

He curves his hand around my behind beneath my skirt. ‘You’re welcome.’

And then he releases me to fasten his trousers. He steps back, his attention off me. So off me that I’m floundering.

I look away and smooth out my skirt, suddenly awkward, sheepish. Do we just say goodbye? It’s what I would normally do. But I don’t want to. Already the chill is taking over and the distance is building between us. I want the warmth back.

What’s the likelihood of us seeing each other again? I’ve been coming here for years and never seen him, regardless of his claim that Jackson is a mate. Maybe he’s not from London. Maybe he’s just visiting.

So many questions burn through me and I can’t give voice to a single one.

Regardless of his actions, he said I wasn’t his type. Would that still be the case now we’d had our fill?

He’s very still and I risk a look. He’s staring at me, but I can’t read him. He’s impenetrable, cold. While his blue eyes seem to pierce me, strip me bare. My confidence is in tatters. Obliterated with the surprising force of my orgasm and his sudden detachment.

Perhaps it’s because I could see myself wanting more.

More like what?

A date. A normal, everyday date, like any normal, everyday woman would want.

But you’re not one of them. Never have been… Never will be.

The growing chill reaches my heart and I shiver.

‘I should go,’ he says, smoothing a hand over his hair.

I nod, still speechless, my messed-up thoughts keeping me tongue-tied as I wrap my arms around myself.

He starts to walk and then stops. My heart flutters, my head lifts, I’m hopeful. But then he continues on and I watch him leave…cold, sober, sad.

I turn back to the ladies’ room, my head swimming with what’s gone down.

You sure you want to let that go…?

I’m already spinning on my heel and heading after him, but as I break out onto the pavement and scan the street all I see are the doormen. There’s no sign of him. Not even a lit-up car about to leave. Where in the hell is he?

I look to the doormen, who are doing their best not to notice me. ‘Did you see where he went?’ I say, and they give me a brief look.

‘Who?’ one says.

‘The guy that left just ahead of me.’

‘Afraid not.’

I think he’s lying. In fact, I know he’s lying. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m on the wrong side of the non-disclosure agreement now I’m outside the building that means he won’t tell me anything.

I’m about to ask again when I hear a car door open behind me, down the street, and my heart soars. I turn towards the sound.

Maybe he’s seen me… Maybe he’s coming back for—

‘My lady?’

It’s my driver. Hope vacates my body, the chill returns, and I wrap my arms around my middle and head towards him. The sinking feeling inside me is ever more pronounced.

It was foolish, anyway. I’ve read of infatuations that start with such a spark. I’ve read it in my mother’s diary, have been able to feel my mother’s lust and then love for my father through the pages. But I always thought such a thing out of my reach. Every boy, teen, man has taught me that aside from sex I’m good for one thing only: money .

No, make that two things. Money and a title. I have them both. And because of that I’m destined to become a spinster.