Billionaire With a Twist(18)

And then I fled, in a display of cowardice that would have made Robert E. Lee ashamed to call me his countrywoman.

#

I cranked the shower handle further to the right and gritted my teeth against the cold water, trying to forget the taste of Hunter’s lips.

Why must that night haunt me? We hadn’t even slept together, not really. He’d only gone down on me, that talented tongue and lips stoking the fire that his hands had lit as they traced over my skin, as I moaned, arching my eager body against his, ready for everything he had to give me—

Not helping, brain!

I scrubbed furiously with the lavender and black pepper soap, trying to punish my skin for its inconvenient desires, to scour them from my flesh. But the touch of my hands only seemed to inflame me further, and I found my fingers teasing across my nipples, stroking and gently twisting—

No, no, no!

But the water had made my skin so smooth and wet, as though I were already sweating from his passionate embrace, and I was already imagining him in the shower with me, his strong arms encircling me from behind, his hard cock pressing against my back as he kissed his way from my shoulder up to my neck, his tongue teasing at the shell of my ear as I whimpered at his touch, arching back into him, spreading my legs slightly as I braced myself against the shower wall, begging him to thrust into me, filling me, f*cking me hard and fast and rough until I—

And before I could stop myself, my right hand was between my thighs, my fingers plunging into my wet cunt as the heel of my palm rubbed against my clit, as my left hand pinched my nipple. I f*cked myself harder and harder, oh God I knew it was so wrong to be thinking these things when I’d sworn to be hands off with Hunter, I knew this was only going to make it harder to keep away, but I couldn’t stop, oh God I needed so badly to come, I wanted so badly for him to be there making me come, with his strong hands and his deft tongue and his cock, oh sweet Lord, that cock, I wanted it between my lips and in my tight * and I’d let him f*ck me in the ass if he’d just let me come, oh God he could f*ck me any way he wanted if I could just come now, anything he wanted, it would be so good—

I came calling his name, and I thanked heaven the running water meant no one could hear me.

#

What kind of outfit says ‘I was definitely not just masturbating about you, that is definitely not the reason I am now late to dinner, why would you think that?’? I’m asking for a friend.

In the end I grabbed a blouse in a heavy green fabric that I knew looked terrible with my complexion, and a pair of slacks that hadn’t fit me right since I lost ten pounds. They were definitely too baggy in the rear and severely unflattering. But they were professional, and that was the important thing. I needed to send a clear message, and that message was, ‘Your lips? What? I barely noticed how soft and luscious they look, because I am a consummate professional. Totally.’

And I was going to read that message blaring loud and clear, not just to Hunter, but to myself. Why did he have to be so irresistible? I knew it wasn’t his fault; he had no way of knowing his one-night stand was someone he’d ever see again. I certainly hadn’t thought I’d ever see him again either.

And after this job, I probably never would see him again.

I set out for dinner, determined to ignore the utterly illogical pang of loss at that thought.

Professional. Totally professional.

#

Hunter was dressed professionally too when I met him on the back porch of the manor house, but somehow he still looked delicious in dress slacks and a crisp yellow button-up. Maybe it was the way that color brought out the gold in his eyes. Or just possibly it was the way that button-up shirt fit, hugging his chest tight and riding up just slightly when he stretched, just enough to glimpse one tantalizing strip of tanned skin over taut muscle.

I looked away quickly, pretending to admire the sunset. “Oh. Look at all those colors.”

It really was beautiful, all pinks and purples melting into a fiery glow reflected in the sapphire lake.

If only there weren’t something even more gorgeous demanding my attention.

“Ah. Yes. Colors.” Hunter sounded just as stilted and awkward as I felt. “The sun…does that.”

Oh boy. Was the whole dinner going to be like this?

Short answer: yes.

Longer answer: There was a little bit of a conversational reprieve as we fell about eating the pork chops, which had been slathered in some kind of lemon honey sauce that was basically the food of the gods, but was also an Olympic level challenge to keep off your clothing. I could barely enjoy the succulent pork as I fretted silently about keeping the sauce from smearing all over my face or dripping onto my pants. A slight drip at the corner of Hunter’s mouth reminded me forcefully of that almost-kiss, and I nearly dropped my pork chop.

When I finally finished, somehow miraculously still mostly clean, I wiped my fingers for the last time on the cloth napkin and reached for the crystal decanter of ice water.

Hunter reached for it at the same time.

Our fingers brushed.

We both pulled away as if we had received an electric shock.

“Sorry,” Hunter said.

“No, I’m sorry,” I said, “you go ahead.”

“No, you were reaching first.”

“No, I insist.”

He nudged the decanter toward me. I poured myself a glass of water.

Then he poured himself a glass of water.