Haze(40)

I'm on her before she has a chance to respond, pushing her back, pinning her to the wall. Her breath catches as I push my body into hers.

"Look at me, Isla." I nudge her cheek with my jaw. "Look up now."

"Yes, sir." Her voice does nothing to hide her arousal as her eyes lock on mine.

I trace my lips across her cheek before I slide them over her mouth, pulling her into a deep, intense kiss. The low moan that flows from her mouth into mine sends a wave of heat right through me.

"One taste of you unraveled me, Isla," I growl into the soft skin of her neck. "I couldn’t f*ck you there. That's not the place you belong."

"Where do I belong?" she asks in barely more than a whisper.

"In my bed. That is the only place you belong."





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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN


Isla




I'm reasonably sure when I walked out of the office with my lipstick smeared all over my mouth and Gabriel's, that Cicely finally clued in to what's been going on. If she hadn't, the hard-on that he was trying to mask beneath his carefully placed right hand would have given everything away.

He'd kissed me deeply after he told me that he wanted me in his bed. That's his actual bed and not the f*ck pad one. As tempted as I was to ask him about that place and exactly how many other women have ordered room service breakfast, I didn’t. His past is his past and right now I'm his present. That's the only thing that matters to me.

"Are you and Mr. Foster boning?"

Boning? Is that an actual thing?

I keep hanging up the new robes that arrived today with the hope that Cicely will disappear right along with that question. Who even refers to it as boning?

"Isla, I asked you a question." She taps me on the shoulder. "I want to know about you and Mr. Foster."

I pivot on my heel to face her. I hadn't noticed that bright red headband she's wearing before now. It actually matches her dress perfectly. It does nothing to deter from the large fabric bow that is perched on her left shoulder.

"What is it? I'm really busy right now, Cicely."

"Are you and Mr. Foster doing things? You are having sex with him, aren't you?"

So far just really spectacular oral sex, thank you. Well, technically, thank you to Mr. Foster for that.

"My personal life isn't your business." I perch my hands on my waist. "What I do after work isn't your concern, Cicely."

"Did you do it in the office just now? If you did, that's my business."

"I've never had sex in this building." I wave my hand in the air. "Have you?"

"Once."

My mouth literally falls open. I feel it and I do nothing to stop it. "You've had sex in the boutique?"

"It was after hours." She points at a table covered in lace panties. "It was over there, against that table."

I rest my fingertips against my forehead. How did I get involved in this conversation and beyond that, is there a way to get that mental image out of my mind?

"Don't run to Mr. Foster and tell him that." She points her finger at me. "I'll deny it and you'll look like a fool."

My lips twist wryly. "I won't tell a soul, Cicely. Your secret is safe with me."

I mean it. I'm not even sure I could form the words to tell anyone, let alone Gabriel, about Cicely's sex life.

***

"Isla, did you ever make it to Skyn?"

I close the door of the change room with a small push of my shoulder. I feel instant relief once I hear the latch catch.

"I went there once," I admit. "I can't say it was the best experience I've ever had."

She adjusts the lace bra she's trying on. "I like the way this fits. Does it come in different colors?"

I nod slowly. "Black, violet, I think there's also a red option, but I'll need to double check that we have it in stock."

"You don't carry collars, do you?"

She's not the first customer to ask me that. She is, however, the first, and only customer, I've had who has ever talked about Skyn, that club I went to a few weeks ago in Lower Manhattan.

"I'm sorry, Tiffany, we don't."

That's the name she likes to be called. I'm not sure if it's part of her fantasy life, but it's not the name on her credit card or on her driver's license, which she had to show me to verify her identity when she opened an account with us.

If I had to wager a guess, I'd say she's at least fifteen years older than me. The first time she came in, she asked me to help her try on dozens of different bras. During the hour I spent with her she rambled on about her penchant for being tied up. It had sparked my interest immediately and when she talked about the men she'd met at Skyn, I made the mistake of asking her where the club was.

"I know a place I can get one." She gestures to her back in an effort to get me to unclasp the bra. "Do you want to come with me after work one day? It might be fun."