Mogul (Manhattan #2)(38)

I groan and flatten my hands on the wall.

He groans too. “God, you’re so good.”

“Give it to me hard, Ian. Just… give me everything.”

“I never hold back,” he growls in my ear. “Not with you.”

He thrusts, and I moan, and he clamps a hand on my mouth, whispering, “Keep these sounds just for me, hmm?”

“Mmm,” is my answer. I lick his palm, groaning when he slips his other hand around me and between my thighs. He starts caressing me. And my moans turn to whimpers. He flips me around and kicks his chair aside, then lays me on his desk, looking down at me, his forehead tight with passion as he slowly… ever so slowly… excruciatingly slowly… drives back into me.

We hold gazes, unable to find words, as we race to the edge together.

I arch my back and bite back my cry as my orgasm hits. It’s cataclysmic, overwhelming, shaking me so hard I think I’ll snap. Ian slides his arms beneath me to keep me from getting bruised by his desk, but he never slows his thrusts.

We take a moment to catch our breaths before he helps me up. He straightens his slacks while I straighten my hair and dress.

“Did you check on the casting call I told you about?” he asks.

“I missed the audition with so much work last week. I called and they’ve filled the slots.”

“Shame. Something else will come up.”

I nod hopefully, grateful for his encouragement, and reach for the heel that fell off my foot during sex.

“Allow me.” His mouth curves into a dark little smile and he boosts me up, sitting me on his desk. He bends to pick up my shoe, but before slipping it on, he lifts my leg and places a kiss on the arch of my foot.

He sets me back down. I’m breathless. Already wanting more.

“Dinner tonight.”

“Dinner,” I agree. “You’re such a busy workaholic, you make your people come in even on the weekend?” I tease.

“Why wait until Monday when we can get it done today?” He winks.

I head out, aware of Ian taking his seat behind the desk and watching me leave. I smile in the elevator.

We’re going to date cautiously. I’ll do my best not to put my whole heart into it. To not overthink this, just enjoy it while he cleans up his mess. Have fun with him while it lasts. He is so hot, I cannot deny myself this opportunity.

I’m stepping out of the elevator when I get his text.



9 pm @ Daniel



*



I can’t believe my luck when I get home to find a box from House of Sass waiting for me. We have great service, what can I say? I hurry upstairs to find Bryn isn’t in and Becka’s suitcases are gone. Since I’m alone, I take a long lavender shower. I shave and oil my legs and mist my skin with a light, sweet scent. Then I slide into my slinky gold dress and a pair of heels, and I blow-dry my hair.

I’m at the restaurant at 9 p.m. sharp and find Ian standing by the doors, hands in his pockets, a pitch-black suit the color of his hair hugging his body in all the right places. I remember the night Ian had dinner here on his own as he greets me by brushing his lips across my cheek in the briefest kiss.

As Ian leads me inside, I spot Fran?ois, the ma?tre d’ I texted not too long ago, and the tall, dark Frenchman’s eyes widen when he sees me.

“Miss Sara?” His gaze slides and rises to meet Ian’s gaze. “And Mr. Ian Ford.” He smiles to himself and waves us forward. As we head to our table, I discreetly turn around and shoot a warning glare at Fran?ois. “Not a word of that,” I quietly hiss.

Ian frowns at me as a smiling Fran?ois pulls out my chair.

“You two looked cozy.” Ian pulls his napkin open and stretches it over his lap.

I pull mine open too. “I was practicing my French.”

Our waiter appears, introduces himself as Jacques, and hands us our menus and describes the evening’s specials. Ian orders a bottle of wine from the sommelier, and we peruse the menu while we wait for it to arrive.

“What will you have?” Ian asks.

“I’ve never been here. I’ve made a thousand reservations but never actually come here.” I eye the place, marveling at the elegant setting.

“I’ve got you. Don’t worry.” He peers at his menu, and then he tells me something in French.

“Excuse me?

“Practicing French.” He raises one challenging brow.

I groan. “I texted him recently. I wanted your name. And a repeat. I didn’t want him to tell you that I’d been hunting you down.”

His eyes flare ever so slightly, and the fire inside them suddenly feels too hot for the room. The city. The whole earth.

Shifting forward as he digests my confession, Ian’s voice drops a decibel. “You wanted a repeat of your panties in a little wad in my pocket, or what happened after?”

“Both.”

He looks at me, daring me with those dark eyes. “Why don’t we start by you handing over your panties in a tight little wad right now?” He extends his hand.

I reach for my panties beneath my dress and ease them off. I reach out and take his hand, pushing them into his palm.

He takes them and sneaks a peek before sliding them into his suit pocket.

I’m biting my lip and flushing all over, laughing inwardly. “So it seems that casually dating also means recklessly flirting.”