Caught off guard is the understatement of the year. My reflexes are ten seconds behind Jack’s. Before my legs can tell my brain, Jack has lifted me up by my thighs and I’m straddling his warm, hard torso.
Gasping, I wrap my arms around his neck for support, and I instinctively squeeze his waist with my thighs like the greedy lust-crazed animal I am.
My skirt strains at the seams.
We are eye to eye, heat bouncing between us. So much heat my skin feels like it’s boiling.
I can’t catch a breath, but I can feel his.
I can’t talk. I’m completely incapacitated, floating mid-air on strong forearms as if I weigh nothing.
“I fucking love your face,” he breathes out against me. “Those lips, those cheekbones. Goddamn it, those eyes. Even when you scowl at me like I’m the worst man on Earth.”
“Speak for y-yourself,” I stutter. “You have some seriously sexy eye energy going on.”
He chuckles. One of his hands slides to my thigh from where he’s holding me in an invisible chair. He brusquely pushes my skirt up until it bunches around my waist, exposing me to Jack and anyone with binoculars in Canary Wharf.
Spread open, naked and squirming, I gasp louder this time. “You’re a little primal, Jack,” I say breathlessly.
“Just a little?” He smirks. “Maybe I’m behaving myself too much. I don’t want to scare you off, darlin’.”
His black T-shirt rides up his stomach.
Skin on skin.
My clit rubs against warm ab muscles.
Delicious. Wet. Friction.
The sensation sends shivers running down my body like a sexy taser. Holy fucking hell. Can you die of heart failure from being too turned on?
A deep moan escapes me from the depths of a place I never knew existed. I’m mildly embarrassed. The guy hasn’t even touched me and I’m already spasming like a cow banging against an electric fence.
His stomach muscles jerk. “I knew you’d be drenched under that skirt. You’re dying for me to touch you, aren’t you, Bonnie?” My name has never sounded so sexy.
“Yes,” I whimper as my clit grazes his stomach. My hips buck but he holds me tight, pressing my body taut against his.
His biceps flex under the strain of holding me. He’ll get used to it; I’m never climbing down.
His mouth takes possession of mine, pushing my lips open as his tongue thrusts against mine.
I’m caught in a wolf’s jaw. Exactly how I imagined alpha wolf Caleb from the Red Moon Canines. I moan, digging my fingers into his back like a horny virgin mate.
Don’t stop. Never stop.
A deep groan of approval vibrates from the back of his throat into my mouth.
I don’t know who’s making what sound. Grunts. Groans. Pants. Breathing like we’ve just broken through an ice lake. I try fruitlessly to clench down on his stomach.
I shouldn’t be let loose on dating apps. I clearly have no restraint. Neither does the big bad wolf claiming me.
I’m seeing stars over a kiss.
Although I’m not sure if this qualifies as kissing. There’s nothing delicate about this, there’s no gentle teasing or tongue skimming lips waiting for a response. No, this is being fucked in the mouth.
Moaning into each other’s mouths like two Neanderthals, I grind myself to oblivion against his hard stomach.
We’re both breathing too hard to continue the kiss.
His arm fatigues under my weight. He walks us backwards until we collapse on the black leather sofa in the corner.
My knees fall on either side of him as I land on top of a very hard swollen cock in just the right spot.
He’s covered in way too much fabric. It all needs to come off.
I’m about to free him from his jeans but Jack has other plans. His hand slides around my inner thigh until he palms the slit between my legs.
“Soaking,” he says in a ridiculously husky voice, his head tipping back onto the sofa. “You’re absolutely fucking drenched.”
His fingers graze up and down my opening with just enough pressure to tease me but not enough to tip me over the edge. It’s delicious torture. His arrogant smirk tells me it’s not by accident.
With my skirt bunched around my waist, I’m mooning all of the financial district straddling Jack but it’s a price worth paying.
“Jack. Please.”
His thumb finally grazes my clit, and I’m so receptive I moan, grinding against his hand, begging him with my pussy.
“Yes,” I whimper.
“So wet and perfect. You feel better than I ever imagined.” He brushes my clit with his thumb in lazy controlled circles, grin solidly in place, telling me who’s boss.
“Jack,” I cry, grabbing handfuls of his hair. It must hurt.
“That’s right, darlin’,” he says roughly. “You’re going to moan my name when I make you come.”
He slips one finger deep inside me.
Oh. Yes.
A second follows, thrusting deeper this time. “First with my fingers. Then my mouth. I’m going to fucking devour you,” he growls. “Then my cock. And you’ll keep coming until I say stop.”
I agree with his excellent plan. And poem. “Yes!”
My muscles squeeze and lock around him as he fucks me with his fingers. His thumb circles my sensitive clit faster and harder, and his fingers thrust in and out of my wet heat.
Tingling sensations shoot through my body. Delicious shock waves controlling my limbs make me buck and shudder around him. I’ve lost all ability to function.
Nothing else matters except my overwhelming carnal need to come hard on his hand.
“Jack. Yes. Jack. Jack.” Random words blurt out of my mouth as he brings me so close . . . so close. “Make me come . . . I need to—”
There’s a knock at the door.
I jump out of my skin, going rigid in his arms.
He shushes me.
Clearly not as alarmed as I am to know there’s someone waiting outside his door, he continues to slide his fingers in and out of me.
Working me into a frenzy.
Repeatedly.
Relentlessly.
I need him to stop, but I want him to continue. I need him to make me orgasm so loudly that all of Canary Wharf hears me.
“Jack.” Jess knocks again. “Bradshaw Brown is waiting for you in the boardroom with the senior team.”
Fuck off, lovely Jess. Please fuck off for . . . thirty seconds.
I sink my mouth into his shoulder to stop from crying out.
“Yes, Jess,” he growls into my hair.
“You also have a meeting with Newham council in forty minutes,” she persists. “Shall I tell the Bradshaw team to reschedule?”
He curses loudly, and I hope to God Jess didn’t hear. “Give me five minutes, Jess. I’ll be with them.”
I close my eyes, trying to block out the footsteps of Jess walking away. My inner muscles quiver, and I know this will be the motherfucker of all orgasms. Vagina shattering. I might never recover.
Jack’s hand disappears, and I’m planted back on my feet on shaky legs with my skirt still bunched up.
“What the bleeding hell?” I stammer, gaping at him as he stands to his full height.
“Not now,” he says with a low chuckle. Bending, he takes the hem on my skirt and pushes it down over my hips and thighs. “I’m sorry, darlin’. Later. It’ll give you time to fantasise about me.”
I’m going to throttle him.
I glare at him until common sense slowly seeps back into my head. “You’re right,” I mutter. “None of the training videos on how to present to clients advised rubbing one out on your audience beforehand.” I blow out a deep breath and smooth my cavewoman hair back into a work-appropriate ponytail.
He lets out a low laugh. “Yup, it’s probably best you wait until after you’ve presented.”
“After I present, you have a meeting with the council.”
He raises his brows, amused. “Easy tiger. All good things come to those who wait. Are you okay to present?”
Oh, God. Am I?
“Is this your master plan so I say yes to everything your team asks and agree to do the work in half the time?”
“You got me.” He straightens out his T-shirt which never looked like it was ironed in the first place. “I fluff all the design teams before my staff interrogates them. How else do you think I build forty-story buildings so quickly?” He checks his watch. “I’ve got something to do before meeting the council so you’ll need to knock ten minutes off now.”
Interrogation? Knock ten minutes off?
Oh, Jesus.
He smiles, brimming with cockiness as he tugs on my ponytail. “Do the demo for me with your hair down.” My hair falls around my shoulders. There’s no please. He makes it sound like I’m going to do a private dance for him rather than present the designs for a converted factory.
I’m too aroused to become indignant.
“Do you have anything to cover nipples?” I ask breathlessly, looking around the office for miracle band-aids.
His lips quirk. “Besides my mouth, no.”
The man is impossible.
His smile slips. “But if I see any of my team leering at you, I’ll throw them out the window.”
“That’s not helpful,” I mutter, nerves bubbling in my belly. If I thought I was anxious before, now I have to do it in front of a man I just dry-humped.
“Hey,” he says softly, lifting my chin. “Whatever happens between us is separate from the project. You don’t need to worry about that. Do you trust me, Bonnie?”
I give a small shaky nod. “You’re still an asshole though to leave a girl hanging.”
“I am,” he agrees cheerily as he adjusts the massive monster tenting his pants without a shred of shame.
“And someone needs to go at you with a lawnmower,” I grumble. “I have first-degree beard burn now.”
He grins at me. “I’ll try to be gentler next time.”
There’s a next time.
I blow out a huge breath, placing my hand on my lower stomach to calm myself.
I’ve rehearsed this presentation a million times in the mirror. I even recorded an audio of myself doing it and added pauses to make it sound more authentic. I know what I’m going to say, how I will stand and what I’ll do with my hands. Everything is one hundred percent prepped.
But none of those dress rehearsals were with an aroused clit.
This is not good. I’m not wearing underwear; our most important client has rubbed me into oblivion and now I have to walk into a team of construction leads and talk about the plans for waste management of a factory.
I must look . . . fucked.
What the hell is wrong with me? Maybe it’s a nearly-thirties crisis.
Jack walks to his desk and lifts his office phone. “Jess,” he says, watching me. There’s a pause. “Rearrange the Bradshaw meeting until after lunch.”
She says something I can’t make out and he grunts in response. “Yeah, I know it’s last minute. Tell them I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” I whisper as he puts down the phone. Now I can source the largest granny bra in Canary Wharf. “And thank you for trying to protect me against the truth of what happened with my dad. You should have put me in my place.”
Those pesky butterflies are back in my stomach, stronger than ever this time, as we stare at each other.
“You’re a sweet guy, Jack Knight.”
Slowly, he smiles. “About time you realised.”
Jack
Before I’ve closed the boardroom door, Bradshaw is on his feet and scuttling towards me, shaking my hand like we’re old friends. His handshake is as limp as the rest of him.
I return the pleasantries as I scan the room. Jess has arranged it in a cinema style to focus on the big screen and the presenters.
They’re all here, seated, waiting patiently—my senior team, the Bradshaw team and the architecture firm overseeing all project phases, Nixon Lee.
My gaze connects with Bonnie’s, and I smile. I’ve done fuck all work in the few hours since our meeting. At this rate, I’ll have to put my dick in a straight jacket.
Her piercing blue eyes, normally ablaze with heat, are filled with uncertainty as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other.
Damn it. Would she be this nervous if I’d kept my hands to myself?
God knows how I found the willpower to stop.
“You know the team, Jack?” Bradshaw asks. He beckons Bonnie over along with the other architect I’ve met once. Max comes over too.
“Steve.” The other architect assumes I’d forgotten his name. I had. He shakes my hand. “Good to see you again, sir.”
Bonnie steps forward. “Good to see you again.” A pause. “Sir.”
Amused, I take her hand in mine, holding on to it for longer than necessary.
Dear God, she’s breathtaking.
Now she has a bra on, thank fuck.
She pulls her hand from mine.
Max clears his throat. “Jack, I hear you needed to speak to Bonnie this morning about the brief. Is everything okay?”
“Perfect.” I look at Bonnie. “Everything’s perfect.”
Her cheeks flush.
“I’m happy to be your point of contact going forward.” Max steps forward. “Obviously, Bonnie is more than capable, but I have a holistic view of what the team’s working on. I’ll be able to direct any questions to the right person.”
I force my eyes from Bonnie and turn to Max, who has a deep frown across his face.
I almost laugh. You’re an idiot, mate. You gave up the best thing that ever happened to you for a fling with an intern.
I’ve got five years on him. I’m the one that should be hitting a midlife crisis.
“Sure, Max. Whatever is easiest for the team. Shall we get started?” I say cheerfully. It’s their lucky day, presenting to deliriously happy Jack. “I have twenty minutes. My team will handle questions after that.”
I take a seat beside the Lexington senior project managers and directly in front of Steve and Bonnie.
Steve introduces himself first and sets the scene, but my attention is on Bonnie.
As she introduces herself, her voice is strong, but it’s clear she’s trying hard to modulate her tone.
I need to calm her down. It’s my fault she’s unhinged.
“Bonnie has already gone through the designs and layout plans with me,” I tell the room. A complete lie. “They’re on track against our vision.”
I give her a private smile and a nod.
She nods back.
“A key element of the style we propose is to mix the old with the new and to bring into focus the original features. The factory’s most iconic features are, of course, its four slender three-hundred-foot chimneys. Each will be restored with viewing platforms added at the top.” She clicks through a series of visual designs to bring home the concept. I’m impressed. It’s a little rough but has a lot of potential.
She relaxes as she answers questions thrown at her by the team.
I sit quietly, taking in every one of her features, every curve, every line, every smile, banking it in my mind for later.
Fucking delicious.
“Okay, moving on. I’ve worked with the interiors team to provide an example interior 3D visual,” she continues. “Right now, one of the walls is entirely covered with graffiti by the locals. The great debate is always whether graffiti is vandalism or art. But, like it or not, it plays a significant role in our East End culture. It was and still is, a key form of expression for youths of some of the poorest areas in London. Our proposed design fuses it in such a way that no one can ever doubt it is art.”
Her delivery is stilted, but the quality and granularity of detail is evident in her designs.
I know my eyes eating her up is off-putting, but I can’t help myself.
She pauses to take a deep breath. “With local street artists telling the story of the East End through the decades from when the factory was built, the art alone will make it a destination.”
Christ, I wonder if she’s still not wearing panties.
I place my laptop strategically over my lap.
“Moving onto the apartments themselves, they’ll be located on the site of the original factory, positioned directly beside the Thames. We’ll incorporate watery reflections, wild grasses and marshland vistas inside, in natural colour palettes and woody, earthy textiles and fittings. As you can see here.”
It’s taking all my control to not kick everyone out of the room and finish the job I started.
As she answers a question from Sean, her eyes flit to the laptop balanced on my lap, then up to my face.
The flush flaming her cheeks tells me she knows exactly what I’m thinking. She gives me a warning look as her voice falters.
I read it loud and clear. Fucking behave yourself, Knight.
I wink. Sorry, darlin’, we’ve come too far for that now.
She averts her gaze to Steve as he talks through the final part of the presentation.
Max stands up. “Are there any more questions?”
Everyone looks at me.
“He didn’t ask any questions. Is that good or bad?” someone mutters behind me, followed by a panicked shush.
I clear my throat. “It’s a start. Get ready to present the questions the guys asked by the end of the week. Jess, can you find another thirty-minute slot in my diary?”
Jess nods dutifully. “Sure, Jack.” Unfortunately for her, she’ll probably spend sixty minutes trying to find thirty minutes.
“Seriously, is that good or bad?”
I crane my neck to see the loud whisperer behind me. He stares back, horrified.
“If you’re asking the question, perhaps you shouldn’t be on the project. I’m not looking for good. I’m looking for extraordinary. Think you can manage that?”
“Uh.” Loud Whisperer goes completely still. “Yes?”
“Jack,” Jess cuts in, in the tone she uses to tell me I’m late.
“Yes, Jess.” I wave my hand. “Let’s wrap it up.”
I stand, and everyone follows suit.
“We’ll send over the conceptual designs by close of day,” Max says. “The minor adjustments will be included, and the rest will follow by Friday.”
“Great.” I anchor my attention back on Bonnie, who looks one thousand times more relaxed now. “Let’s do drinks tonight. I’ll reserve an area in my hotel next door. It’ll give the two teams a chance to get to know each other. Obviously, it’s on Lexington.”
I’m telling Bonnie. The rest can take it or leave it.
They’ll all take it.
“In Maggie’s,” I add, and the energy in the room rises.
Not surprising. The name is deceiving. It’s a nod to my amazing nan. Maggie’s has been named the sexiest bar in the world for four years running. As it is also the most exclusive, most people don’t get the chance to experience its sexiness.
“Wonderful idea. We’ll all be there,” Bradshaw says, puffing out his chest.
Max leans into me. “Jack, are we on track? Is this in line with what you are looking for?”
“Yes,” I say, my gaze lingering on Bonnie. “Yes, we are definitely on track.”
