Jack Knight’s big dick. I’ve heard the rumours, but they don’t do it justice. That meat could keep a woman fed for a lifetime.
He spreads his large thighs wider, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and every muscle in his sculpted tight butt flexes. My knees are one flex away from buckling.
I groan inwardly.
I hope inwardly.
The two hard mounds of ass look like they would break a hand if you slapped them. He must be permanently clenching to maintain that level of tautness. I make a mental note to follow suit, there are a lot of advantages to having an ass like that.
My eyes get dragged back to his dick. And what a dick it is. A masterpiece.
Thick suck-worthy girth, length that would reach your ribs, smooth skin, not too veiny, groomed with a few stray hairs but nothing that would choke you, and a great healthy glow.
Is he semi-hard or is that how it hangs? Shockingly, it’s holding its stature with the air con blasting.
Circumcised, interesting. I only have experience with ones with helmets.
Kate said he hasn’t had a proper girlfriend in ten years. Now I understand why. It would be too much pressure for one woman to have that all to herself. A single woman couldn’t afford the gallons of lube required.
Like a simpleton, I stand pinned to the floor with my jaw hanging. I have to get out of here before he spots me.
But my brain is stuffed with cotton wool and all organs are failing except my damn clitoris.
He grumbles to the poor person on the phone about missing cranes and delayed construction works.
Meanwhile, as the horniest woman on earth, I’m in danger of bursting into flames. He must be able to hear my heart hammering through his headphones.
What would it be like to be fucked by someone like Jack Knight?
One night of hate sex.
It’s not an unreasonable ask.
Those muscles on top of you, that confidence, that experience, that voice growling at you . . . fucking you hard and deep because that’s the only way he knows how?
I would grab that topknot like a rein and ride him like a thoroughbred racehorse.
Argh, I’m a weak woman.
Remember your focus: bricks, not dicks.
I step back as quietly as I can and my foot crunches on something. The envelope. In my lust-haze, it must have slipped from my fingers.
If I leave it on the table, he’ll know I was in here when he was in the bathroom.
I stoop into a squat, grab the paper and reverse backwards, cowering low until there is no chance of him seeing me. Then I stand up and skulk towards the front door.
Taking a few deep breaths, I yell his name loud enough for the entire wedding crew to hear and tramp into the room like an elephant.
The bathroom door swings open, releasing a gust of steam as he emerges, this time with the towel wrapped low around his waist. Dangerously low as if he’s not bothered whether it’s covering the massive shaft lurking underneath.
I won’t survive a second slippage.
Eyes up, Bonnie, eyes up. Bradshaw Brown’s most important client.
I stand three metres away, within safety of the door, and try to remain calm. That’s what you do when you’re cornered by a wild animal.
“Bonnie,” he drawls, flashing me the infamous Jack Knight smirk. It does weird things to my stomach.
“Hi,” I say stiffly. “Apparently, it’s important I give this to you. Sorry, I caught you at a bad time.”
“It’s fine.” His smirk deepens into something more dangerous. “It’s not a bad time.”
I swallow hard. Okay.
I glance around the room, which really is spectacular. Shit, are there cameras in here? Did his security witness my peep show?
“What are you looking for?”
“Uh, just checking out the room,” I say, flustered.
“I’m not a fan of the mounted moose head.” He nods towards the giant stuffed moose above the bed that I barely glanced at before. Please God, don’t let there be a moose head in every room.
Maybe his security installed cameras in the eyes! That’s where they go in the films.
“Ha, ha, yeah, I wouldn’t want him watching me all night.”
He laughs, deep and sexy, even though I’m not particularly funny. “How are you? It must be months since I saw you. I think Sean’s birthday drinks, yeah?”
He scratches below his pec.
I rip my gaze away from the distracting small silver ring cutting through the nipple. “Yup, that would have been it,” I add. “I’m great. How are you?” I’m not exactly grabbing the opportunity to sell Bradshaw Brown here.
“Never been better.” He nods to the envelope. “What is it?”
“Something from Kate. I’m just the delivery girl.”
He steps forward until I’m in eyeline with his tattooed chest. I’m close enough to smell his man musk and he’s close enough to hear my ragged breathing.
As he reaches out to take the envelope, his slightly damp arm brushes against mine. My skin tingles. “Thanks for being my delivery girl.”
Oh, piss off, you panty-wetting cockney.
“I hear you’re helping Max on my new East London patch.” He makes it sound like a monopoly board square. Which London is for Jack. “I’m expecting great things since you and Max won the award for the Queen Mary Tower.”
I feel the flush in my cheeks deepen.
Technically, Bradshaw Brown won the award for the Tower design. I was just part of the team, so he’s being generous with his wording.
I didn’t expect Jack Knight to even know I was involved.
I smile wonkily. Is the man seriously expecting me to have a conversation with him while he stands like a loinclothed caveman?
“The whole team feels so honoured to get this opportunity to work for Lexington on such a ground-breaking project,” I gush. “We won’t let you down.” Maybe I’m laying it on too thick, considering the bitching over the deadlines.
His lips quirk. “I’ve no doubt you’ll live up to my expectations. Will you be alright working under Max on this project, given your history together?”
My eyes widen. Shit. Does he think I can’t handle it? I can’t get taken off this project.
“Yes, of course,” I say, taken aback. Why does he even care?
I raise my palms and they end up dangerously close to his chest. I can almost feel the heat from his body. “You don’t need to worry about the split impacting our work. Max and I keep things very professional. We always have. The project will absolutely not be affected,” I say in a business-like tone.
I can’t decipher his expression as his dark eyes watch me. “You seemed pretty amicable on the lawn. So, your relationship is purely platonic now, huh?”
“Platonic . . .” My voice trails off. “Yeah, I guess you could call it that.” Whatever it is, I won’t get into labels with Jack. “He’s like a big brother now.”
That sounds weird.
“It’s been six months since your split.”
I’m not sure if it’s a statement or a question or where he’s going with this. I run a hand over the back of my neck, flustered.
“So, it’s definitely over between you and Max?”
I blink a few times. Do you lose your brain-to-mouth filter once you become a billionaire? What business is it of his?
I open my mouth and then close it.
“Sorry I asked,” he says with gravel in his voice. “It’s none of my business.” He snaps his gaze from me and turns his back, telling me I’m dismissed. “See you downstairs.”
Asshole.
I storm out, making a mental note to stay away from Jack Knight with his big dick and insensitive questions for the rest of the wedding.
