Pretty Hot (The Pretty Trilogy Book 1) (12 page)

On the brink of climax, his hand slides my fingers over my clit. ‘Like that?’

I moan and nod wildly as I buck against our hands, hard and demanding as the intensity builds. Crying out, I writhe against him skin to skin, pushing and convulsing against our hands. I can’t think. About anything. Not about his perceptions, about awkwardness, my participation, or my porn-worthy moans. I can process nothing beyond this moment, as my mind and body explodes. I spasm around our entwined fingers, calling out his name as he whispers how good I am, how jealous his cock is of our fingers, and all the while, his teeth slide over my skin.

Holding me in his arms, his chest pressed against my back, the water continues to filter down my body, as he pretty much holds me up. Hot air envelopes us, my receding orgasm and rapid breathing filling my ears. But slowly, my equilibrium restores, and I stretch languorously against his body as I turn.

‘Was that . . . Shakespeare?’ I bury my face against his hard, wet chest.

‘Too much? You prefer dirty cock talk?’ He laughs, kissing the crown of my shaking head. ‘Elizabethan porn.’ His hands run down my sides and cup the cheeks of my arse. ‘Venus and Adonis sprung to mind.’

‘Ah, but unlike the hapless hero,
you
have already put out.’ My voice is raspy as I run a finger down his torso, edging into the soft, fine hair. ‘And look, something else has, er, sprung?’ Trailing my hand lower, I take his stiffness into my hand.

‘Mmm, dirty talk, I approv—’

Words go unfinished, catching in his throat as I tighten my fingers along his hard, sleek length. He exhales harshly, jaw slackening as his eyes slowly close. My reserve forgotten, I feel emboldened and powerful. I am no ingénue; I am responsible for rendering this man speechless. The feeling is heady, potent, and a bit of a surprise.

My fingers follow the rivulets of water making their lazy journey along the caramel of his skin. Bending, I flick my tongue against his silken head before slowly licking the smooth skin from the base up, tracing the water’s path with my tongue.

He exhales a harsh breath, an entirely male sound, gaze hooded and dark as I take him into my mouth. I push my lips down, eyes cast upwards, watching his mouth slackening, the water cascading down his chest, feeling his torso twitch in response to my mouth. I draw in water as I drink in Kai: the symbolism isn’t lost on me.

One hand rises to the wall at his side as I tighten my grip and increase tempo, swirling my tongue against him as I work my hand. I’m empowered in knowing that I can affect him in such a way. It drives me on. Turns me on.

‘Ah, Kate . . .
fuck
 . . . like that . . .
yesss.
’

From Shakespeare to incoherency, his mouth slackens as my own works still. Hips flexing, he pushes his free hand into my hair as I run mine to his solid behind, taking him in deeper. I build my slow, methodical motion into something urgent, his wet lashes fluttering as he exhales the sweetest, most desperate moan.

His hand tightens and he flexes tentatively, his cheeks contracting against my palms. Then, all at once, his body stiffens. I raise my gaze.

Amber eyes flash like flames as they open quite suddenly.

‘
Coming
,’ he rasps.

Oh.
What’s the etiquette here?

Should I stop? Do I want to?

One glance at him and I know the answer.

With both hands now almost tenderly held at the back of my head, he groans as the thick, warm liquid pulses out of him.
Brackish. Viscous
. I swallow uncertainly as aftershocks rock through him, his hands tightening.

His movement recedes, laboured breath beginning to regulate, and I withdraw with as much élan available.
Given my position, it isn’t much
.

Staring up at him, I try to repress a small but triumphant smile as he pulls me to my feet, his mouth brushing mine.

‘Let’s go back to bed.’

Chapter Eleven

Struggling under layers of sleep and bedding, I wave away the whining buzz of a fly near my ear, eventually dragging myself upright.
It’s like being reborn!
I shield my eyes from the light streaming through the open drapes, almost knocking last night’s empty glass from the nightstand as the drone carries on. It’s my phone vibrating, set to that stupid misnomer
silent
. I prod the screen with an indiscriminate thumb, my brain sluggish and slow to realise it’s not my phone ringing, but Kai’s.

‘
Far out
,’ I groan, slipping the phone into my purse and grinding one palm against a narcoleptic eye. My stomach gurgles audibly. Now that I’m awake, I’m also starving, having ingested little since last night’s dubious taco.
Nothing that belongs on a food pyramid, at least.

The sheets rustle as Kai stirs, interrupting my tasteless train of thought and quite possibly stopping my heart for a beat or two. Dark hair falls stark against the pale linens, lashes echoing the contrast against his skin, his mouth pouting softly in sleep. Lying on his stomach with the sheet pulled low across one hip, he looks like some kind of reverse or modern day
Death of Abel:
a work of art almost too perfect to be real.

So this is casual se
x.

I’m no expert, but I’d say last night was anything but.
Sex yes, but casual? Not a bit.
Intense and erotic, full of fingers, teeth and skin.
And I like touching myself with an audience. What’s that all about?
My pulse begins to pound and my head to ache. I’m pretty sure it’s not a hangover, despite the sudden onset of nausea, as my brain kicks into overdrive.

I slept with a stranger. Who might possibly be my boss.

In a country where I could go to jail for kissing in public. Faaack!

Calm down, Kate.  Deep breaths. Try not to overthink this.
Yes, let’s give that a bash.

I try to refocus on Kai, unaware of the neurotic nut lying next to him. But I can’t chase away the images of how this might end. Will he wake and make some arsehole excuse to kick me out? Maybe I should leave first, might that be the more sophisticated thing to do? Though just contemplating a walk of shame through these opulent corridors makes me want to hurl. Then again, taking off before he wakes might make me seem mysterious, leave him wanting more?

Or glad I’d made it easy for him.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am middle-class. Middle-class with weak knicker elastic.

But one swallow definitely does not a girlfriend make, and in the absence of a decision, I begin to slide my legs from the bed.

‘Looks like the road to hell
is
paved with good intentions,’ I quietly rebuke.

‘Rooved,’ says a sleep roughened voice, ‘with lost opportunities.’

Kai lays unmoving, appearance suggesting a lack of consciousness. His breathing is deep and even as my own heart beats like a deafening drum.

‘And possibly the overwrought corpses of girls with pretty mouths.’ My body jumps as his pouting and somnolent lips form the words. ‘Penny for them.’ He yawns, rolling onto his back and stretching along the bed, hair deliciously dishevelled, dark lashes spiked by sleep.

‘I’d have to give you change,’ I mutter, readjusting the sheets and drawing my legs back under the covers.

‘You’re having cheap thoughts? I think I like the sound of that.’ Propping himself up on one arm, his grin becomes a teasing sort of corner-of-the-mouth arrangement.

‘As in not worth much,’ I answer stroppily.

‘Were you going to leave me a note?’ His voice is low, tone mockingly severe as his fingers pull at the sheet playfully, though I’m guessing he’s also serious about uncovering me. ‘Or just sneak out?’

‘I . . . well . . . I . . . ’

Rolling onto his back, he stretches long and fully, lifting his toned torso from the bed.

‘You know I know where you work, right?’

The words are spoken through gritted teeth and a stifled yawn, but I’m stopped from witty repartee—or a sarcastic comeback—by my stomach growling. Loudly. I could curl into a corner and die.

‘Someone worked up an appetite.’ With a smirk, he lifts his phone from the nightstand.

‘It rang. Earlier. While you were still sleeping.’ His eyes lift from the screen before sliding back. I’d say sheepishly, but why he’d be self-conscious when it’s my
stomach that sounds like a lion that’s just ingested a walrus, I’m not sure. ‘Thanks, so I see. I’ve got to make a couple of calls.’

Throwing back the sheet, he stands and stretches unhurriedly, leaving me free to perve at the rear view: a graceful and muscular back, highly defined lats leading to a narrow waist and butt cheeks you could bounce pennies on.
Freakin’ unreal!
Just in time, I pull the edge of the sheet to my chest before it’s wrenched from the bed. ‘No escaping, now.’

Slipping into his discarded pants, he saunters from the room, phone in hand, his voice murmuring then falling away. I take this as my cue, almost jumping from the bed and making a nudie dash toward the bathroom, slamming the door with a click of the lock to follow.

In the vanity mirror, a stranger stares back through bright, wild eyes. My cheeks look almost wind burned and I definitely don’t have that sexy bed-head-hair going on, because my hair is just . . . fucked.
I look like I’ve been getting it on in a wind tunnel.
Grinning like the five year old that’s just discovered the keys to the lolly shop, I fan my hands across my cheeks and resist the urge to an undignified
squee!

Could this be a sudden onset of bipolar?

Kai-polar, more like?

‘Don’t think much of your hair,’ I say, running a hand through the tangled mess. ‘The new me is supposed to be fabulous, didn’t you hear?’

The new me is fabulously sore. And I mean that,
fabbbbulously
sore, my body aching in a way that only great sex can provide—like the best massage or workout that pours satisfaction into the very centre of your bones. With a smile wider than I’ve any right to, I stretch my arms above my head as I turn, startled by the dark bruise against my shoulder. I’ve been bitten before, though maybe it’s more the case that I’ve had a hickey or two. But this isn’t some half-hearted suck and more like an autograph bitten into my skin. I run my fingers over the minute depressions, aftershocks of pleasure shooting through my limbs.

My reflected smile falters a little. I’m not going to over analyse these feelings. I’ll just . . . revel in them for a little bit.

As I step into the cavernous shower, the heat of the water bites at my skin, my muscles unlocking and relaxing. And the water isn’t the only thing that flows, as my mind fills with X-rated images of all the dirty things you can do while keeping clean.

Pink from the heat of the water, mostly, I wrap myself in a large, white towel, feeling reinvigorated, but for my mouth, which feels like something has crawled in overnight and died
.
There’s nothing for it. I’ll have to brush my teeth with the only toothbrush available: his. I suppose I’ll just have to trust his oral hygiene, though there is something undeniably intimate about the sharing of a toothbrush. It’s ironic, I think as I pause with the brush in my hand, that I’d feel so circumspect, given the intimacies—not to mention fluids—we shared last night.

Orally acceptable, and reasonably presentable, I open the door to find Kai’s body filling the entire doorframe. I inhale sharply, having almost walked into his bare chest.

‘Damn, I was going to join you.’

His words are delivered with a soft pout, I find, as my gaze makes a slow path from his ribcage to his face. And while I manage to hang onto some brain function, my body has other plans, his proximity causing a chemical reaction to fizz under my skin. I can almost as if I can hear the endorphins.

A perfect specimen! Hump, spread those genes! Procreate that motherfucker!

Or maybe procreate that fucker . . . potential . . . mother?

Shaking off the primal urge to push him backwards toward the bed, I manage to stutter, ‘I—I’ve got to go soon.’ Because I’ve remembered I do. ‘I’m meeting Niamh for lunch today.’

His low chuckle brushes my skin, his expression one of doubt.

His eyes flick over me, my skin tingling further in response. ‘Not a very imaginative escape plan.’

‘But true,’ I protest. ‘Anyway, I can hardly lie around in bed all day, even if there isn’t a check-out time.’

‘I wouldn’t complain.’ His tone is honeyed and smooth. ‘In fact, I’d offer an incentive.’

My wits—currently rolling around somewhere in my non-existent knickers—gather together like iron filings drawn by a magnet, effectively cooling my dander. And by that, I mean cooch. ‘Not a workplace incentive,’ I say in warning, ‘because you said—’

‘It was a joke.’ With a sigh, he steps back to allow me to pass. ‘Let me shower and I’ll take you to meet your friend.’

Keen to leave my bewildered self behind, I decide to head into the living room to look for my dress.
A dress, of which, there is no sign
. A frantic few minutes follow as I move cushions from sofas and look under chairs. Why wouldn’t my dress be where I left it, lying in a heap along with my resolve?

My nose is flat to the floor and I’m almost under the sofa, rapidly losing my shit.

‘Fuck, fuck,
fuckity
, fuck!’ Sitting on my heels, I chuck a pillow across the room.

‘And here I was admiring your
 
mouth.’

My heart skips a beat as I peek over my shoulder to where Kai stands behind me, freshly showered and exquisitely dressed, one nonchalant shoulder leaning against the wall.

‘You have such an interesting turn of phrase. Is there a problem?’ All charm and innocence, he crosses his arms.

I keep my back to him, embarrassed I’ve been caught swearing so obviously. It’s a reflexive reaction, my mother’s words echoing in my ears.
Nice girls don’t swear, Katherine. Only those with a limited vocabulary resort to profanity.