more confused by this man’s odd behavior. Ever since we sat down to eat, it seems like he wants to get to know me. Almost like he wants to be friends. I highly doubt that this man lacks friends. So why does he care whether or not I’m a fan of Harry Potter? Incidentally, I am, having grown up reading the books and seeing the films. He claims to have taken an online quiz that sorted him into Gryffindor, but I’m not sure I believe him. He’s clearly a Slytherin.
“What are you studying in school?” he asks, pushing aside his plate and draining his water glass.
“I’m majoring in advertising and minoring in graphic design.”
“A perfect combination,” he tells me with a grin, seeming impressed.
I find my heart warming at his support. There have been very few in my family who believe a career in advertising is what I should be doing. Most want me to follow in my father’s footsteps. I know my mother does. She wants me to
take over the running of MacKay International when my stepfather retires.
Running a multi-million dollar company holds no interest for me. I would happily work in the advertising department.
Not wanting the man to know how much I dislike it, I take another tentative
and very small sip of the disgusting milkshake. I’m unsure why I care. I keep flipping back and forth between thinking how kind he is for specially ordering it for me, and then telling myself how ridiculous I’m being. As much as I try to live in the moment and enjoy his company, I cannot let myself forget where I am and why we’re here in this room. Tomorrow he will leave. And I’ll still be trapped here in my living nightmare.
The man takes me by surprise when he stands and tosses his napkin down onto the table. “Shower.”
I look up nervously as he takes the nearly full milkshake from my hand and
places it back on the table before he pulls out my chair, giving me no option to retreat.
“I haven’t finished,” I complain, reaching to grab another now cold and soggy French-fry and popping it into my mouth. Gross!
“Yes, you have,” he replies, taking my arm and pulling me bodily out of the
chair to stand in front of him. “You’ve been staring at your plate and playing with your food for the last five minutes.”
“I was digesting,” I counter back. I really should not be provoking this man.
But something inside of me enjoys goading him; getting the blank mask he wears to break. Instead of anger, a fleeting grin of apparent amusement crosses his face.
With his hand on my elbow, he leads me into the bathroom. Once inside, he
lets go of my arm and shuts the door behind us. Click.
The tile is cold on my bare feet, but the man’s warmth beside me floods my
senses. Why am I not more afraid? I should be terrified.
Moving behind me, he brushes my hair aside, draws his shirt away from my
skin, and leaves a trail of kisses along my neck. I bite my lip trying to suppress a moan and find myself leaning back into his chest. The man’s hands run along my sides, settle on my hips, and pull me back further into his arms. I gasp. His hard,
thick cock presses into me.
The man nips my earlobe and whispers, “Can you feel how hard you make
me, Princess? Are you going to make me suffer all night?”
“Yes,” I reply with a moan as he unhurriedly rubs himself against me, the friction sparking an unwanted desire within me.
“We’ll see,” the man chuckles into my neck, sucking on my pulse point as he
moves our bodies together in the same leisurely fashion.
“Turn around,” he commands, placing his hands lightly on my shoulders and
guiding my movements as I turn to face him.
“You won’t be needing this.” He reaches up and slowly pops open the top button of his shirt, letting his calloused fingertips lightly caress the skin on my throat. I shiver.
Leisurely the man moves down my body, continuing to tease me with the pleasure of his gentle touch on my breasts as he slowly unbuttons the shirt. My sex pulses with need as he moves lower, leaving barely there touches against my stomach. The man slowly reveals my body until he’s pushing the stiff fabric off my shoulders and lets it fall onto the floor.
9
LILY
L ooking up, my breath catches when I see the look of burning desire in
his eyes. For me. Before I know what’s happening, his hands are gently cradling my face as he pulls me into a deep, wet kiss.
Breathless and off balance, I grab hold of the man’s waist and lean into his
strength. Opening myself up further, I taste the warm bite of the onions he ate with his hamburger earlier. Hungry for more, I find myself rising on my tiptoes. I shiver as the man’s groans of pleasure reverberate through me.
All too soon, he pulls away and rests his forehead against my own, whispering, “You are the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”
