Her Dirty Little Secret / The Marriage Clause. JC Harroway

he was spot on. Her nipples ached. Her sex grew slicker, tighter around his shuttling cock. Tendrils of fire shot out over her belly and thighs from beneath his working finger and as she opened her eyes to the unbridled lust burning in Jack’s stare the lightning struck.

      ‘Jack.’ Her throat closed on his name as her orgasm hit, firing every nerve in her body. She clung to him—her eyes, her legs, her sanity latching onto the source of such overwhelming pleasure like a lifeline.

      He gripped her tighter, his fingertips punishing. She didn’t care. She still pulsed around him. Wave after wave of euphoria. He’d lifted his finger from her oversensitive clit, but continued to softly stroke her belly, her thighs and her buttocks, intensifying the aftershocks that rattled her from head to toe.

      But there was no time to recover. His pace picked up once more. Harley clung. Sweat beaded his brow as his jaw muscles bunched and his hips lost some of their smooth rhythm.

      He looked down at her, his fervid stare darting over her breasts then swooping down to where they were joined until he gorged his fill.

      His face twisted as he met her stare. ‘I want to make you come again...’ He shook his head, his chest heaving.

      Harley gasped, all the reaction her boneless body could muster. ‘I can’t.’

      He nodded. A flash of regret. ‘You will. Next time.’

      Was he seriously lamenting his stamina after the single most erotic sexual experience of her life? She had no time to comment. He hammered into her, his hips jerking erratically and one hand trailing a hot, possessive path over her breasts and down her belly.

      His shout, when he came, echoed off the walls. He collapsed forwards, every muscle taut as he pumped into her and kissed her through the last of the pulses racking his body.

      Reality returned. The edge of the table dug into her butt and although he wasn’t placing all his weight on her, his arms braced beside her hips, and she struggled to breathe.

      She brushed her lips over his ear, enjoying the tickle of his hair on the end of her nose.

      ‘Next time?’ She stifled a delighted, if a little girlish, giggle. Wow. She doubted she’d be able to walk after that performance. But already she looked forward to the promised next time.

      He groaned into the side of her neck, his scruff scratchy, no doubt leaving its mark on her skin. ‘Give me ten minutes.’ He disengaged from her and helped her down from the table.

      The narrow space between them widened. Harley pulled up the cups of her bra, wishing she’d chosen a less sheer design, and yanked up her panties, which were tangled around one ankle.

      He stood in her entranceway, his urbane clothing rumpled and dishevelled, his softening cock still wrapped in latex and his clear blue eyes still touching on her near naked body with impressive hunger, considering the wall-banging session that had just taken place.

      Harley reached for her purse and handed him a tissue.

      What now? Invite him in? Offer him a drink? Suggest he stay the night?

      The chill of the dark apartment infected her, and she sought her likely ruined dress while Jack tucked himself back inside his pants.

      ‘There’s a washroom there.’ She indicated a door to the right, grateful for the few seconds of reprieve while he disposed of the condom.

      He opened the door and flicked on the light. While Jack binned the evidence of their coupling and washed his hands, Harley dived for her dress, holding it in front of her nakedness in a ludicrous display of modesty that left her cheeks hot.

      She’d just come like a supernova around him, touched herself in front of him, allowed him to fuck her on an antique table she’d inherited from her grandfather. Now she back-pedalled?

      Jack returned, scooping his wallet from the floor and pocketing it before reaching for her hand. He made no comment on the dress shield, slanting her a crooked grin as he tugged her closer and swiped his mouth over hers with surprising ardour.

      She opened her mouth, her tongue sliding over his. Her arm came around his neck, the dress barrier forgotten as she indulged in another of those drugging kisses.

      ‘Harls? You home?’ A disembodied voice blasted from the intercom next to the entrance door.

      Harley jumped away from Jack, her eyes wide and her heart hammering in her throat. She darted to the intercom, pressing the button to speak to her brother.

      ‘Yes.’ Harley winced, clutching her dress with one hand, her temples with the other. She turned her back on Jack, head bowed. Why hadn’t she just ignored Ash? Her back burned and she clenched her butt, hoping the heels she still wore presented her ass to its best advantage.

      ‘You alone?’ said Ash. They often got together late at night, sharing a nightcap and tales of their day.

      Damn. What could she say? No, I’ve just fucked the enemy on Pop’s antique table... If she told the truth, tomorrow she’d have her brother here for breakfast on a fact-finding mission. And then she’d have to confess she’d messed up the Morris deal, too. Another dose of humiliation.

      ‘Yes, of course.’ Shoulders high, she scrunched her eyes closed, the lie raising the stab of a thousand pinpricks over her exposed skin. She could practically feel the chagrin pound her back in waves. Or perhaps it came from within.

      ‘Pour me one. I’ll be down in two.’ The ominous silence from the intercom started a deafening countdown. Harley turned to face Jack, an apology bubbling up in her throat.

      He’d already donned his jacket and buttoned his shirt, his face blank.

      She clutched her dress tighter, holding it to her sides with rigid arms.

      ‘I...’ What could she say?

      I didn’t want my brother to know I just had the best sex of my life with Joe Lane’s son.

      Manhattan was small enough. With a little digging, Ash would easily discover Jack was the head of Demont Designs. That he’d re-entered her life. Crashed back in, bells, whistles and horns blazing more like.

      Jack stepped closer, one finger brushing the hair from her cheek.

      ‘Bonsoir, Harley.’ His hand dropped to his side, and he slipped the other hand into his pants pocket, a casual move that reassured her and irked her at the same time.

      She swayed towards him, her eyes begging him with words she couldn’t articulate.

      He stepped aside, turning at the door. ‘You’d better look in the mirror—you look well fucked...a look I personally like, but one I doubt your brother will appreciate.’

      With those parting words and a blank expression, he left.