The Proposition / Her Every Fantasy. JC Harroway

close because she clutches my arms until her nails dig into my skin, her staccato breaths becoming trapped in her throat. I’ve watched her come so many times in the last twenty-four hours that I’ve lost count. And this time is just as addictive. She lets go, her release real and joyful and noisy as if she’s not expecting it, as if it creeps up on her, as if she’s embracing this sex-only proposition with both hands.

      I ignore the needs of my own body and dive once more for her nipple—she loves it when I give her just a scrape of my teeth. Orla likes a hint of rough with her pleasure. Who’d have guessed this passionate, sexually adventurous woman and the serious, put-together financier I met at the bar are the same woman? If it wasn’t for our differences outside of sex, she could be made for me.

      ‘Cam… Oh, my…’

      She comes with her beautiful eyes on me and I follow her—bareback. She’s too fucking tempting and my control was shot to pieces the minute she suggested we ditch condoms for the duration of this sexy little interlude she proposed.

      I collapse on top of her, spent for now, and then roll to the side as I slip from her body, my dick still half-hard. How could I be anything else? She’s incredible. She blew me away with that stunt on board the Abella. I’ll never forget the sight of her clad only in the skimpiest of underwear, her lithe, toned body glowing in the sun as she dived into the sea. I wanted to run around scouring the image from the eyes of everyone there, male and female.

      My breathing slows and I rest my head on my hand, wondering, who is the real Orla? The siren or the CEO? Perhaps neither.

      She’s certainly the most ambitious and driven woman I know. But what about life? Relationships and family and the future? What does the real Orla want beyond global domination of the financial sector? I’m not even going to pretend to understand what she does for a living outside of the fact I’m certain my father would have used her wealth-building services.

      She turns to face me, one thigh slung over mine, sliding the wetness we’ve both left between her legs over my skin. I hold in a groan because I want her again, and I’ve barely caught my breath.

      She wriggles until she’s comfortable, using my shoulder as a pillow. I kiss the top of her head, the scent of whatever shampoo she uses filling my senses. I breathe her in, congratulating myself on the impulse to accompany her. I was tempted the minute she asked in the hotel gym, but I wanted to push her, to see how far she’d go for my company, and boy, has she surprised me.

      My first impressions of her were all wrong. Yes, she carries the poise and polish of her wealth, but with a little encouragement, when she’s not glued to her phone or her laptop, she’s more than willing to let loose and embrace this thing between us—two people who couldn’t be more different united in a pretty constant need to slake our fierce attraction.

      Who knew a woman so tightly controlled could be so hot, insatiable and demanding? Thank fuck she suggested a continuation of the sex, otherwise I might have resorted to some unflattering trawling of the M Clubs in search of another chance encounter…

      Her small hum of contentment vibrates through my chest. I grip her closer, holding her wet dream of a body closer.

      ‘Glad you said yes?’ she mumbles from under her cloud of dishevelled hair.

      ‘Too right.’ She’s become my favourite distraction technique from my personal predicament, fucking her the only thing that switches off the constant feelings of fury and futility. Better than hiding, drinking, gambling and pounding my body to exhaustion at the gym combined.

      I snort a short laugh. Perhaps that’s the answer to my father’s legacy—to immerse myself in a sex coma so profound I’m numb to the sheer audacity of the man. How dare he think he can control me from the grave with his last will and testament and make amends with money for a lifetime of indifference and absence?

      Orla shifts, mashing her breasts to my side. If only dear old Pa could see me now—sprawled beneath a beautiful woman on board a private jet, blowing my unwanted legacy in the most debauched way I can.

      I swallow bile and focus on the light glinting off Orla’s beautiful hair. No, her proposition of pleasure couldn’t have come at a better time.

      ‘Are you okay?’ She sounds sleepy and guilt pricks at my skin. I should let her sleep—she’s been up most of the night.

      I mutter something affirmative and try to keep my body still and relaxed in case she wants to nap.

      ‘You’re so good at that. Sex.’ Her fingers stroke my abs and my dick perks up—greedy fucker. ‘I’m so glad you decided to come.’ Her voice vibrates where her head rests on my sweaty chest, strands of her hair tickling my chin.

      ‘Thanks.’ I laugh, my restless fingers drumming a rhythm on her back. She’s so honest and forthright. She knows what she wants—damned sexy traits. ‘But you wouldn’t have brought me along otherwise, right? Unless you make a habit of seducing younger men and luring them to be your sex-slaves.’

      She sees the joke in my words, and laughs, then raises her head to press a kiss to my mouth. ‘You’re free to leave any time,’ she says, even as she entwines her legs with mine, preventing my immediate escape.

      ‘Mmm…’ I press my thigh between her legs, loving her scorching wet heat. ‘But then I’d miss your delicious cunt and your tempting mouth.’ I trace her full lips with my fingertip, dipping my head for one more kiss while I evaluate the chances of me being ready for another round, versus heading for the on-board shower.

      She pulls back, mock censure on her face. ‘So you wouldn’t miss my scintillating, fun-loving personality?’

      I love this sassy, playful side of her; I can imagine her wearing cut-off shorts and a bikini top, hanging out and drinking beer on the balcony of my place in Sydney while we enjoy the spectacular sunset over the harbour.

      ‘I’d miss every fuckable inch of you,’ I say, slipping my hand over her hip to caress her ass, watching with mounting excitement as her slumberous stare widens, heat banked behind her eyes.

      ‘And I don’t know you well enough to miss your personality. Why don’t we rectify that—we have a few hours to kill?’ And, second only to fucking, verbal sparring with this sharp, witty woman is the best distraction technique. Left to its own devices, my brain would try to problem-solve, freaking me out with thoughts of forgiveness for a man I detest, acceptance of his final bequeathed gift and ways I can use his money—because it will never be my money—to make a difference, to do some good. But only danger lies ahead of those insane thoughts. The danger that I’m becoming just like him—a man who chose the pursuit of wealth over love, over his family.

      Over me.

      ‘Mmm, I really should work…’ Orla’s contented, half-hearted excuse draws me back to the present. Despite using this trip as the perfect antidote to my predicament, and despite my jokes about being her man toy, I really do want to get to know her better, the real her, to work out which of the two awesome versions of Orla Hendricks is the real deal.

      I cup her ass cheeks in both hands and roll her on top of me, pressing my hardening dick between her legs so she gasps. ‘Work schmirk—haven’t you made enough money for today?’

      ‘Is that a thing? Can you ever have too much?’ She indicates our luxurious flying bedroom. But I can’t concede that point without divulging my father issues, so I change the subject.

      ‘Come on. I promise no deep, searching questions.’ I tilt my hips, rubbing her clit with the head of my cock. ‘Just a quick-fire quiz so I can get to know you before I fuck you again. Stop me feeling like a gigolo and you like a cougar.’

      She laughs from her belly—deep and throaty—and it’s such a beautiful sight and sound, one that makes me forget my troubles, that I’m determined to make it happen as much as I can while we’re together.

      ‘Tell me,’ I coax, pushing her hair back from her face, ‘favourite animal?’

      She