Читать книгу Trying Too Hard...: A steamy standalone sports romance - Molly Wishlade Ann - Страница 8

Chapter One

“There you are!”

The voice was like silk against Catrin’s skin and a flicker of lust darted like a hot tongue between her legs. The poky, clinical office kitchen suddenly seemed too warm, its aroma of burnt toast overpowering. The air conditioning hummed in vain as Catrin’s body was flooded with heat.

The new arrival took hold of her shoulders in large, powerful hands and pushed her towards the counter so that her stomach pressed against the hard melamine edge. Her heart picked up its pace. The fine hairs on the back of her neck pricked up.

“Catrin,” he whispered into her right ear, causing a blonde tendril of hair that had freed itself from her chignon to flutter.

“Yes?” she whispered, her nipples tightening in anticipation.

“I missed you this morning.” He nibbled her earlobe. She shivered as he ran his fingers slowly down her sides.

“Henri.” She leaned into his warmth, felt the strength of his stomach muscles against her back, his heat searing through her thin blouse. “I had to get back to my apartment. You know…feed the cat.”

“What cat?” he said, trickling slow kisses down her neck then sliding his hands under her arms to cup her breasts.

She sighed as his exquisite touch fired her passion and her breathing quickened. She slid around in his arms then pressed a trembling hand upon his broad chest.

“Please, Henri…”

“What is it, chérie?” He tipped her chin upwards with a fingertip and his cologne washed over her. She savoured the fresh green woody tones. At their edge she could make out something else, something even more delicious: his musky masculine scent. It made her want to open his shirt and press her face against his belly to breathe him in.

“I can’t keep going like this,” she smiled, trying to regain her composure but desire pulsed through her core like a lusty demon possession.

“Like what, Catrin?”

He reached out and stroked the back of his free hand over her black satin skirt and she groaned, moving towards him even though a voice at the back of her mind reprimanded her. He laughed softly at her body’s betrayal and turned his hand around, pressing it against the apex of her thighs and cupping the ready flesh beneath.

She slumped against the counter, her eyes half-closed. Her legs turned to jelly as he lifted her skirt to her thighs.

Here I go again!

Her common sense drifted away like cobwebs on the wind and her body revealed her true emotions with every breath she took.

“Oh, t’es la plus belle femme du monde!” he gasped.

“Sorry?”

“Pardon, chérie!” he laughed. “I said that you are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“Oh,” she smiled, “Thank you.” She loved it when Henri spoke his own language but wished that she could understand him better. A GCSE in French hadn’t equipped her for communicating with a French lover.

She relaxed and closed her eyes again as he ran his hands over her thighs.

“And this is what I love about you!”

Her eyes shot open.

Love?

He pushed her skirt right up to her hips then fingered the tops of her hold-ups and she realised what he meant. This Frenchman loved a woman’s body with all the trimmings, which was lucky as she liked pretty underwear. It was just more fun to have someone to appreciate it.

Mere moments ago she’d been spooning two sugars into her coffee cup, desperately in need of a caffeine fix after yet another long night of French loving with the handsome rugby player.

She was exhausted. Exhilarated. Still horny.

It was hard to believe that it was only two nights ago, on a rather cold, drizzly July evening that she’d accompanied her boss – the renowned celebrity agent Liam H. Clarkson – to an annual dinner. It had been the sixth anniversary of the establishment of Clarkson and Gwillam Celebrity Agency. It now had five branches across Europe, with the possibility of further growth, so spirits were at an all-time high.

And it had been there, deep in the cavernous candlelit corridors and ante-chambers of Cardiff Castle, polished, manicured and poured into her best lbd, that Catrin had met Henri.

And since then, her feet hadn’t touched the ground!

Now exposed from the waist down, except for her stockings and flimsy white lace panties, she surrendered to his caresses. He stroked an experienced finger over the small triangle of material then slipped it beneath the sheer fabric. Her legs shook even harder as he pushed the finger through her silken folds and rubbed her clitoris. She gripped the counter to keep herself upright. Her legs trembled as if an earthquake had just hit the building, its core right beneath her feet.

“Oh, Henri!” She bit her lip as he pushed one, then two fingers inside her whilst using the pad of his thumb to play with her swelling bud.

“You are so beautiful, Catrin,” he whispered as he pressed his mouth over hers.

“But not here,” she struggled to say, enjoying the invasion of his tongue as it tangled with hers. They could be seen. They should stop. But she was desperate for him to continue.

“Yes, here!” he insisted, speeding up his touch.

Although she knew that they were taking a risk, her body responded wantonly to his caress. Her inner muscles, honed by thousands of clenches, began to ripple and she raised herself to her tiptoes to prepare for the thundering climax that would follow. But he suddenly pulled his hand away.

“Oh!” escaped before she could stop it.

“Oh?” He smiled, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. Though only twenty-five, he bore physical evidence of a life lived for pleasure and sport. His full sensual lips, the thickened bridge of his nose and the scar that crossed his left eyebrow all suggested that this man was born to be both lover and sportsman. Catrin thought that his little flaws made him even more handsome in a rugged kind of way. And she liked rugged.

“I uh…” She struggled to find the words. “You…uh…”

“You want more, my lady?” He gripped the bulge at his crotch. “”You want more of this, perhaps?” His accented English made the words sound so sexy.

She stared at the large penis which strained against the expensive grey trousers and nodded. Why fight it? She wanted him inside her so bad that her core now ached and he knew it. Though they’d only been intimate, what, six times (not bad for forty-eight hours) he knew her body like a seasoned lover and she knew that he was insatiable. He could make her come again and again and still be ready for more just moments later. His masculine energy was impressive and she’d never met his equal.

Not that she’d had that much experience.

“Yes but…”

“Not here?” he teased. “Come with me then!”

“But…” She glanced at the steaming kettle and the cup with its offering of bitter coffee. There was a strict code of conduct in the office kitchenette: you cleaned up after yourself. Catrin strove to stick to the rules, to be a good girl. She always had. It had been drummed into her as a child. But here she had a chance to let go for a while, to enjoy being reckless. “Sod it!” she muttered, as Henri straightened his jacket over his bulging groin and took her hand.

At the doorway to the office floor, he whispered, “I’ll go over to the lift. Follow me in a bit.”

She nodded then watched him stroll across the open space. He smiled politely at her co-workers as he went and the tapping of keys slowed as he turned the head of every woman in the room. Catrin hugged herself, battling the insecurity that washed over her. She couldn’t believe that someone so gorgeous, so successful and yet still so young had chosen to be with her. Even if it was just a fling. With his athletic frame reaching almost six foot, his dark brown hair, soft chocolate eyes and honeyed skin, he reminded her of a Greek god. When he walked into a room, he seemed to fill it with his masculine presence and easy confidence. She wished that she had that same self-assurance. Hers was forced, a front she put on to mask her own vulnerability. Like her make-up and business suits.

At the lift doors, he turned and flashed her a dazzling smile. He could sell toothpaste with those pearly whites! But then, if he followed in the footsteps of many other famous sports personalities and had a good agent, he probably would.

She smoothed down her skirt, took a deep breath. She shouldn’t follow him. It was madness. She’d sold her soul to get a foot in the door of this agency and here she was acting like an irrational idiot at the first flash of a tight athletic ass. (Not to mention the rest of him!) Lord knew, she was going to see plenty of those in her time. She should just invest in a good vibrator and some quality erotic romance like other women clawing their way up the career ladder. Nothing like a good erotic novel and a buzzing bunny to sort a girl out!

Yet here was the opportunity to enjoy explosive sex with a real man. A real, hot, delicious-smelling hunk of a man. It wouldn’t amount to anything. It was just a fling. So she should just enjoy it. Right?

Shrugging off her doubts, she walked across the room, trying to appear casual but she felt like everyone could hear her thundering heart. They must know or at least have some suspicions. Could they sense or maybe even smell her desire for the man she followed?

She shook her head. Silly, irrational thoughts. She was taking a risk, dallying with one of the agency’s newest clients. It was against all the rules…but he was irresistible and he made her want to break the rules. And didn’t she deserve a break, a taste of happiness, even though she knew it couldn’t last? It would be fine as long as no one found out.

The lift doors pinged open and Henri stood aside and waved her in.

“Your carriage awaits, mademoiselle.”

“Why thank you, monsieur.” She inclined her head. “You are most kind.” She spoke loudly to allay any suspicions about their intentions.

They stood formally side by side, the air in the space between them crackling with tension, until the automatic doors closed and a robotic voice entered the confined space: “Going down.”

Henri turned to her. “Yes, indeed. Going down!”

He swept Catrin up in a crushing hug and smothered her face with kisses.

“No, Henri! We can’t! Not here.” Laughter bubbled in her chest.

“We won’t be long!” He reached down and cupped her bottom, squeezing her cheeks and lifting her towards him. His erection pressed into her groin and her clit throbbed in response.

“Someone could see!” Catrin felt panic rising in her chest yet a giggle burst out in an unladylike snort. She felt so naughty, like misbehaving at school when she knew she’d get into trouble but it was worth it for the fun. She was with the gorgeous rebellious youth and she could get into a real mess if she carried on like this.

The thought was like a bucket of icy water.

“Henri, please…I could lose my job…everything I’ve worked for.” She pushed against his arms and chest, trying to free herself from his embrace. Her throat ached. Her armpits tingled and dampened with the rush of fear.

“You want this to stop?” he questioned. The fire in his eyes made her stomach flip and she took a step backwards. His dark hair had fallen across his forehead and he looked like he’d just got out of bed. “You will not lose your job,” he whispered, placing his right hand over his heart. “I promise you that. I can see how important it is to you.”

She stood trembling, looking into his eyes. They were so dark, so warm and they rooted her to the spot. Something flickered across his face. Was it pain? Regret? Confusion?

“Henri, I…”

“You know that don’t you, Catrin?”

She nodded, her fears fading softly like dry ice on a dance floor.

“Your job is safe. You are safe with me.”

She shivered with excitement and emotion. The feminist in her admonished her for allowing this…this stripping away of her control, yet she found it so arousing and strangely liberating. Was it wrong to want to believe him? There was something about him that did make her feel safe. It was an unfamiliar sensation but she realised that she liked it.

“And so…” He turned and pushed the emergency button on the lift control panel, causing it to jolt suddenly and fling Catrin against the mirrored wall. “You will allow me to do what I want?”

She licked her lips. Should she stop this and insist that he reactivate the lift? Desire was weakening her resolve by the second. It filtered away like sand in an egg timer.

“Yes, Henri. I will allow you to do whatever you want.” The words were out before she could evaluate the consequences further.

He grinned, his eyes softened and he took her hand.

“Now, as I said, I’m going down!”

He dropped to his knees in front of her and she sighed as he pushed her skirt up. When it was above her hips for the second time that morning, he pressed his face against the apex of her thighs and breathed deeply.

“I adore your scent, Catrin! It makes me so hard. I can tell how excited you are and how much you want me!”

She gripped the waist-high bar that ran around the lift walls as he nibbled at the lace then pulled it aside with his teeth. She was so wicked, yet so vulnerable. She wanted him so much it hurt!

He covered the front of her pussy with soft kisses that slowly reawakened her arousal. All rational thoughts about her career, her future and her ambitions dissolved and there was only the here and now with Henri. Nothing else mattered, no one else mattered. All the warnings she had ever heard from her mother about men getting you into trouble and children ruining your life melted like snowflakes on the ocean as need and desire consumed her.

His hot breath moved away and she sighed with disappointment.

“Let’s get this out of the way, chérie.” He slipped his hands over her hips then slid the thin material of her panties down and she stepped out of them. The cool air of the lift met the warm wet flesh between her legs and she inhaled deeply of her own musky arousal. She giggled, wondering what Liam H. Clarkson would say if he knew she’d gone commando in his lift – and with a client, no less!

“I think I’ll keep these for later,” he purred as he slid them into his pocket.

When his mouth pressed against her naked labia again she groaned and opened her legs wantonly. He aroused her like no other man ever had.

“What shall I do, Catrin?” he muttered into her neatly waxed line of golden hair. “Shall I lick you?”

“Yes,” she squeaked.

“Shall I…” He sat back on his haunches then flicked her clitoris.

“Oh, no…” She panted, the sharp movement causing her bud to throb.

“What was that, Catrin?”

She looked down into his darkening eyes.

“Oh…I…uh, you will do whatever you want,” she replied, knowing that she needed him to continue.

“That’s better,” he smiled, then covered her with his mouth. He slid his tongue over her and her excitement began to build. He caressed every fold and valley, pushing deep into every crevice. They became one as he moved with her, each thrust and flicker of his tongue guiding her towards fulfilment.

“Oh, Henri, yes!” she murmured, lifting her hips up to him. “Please, Henri, more!”

He took hold of her hips, gripping them vice-like in his huge hands and ate her hungrily: suckling, licking and nibbling, filling her with his tongue until she rode his face hard, consumed by an explosion that made her grab handfuls of his hair and buck against him in ecstasy. The pleasure came wave after wave until the contractions ricocheted throughout her body and left her weak and gasping.

She opened her eyes. Her chest heaved with emotion.

Henri’s mouth was still fused to her groin and she felt the pull of his lips as he sucked her, drawing her hot juices into his mouth and swallowing them greedily.

“Délicieux!” he growled when he finally released her and pushed himself to his feet, dabbing a handkerchief to his lips.

Catrin grinned at him, a little self-conscious now at her vocal release.

“Is everything all right in there?” A tinny voice from the speaker by the elevator buttons made them both jump.

“Yes, we’re fine,” Henri replied. “I pressed the wrong button there for a moment. We’re on our way down!” He laughed at his own joke.

When he returned to her side, she smiled at him. “I have to disagree, monsieur.”

“Pardon?” He frowned, his handsome face lit up with mischief.

“You pressed the right button, Henri!”

He winked at her and she shook her head, wondering at her own wild and reckless behaviour when in the company of this handsome and gifted man.

***

Later that evening, Catrin walked through the side door to the Venus Lounge and down the steps to the dingy changing rooms. She felt so light and free after spending the afternoon with Henri. They had enjoyed a lazy lunch in the city then gone back to his hotel. He’d asked her to stay and been very persuasive – it had taken her three attempts to finally leave him. But she had to be at work for nine and she couldn’t risk being late for her shift.

She nodded at a few of the other girls as she pushed her bag into a locker and pulled out her Venus outfit. After a day of extreme pleasure and joy, having to come to such a seedy place was the last thing she wanted. The Venus Lounge made out that it was a high-end joint with a better class of clientele. But in reality, from Thursday to Sunday, it was filled with drunken men on lads’ weekends or stag parties. Occasionally, it even attracted a hen party too.

Once she’d squeezed into the tiny top and shorts, she closed her locker door and sat in front of one of the mirrors. The itsy-bitsy outfit was so different from her usual work attire. She hated how she looked.

But it was about to get worse.

She pulled her long blonde hair into pigtails then began layering on the make-up. A thick base of foundation was followed by blusher, bright red lipstick and false eyelashes.

Done.

She looked the part, like a walking, talking doll. She was ready to act out the role that the club’s patrons desired. Although she only served drinks at the club, and there was meant to be a strict no-touching rule, it didn’t always work out that way. She often found herself grabbed or fondled as she squeezed through the groups at the bar to carry their drink orders. If it didn’t pay so well, she’d have been able to excuse herself and quit, but the tips in particular kept her Cardiff Bay apartment secure and that was how she wanted it.

Or had wanted it.

She donned her pink wedges then strolled out into the arena like a gladiator ready for another night of defending her own honour if not her life. A few regulars had already arrived and they sat at the bar, nursing their drink of choice. Catrin eyed them as she began polishing glasses. She felt so sad when she looked at them because they gave weight to what her mother had told her for years. Many of the men wore wedding bands and, she suspected, carried pictures of women and children in their wallets. The wallets that they plucked notes from to slip into the tiny thongs of strippers and dancers at the club. Yet here they were. Keen to ogle the young women who hung their lithe, semi-clothed bodies from the poles and swings or displayed their wares in the curtained room out back.

She hated that working here consolidated all that Georgia had ever said about men. That they were disloyal, that they cheated or failed you in some way – especially when they got you pregnant and ruined your life.

She shivered. Well that wouldn’t happen to her. Ever. She knew how to keep her own heart safe. She had no intention of ever surrendering to a man.

Not even a gorgeous Frenchman who seemed to have a heart of gold.