Dance for the Billionaire(21)
Sharing a room with a sister who was growing up fast and starting to borrow her clothes wasn’t ideal, neither was opening her eyes first thing in the morning and seeing a picture of the Little Mermaid painted on the opposite wall. Charmine also packed quite a snore for a girl her age.
***
Chantelle smiled as the mobile phone beneath her pillow vibrated.
Dominic! He had sent her several scorching texts on his way home the night before. She hadn’t been shy with her replies.
I need you now. L He’d texted.
You know I can’t. J She replied. Mum almost caught me last night!
It wasn’t that she had to answer to her mother, but alcohol seemed to have eroded her mother’s sense of decorum. If she knew that Chantelle had slept with Dominic, she couldn’t be trusted not to mention it at an inappropriate moment. Chantelle preferred that her sisters knew nothing—at least for the moment. As far as they were aware she’d met Dominic a week ago and she would hate for them to think it was okay to sleep with a man on such short acquaintance. They had a bad enough example in their mother.
Tell her you have to go into the office.
I don’t want to lie.
It won’t be a lie. I’ll meet you there at ten.
Chantelle bit her lip as she tried to decide what to do. She’d tried caressing herself under the covers before, but it had been restrictive with her sisters fast asleep on the double bunk on the opposite side of the room. It hadn’t been satisfying and she’d given up thinking that she was perhaps just not a sexual person. Dominic had blown that theory out the window when he had turned her on as easily as a light switch last night. The man’s tongue was lethal and after the initial discomfort, his thickness had created such a sweet pain she’d kept moaning his name as he had given her the full length of it with each thrust. Having to cut her pleasure short to get home at a respectable hour had been a pain in the ass.
Now he was offering her a chance to experience it all again.
How could she refuse?
Okay, she quickly typed. See you there.
Chapter Seven
Freshly showered, wearing glasses instead of contact lens and dressed in a simple ecru knit dress under a warm dark brown jacket with her hair tucked into a stylish brown suede cap, Chantelle felt a little nervous as she exited St Paul’s Station and headed towards the office. This was her usual casual look and an effective disguise if another work colleague spotted her going up to Dominic’s office, but she wasn’t sure that he would like the outfit.
The door at the side of the building which led to the private lift that went straight up to Dominic’s office opened as she approached.
Dominic stood dressed in a pristine white polo shirt, faded blue jeans and a pair of casual, stylish black Italian leather shoes.
He pulled her inside quickly and kicked the door shut.
“I thought you’d never get here!” he growled bending his head and capturing her lips fiercely.
“You said ten,” she reminded him when he finally let her breathe again. “I got here a minute to.”
“I’ve been here since nine fifteen wearing out the carpet in my office.” He held her hand as he preceded her into the lift and stabbed at the ‘up’ button with an impatient finger. Then he turned and his wrapped arms around her from behind and nibbled on her neck. His hardness pressed into her like a bar of steel. “I’ve been like this since you left me last night!”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” she asked, playfully rubbing her behind against the thick ridge.
“Yes…for you,” he threatened.
Chantelle felt a thrill of fear and excitement as he hustled her quickly through his PA’s empty office and into his. The heady scent of roses hit her nostrils before she caught sight of the two large bouquets of roses adorning a low table next to the large sofa and a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice.
“When did you do all this?”
“About an hour ago,” he replied. “I brought the champagne. My florist delivered the roses.”
“Your florist?” Chantelle asked, her mood suddenly deflating. He must order flowers for dozens of women on a regular basis.
“My mother’s an artist and loves simple, beautiful things. I send her a bouquet of flowers twice a week. She protests the expense, but I know she enjoys them.”
“That’s so sweet.”
“I’m not sweet!” he growled fiercely, grasping her bottom and lifting her bodily as he marched to his desk and placed her on it. She wrapped her legs around his hips and shook out her Sisterlocks when he pulled the cap off her head. Running his fingers through the tiny strands, he complimented, “These are beautiful.”