Page 34 of Hard Deal

She brought the receiver up to her ear. “Hello. Imogen Hargrove speaking.”

Caleb’s hands smoothed up her thighs, breaching the hem of her skirt until his fingertips found the waistband of her underwear. A gentle hand pushed her back against the desk until she was lying flat, her legs dangling over the edge. He worked the underwear down over her hips, past her knees and removed them completely.

The voice on the other end of the phone prattled on. It was the assistant of one of Gerald’s business contacts wanting to arrange delivery of some important documents.

“Courier is fine,” she said in the calmest tone she could muster while Caleb snaked back up her body, pushing her skirt higher and nudging her legs apart. “Address them to the CEO but send them care of me.”

Warm breath skated over her skin, teasing her. Caleb’s hands were braced on her inner thighs, his thumbs delicately brushing against her sex. A hint of what was to come.

No pun intended.

The woman went over the documents in frustrating detail, and Imogen wanted to scream at her to hurry up. She clamped her lips down and squeezed her eyes shut, her hands white-knuckling the phone receiver, as Caleb dragged his tongue over her sex.

Holy guacamole, indeed.

“Yes, that’s right,” she said. “We’re on level eight. Bourke Street. No, Bourke with an e on the end. Yes.”

His tongue flicked over her clit, dragging a moan from deep inside her. She pressed her hand over her mouth to stop it flying out, but the energy spent on trying to keep quiet only made the sensation of him lapping at her even more intense.

“No, there’s no e at the end of Allbrook.” She gritted her teeth. “It’s fine. If the company name is correct, then we’ll get the documents.”

When the woman on the other end of the phone said she wanted to go over the address one more time Imogen sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry to cut you off but I’m in the middle of something. I’ll call you back.”

She slammed the phone down and arched her back as Caleb sucked on her. Reaching down blindly, her fingers searched for his head and found purchase in the thick waves of his golden hair.

“Tsk tsk,” he said, looking up. “That was very rude.”

“It would have been ruder to scream your name in that poor woman’s ear.”

“Do I need to gag you?” he asked with a grin. “I thought you’d have a little more control than that.”

Her cheeks burned. “Does it look like I have any control right now?”

“Good point.”

He dipped his head back between her legs and worshiped her with his mouth. This time he didn’t hold back—he gave her the pressure she wanted, the right level of friction. It was like he knew exactly how to push her straight to the edge of need.

“Caleb,” she whispered, her body writhing against the desk. “That’s so good.”

“How good?” he growled.

She didn’t have the words to tell him, so she tightened her grip on his hair, raking her nails over his scalp in an effort to show him. He nipped at the inside of her thigh in response. This was how they could communicate openly. With their bodies. Without any fear that words might not adequately do the job.

She rolled her hips, grinding himself against her face until the tremors started. Behind closed lids there was a pinpoint of pleasure and she chased it, her body tripping over itself to get to that blissful feeling of release.

“Oh God.” She bit down on her lip, stifling all the things she wanted to say—dirty, naughty, bad things. Instead she curled her hands around the edge of the desk and held on while he consumed her and she chanted his name over and over in her mind.

When her tremors stopped, he placed a chaste kiss at the top of her sex and stood. His self-satisfied grin made her laugh—he looked truly pleased with himself.

“It’s a shame we had to be so quiet,” he said. “I still haven’t been able to hear you properly when you come.”

Imogen pushed up into a sitting position. “That’s because you keep accosting me in public.”

“Accosting?” He laughed. “Yeah, you look like you thoroughly hated that. And there’s a locked door—this hardly counts as public.”

Imogen caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the wall. Her ponytail looked like something a kookaburra might nest in and her pink lipstick was smudged up onto her cheek. If the dictionary had pictures, this would be sitting under “dishevelled.”

“I have to go,” he said.