Read Sexy as Hell Box Set for Free Online Page B
Authors: Harlem Dae
appeared demented. Oh, but I was giddy with victory not insanity, with the knowledge that once again I’d wrapped a bloke around my little finger. Hell, my whole hand. I ordered espresso for us both. The young woman behind the counter eyed me curiously, possibly wondering why I wanted two cups. I paid, thanked her, and made my way to the table we’d occupied yesterday.
And waited for him to come in.
He did, a flurry of cold air entering with him, his face flushed and his tie skew-whiff, loosened slightly at the knot. The top button of his shirt being undone gave him a rakish air, and I had to squeeze my legs together to battle off a wave of arousal. He gazed about—funny how he didn’t immediately look to where we’d met—and I chuckled, wondering whether he hadn’t done so because by now he knew I liked to mix things up. He stood just in front of the slowly closing door, appearing lost and so out of his depth that I had a momentary pang of sorrow for him. It vanished the second he caught sight of me and studied me with an expression that said in no uncertain terms he was here to discuss my behaviour. I hid another smirk and adopted a poker face as he weaved between the tables and stood beside ours with seemingly no intention of sitting down. I cocked my head to look at him, widening my eyes a tad then narrowing them. Licked my lips, the taste of cum still on my tongue.
“Don’t you ever do that again,” he said quietly, with an air of menace I wouldn’t have suspected he could adopt.
Not wanting to let him see he’d surprised me, intrigued me, or cowed me, I said loudly, “What, give you a blowjob?”
He blushed, a furious shade of red that I guessed was embarrassment mixed with anger. He clenched his hands into fists and clamped his lips together, clearly fighting an urge to either slap me, admonish me, or stalk out. Instead he sat opposite, drawing his coffee towards him and taking a hefty sip. Wincing at the burn, he recovered his composure and glared at me, fingers twitching around his cup.
“You’re one hell of an infuriating little bitch, Watson,” he said, the raging red of his cheeks fading a bit but his eyes still glinting with frustration.
I ogled him, the gorgeous bastard, and smiled.
He sighed, a dragged-from-the-bottom-of-his-lungs exhalation, and it seemed all the fight left him with that burst of air. “What the hell have I done agreeing to this crap?” He shook his head, gaze scouring my face, his confusion evident by the furrowing of his brow and his mouth going slack.
“You’ve agreed to some fun,” I said, “and from where I’m sitting you need some. You’re so uptight. Relax. Live a little.”
“I’m supposed to stay relaxed. I was relaxed until you came along. Now I’m at sixes and bloody sevens, and that really isn’t what I need. What my heart needs.”
Good Lord, had he started getting feelings for me? Now that was something I hadn’t expected. This talk of hearts had me squirming in my seat. If he mentioned love I’d stop the bet and walk away, never to look back.
“Supposed to stay relaxed?” I asked, then sipped some of my coffee.
“Yes, but you’ve gone and blown that right out of the water. You’re bad for my health, Zara. Seriously bad.”
It was something anyone would say, a casual comment, but I got the impression he’d meant it literally. Maybe he had blood pressure problems—stood to reason, what with him running his own business—and me waltzing into his life doing unexpected things had possibly wreaked havoc with his pulse rate. I opened my mouth to pry, to coax a confession out of him, then thought better of it. My imagination was running away with me, that was all.
Instead, I said, “So do some breathing exercises when we’re together. That’ll sort you out.” I’d sounded blasé, but if anything it would help him to calm down further. “I don’t mean to be a health hazard, you know. I can’t control your reactions to me,
And waited for him to come in.
He did, a flurry of cold air entering with him, his face flushed and his tie skew-whiff, loosened slightly at the knot. The top button of his shirt being undone gave him a rakish air, and I had to squeeze my legs together to battle off a wave of arousal. He gazed about—funny how he didn’t immediately look to where we’d met—and I chuckled, wondering whether he hadn’t done so because by now he knew I liked to mix things up. He stood just in front of the slowly closing door, appearing lost and so out of his depth that I had a momentary pang of sorrow for him. It vanished the second he caught sight of me and studied me with an expression that said in no uncertain terms he was here to discuss my behaviour. I hid another smirk and adopted a poker face as he weaved between the tables and stood beside ours with seemingly no intention of sitting down. I cocked my head to look at him, widening my eyes a tad then narrowing them. Licked my lips, the taste of cum still on my tongue.
“Don’t you ever do that again,” he said quietly, with an air of menace I wouldn’t have suspected he could adopt.
Not wanting to let him see he’d surprised me, intrigued me, or cowed me, I said loudly, “What, give you a blowjob?”
He blushed, a furious shade of red that I guessed was embarrassment mixed with anger. He clenched his hands into fists and clamped his lips together, clearly fighting an urge to either slap me, admonish me, or stalk out. Instead he sat opposite, drawing his coffee towards him and taking a hefty sip. Wincing at the burn, he recovered his composure and glared at me, fingers twitching around his cup.
“You’re one hell of an infuriating little bitch, Watson,” he said, the raging red of his cheeks fading a bit but his eyes still glinting with frustration.
I ogled him, the gorgeous bastard, and smiled.
He sighed, a dragged-from-the-bottom-of-his-lungs exhalation, and it seemed all the fight left him with that burst of air. “What the hell have I done agreeing to this crap?” He shook his head, gaze scouring my face, his confusion evident by the furrowing of his brow and his mouth going slack.
“You’ve agreed to some fun,” I said, “and from where I’m sitting you need some. You’re so uptight. Relax. Live a little.”
“I’m supposed to stay relaxed. I was relaxed until you came along. Now I’m at sixes and bloody sevens, and that really isn’t what I need. What my heart needs.”
Good Lord, had he started getting feelings for me? Now that was something I hadn’t expected. This talk of hearts had me squirming in my seat. If he mentioned love I’d stop the bet and walk away, never to look back.
“Supposed to stay relaxed?” I asked, then sipped some of my coffee.
“Yes, but you’ve gone and blown that right out of the water. You’re bad for my health, Zara. Seriously bad.”
It was something anyone would say, a casual comment, but I got the impression he’d meant it literally. Maybe he had blood pressure problems—stood to reason, what with him running his own business—and me waltzing into his life doing unexpected things had possibly wreaked havoc with his pulse rate. I opened my mouth to pry, to coax a confession out of him, then thought better of it. My imagination was running away with me, that was all.
Instead, I said, “So do some breathing exercises when we’re together. That’ll sort you out.” I’d sounded blasé, but if anything it would help him to calm down further. “I don’t mean to be a health hazard, you know. I can’t control your reactions to me,