The Mad British (9 page)

"Yes," she hisses, one of her hands moving to my wrist, a failed attempt to guide my hand where she wants it to go.

I’m the one who is in control.

I raise my head to look at her, taking her hand in my own. "No.
Show
me." I look down at her hand, feeling the tension run through it as soon as the words leave my lips. "Show me, love. Show me what you want, what you like." She seems to drink in each of my requests, and then swallows hard. Pulling her hand from beneath mine, she links her fingers over it.

"I want you to touch me," she whispers, her request aching with need. She inches my hand beneath the lining of the scrap of lace that barely covers her. I bite my lip, watching our hands as she moves them slowly toward her pussy. She barely moves, spreading her legs just enough to slide our hands inside. "Touch me here." She unlinks her hand from mine and presses my fingertips against her slit.

She is so goddamn wet that my cock grows rock-solid and feels ready to blow. She shifts her hips, pushing them against my hand, while her hand moves me against her. My hand curls against her pussy as I surpass the point of self-restraint. I’m surprised when she doesn’t pull her hand away, instead wrapping her fingers round my wrist when I slip a single finger inside. Her hips buck immediately, a loud gasp bursting from her lips, and I slide an arm round her waist to keep her balanced.

"Like that?" I ask, sliding a second finger in, causing another cry to come from her lips. She nods, my fingers pumping steadily, but roughly inside her.

"Oh God," she groans, her free hand gripping my arm tightly, her hips bearing down on my hand with every thrust. I drop my head to her tits, my tongue lapping leisurely at the tips.

Her hand slides from my arm to my head, pushing it down hard against her tit, while she pumps hurriedly against me. Her moans come louder, closer together, and I know her release is not far off. My teeth nip at her cherry, my tongue soothing it, while I swirl my thumb over her clit. She pants my name, her head smacking back against the window when the tremors start to build.

I move so that my eyes are on hers, eager to see her when she comes. Her eyes flutter as if the sheer pleasure makes it too difficult for her to keep them open. They widen at the last moment, my name coming over and over from her lips, the sparks filling her eyes. She rides the waves for as long as she can, collapsing against me when it’s over. She buries her face in my chest, one hand still on my wrist, the other round my waist.

"Adelaide," I say, pressing a gentle kiss against her temple. "Are you—"

She cuts me off again, her lips moving over mine, her hands fisting my shirt. It’s a replay of earlier, but this is different.

Yeah, this is very different.

She turns me round and shoves me against the window, her nails raking over the front of my shirt. Her head tips back, her eyes narrowing. "You tend to talk too much." Her trembling fingers fuss over the first button, torn between ripping it open and going slow and steady.

"Funny," I reply, gently combing her hair away from her face. "Usually I'm told I don't say enough. . . Must be something you do to me."

She arches an eyebrow, her fingers making their way to the third button. "Tell me," she teases. She stops mid-button and runs her hands up and down my chest. "Just what do I do, James?"

My hands go to her hips, gripping them tightly as I jerk her toward me. She groans as I slide a hand against the small of her back, forcing my way between her legs and grind against her.

"I think you know just what you do." I hold her against me, my other hand moving to tweak her nipple. "Or do I need to remind you again, love?"

"I don't need you to remind me of anything," she hisses playfully, sliding her hand between our bodies, her palm pressing against the bulge in my briefs. “
Love
.”

I curse under my breath, and this time it’s my head that falls back against the glass. She keeps her hand against me, her other moving to flick the remaining buttons on my shirt. When it’s open, she stands there quietly, drinking in my bare chest with her eyes.

"Take it off," she orders, a devious grin on her lips. She doesn’t give me much space to manoeuvre the shirt off, and she laughs quietly, unable to hold back her amusement when I swear in frustration.

The second the shirt hits the floor, she presses her soft bare skin against me, nuzzling her face against my chest. I swear again when she brushes her lips against my skin, her tongue lapping across it gently, while her hands mould it beneath her palms. She traces circles and lines with her tongue, leaving me swearing non-stop.

Her hands move to my belt buckle, and I’m open and free within seconds. She slips them beneath the band of my trousers and briefs, before she yanks them down to the floor, her long fingernails raking against me. I drink in the sight of her on her knees in front of me.

Christ, she truly is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I will never tire of saying that.

"Step out," she demands, continuing to mimic my commanding tone.

No one else would get away with it, but she is just so damn hot that I’m sure I will do whatever she tells me to do.

She inches her way back up, pressing her soft tits against my hard body, and wraps a hand round my steel-hard erection. I hiss, my body bucking forward, and she lets out another quiet laugh.

"Is this what you like?" she asks, tightening her grip as she begins to pump me in her hand.

"Adelaide," I growl throatily, shifting my eyes to her, and swearing again when she winks. She bites her lip as she rakes her nails over my chest again.

"My turn." I wrap my fingers round her wrist and pull her away from me.

I’ve shown far too much self-restraint tonight, and I’m a hair’s breadth away from breaking point.

"You can play later all you want, love." Grabbing her other hand, I spin her back round toward the window. "But right now, I can only take so much."

She cries out, her bare back coming into contact with the cool glass. I release her hands long enough to shove the lacy scrap of knickers down, making it my turn to command her to step out of something.

On my knees in front of her, I slip the lace from beneath her feet, tossing it aside. I can see in her eyes she’s already desperate for another release. My hand snakes across the floor to my trousers, digging for my wallet, all-the-while my eyes never leaving hers.

I hold her ankles in each of my hands, running my hands slowly up her sides as I move upward. Her body withers beneath my touch as I make my way over the bare curve of her hip, and over her gorgeous tits, coming to a stop when I cup her face. Our tongues meet again, swirling round one another as I press a knee between her legs.

"You’re gonna get it from me," I warn hoarsely, stepping between her legs when she parts instantly.

She reaches for the foil wrapper, tearing it open in her hands, then moves slowly to roll it onto my cock. I groan, pressing my face against her neck as her hands move over me, teasing me one last time.

Resting a hand on her hip, I pull her away, positioning her so that I’m right at her entrance. Hooking an arm beneath one of her knees, I draw her leg round me, so that my tip presses against her wet slit. Moaning loudly, her hands grasp at me, seeking something to hold onto as I push myself inside her.

I plant a hand against the glass to balance us, drawing her leg up higher round me, and plunge even deeper into her pussy. She is so goddamn tight, and I move slowly at first, knowing that one wrong movement will end things before they get started.

"Adelaide," I pant against her neck, my hand tugging at her leg that’s still resting on the floor. "I need you to. . . Yeah, like that." I moan in a ragged breath when she shifts to wrap her legs round me, her arms moving round my neck. "Christ, just like that, babe."

I move to find her lips, taking them in mine, as I slowly thrust against her. She breaks the kiss immediately, a low moan escaping her lips, her head falling to my shoulder.

I shift to hold her at her hips, pressing her against the window, my hips pumping against hers. She rakes her fingernails over my shoulder blades, her mouth moving over my skin, teeth biting and tongue soothing as I move inside her. Each thrust slowly becomes harder than the one that comes before.

Her hands grip my shoulders tightly as her head falls back against the window. She matches me thrust for thrust, her back banging against the window every time I push into her. Harder and harder.

I tremble simply from the way she says my name, and I know that I can’t hold out any longer. Sliding a hand from beneath her, I move between our bodies, my thumb seeking out her clit. When I press against it lightly, her nails dig into my shoulders, and a long, throaty moan comes from her lips.

She is practically screaming when I feel my own release come. With one last hard thrust, I bite into her cherry just as I come right behind her. I hold her there, hands gripping her arse, holding her against me. My face presses against her tit, her hands still gripping my shoulders. When my own breathing eases and I’m sure I can move, I shift her in my arms and start across the room. I barely make it to the bed before I collapse, falling on top of her. I roll onto my side, my hand tugging the flimsy sheet away from her body that she’s already pulling over her. She blushes, her hands moving to cover herself.

"Don't." My voice is dominant and commanding, and her hands fall away immediately. I reach for her, placing my palm against her cheek, and stroke her face until her head turns toward me. Her face is still flushed, her breaths heavy, and her eyes still coax me to her. I feel a stirring deep within just from being next to her tight naked body.

I drop my hand to her shoulder, my fingertips swirling circles against her skin as my hand moves. Her sighs are barely audible as she closes her eyes, her body arching beneath my touch.

I trace a slow path down her body; my thumb sweeping over the swell of her breast, my forefinger pressing against the curve of her hip. My fingers drum a light rhythm as they stretch across her lower abdomen. Pressing my palm against her, she whimpers slightly, her hips thrusting against my touch.

"Adelaide," I urge, my hand inching up her opposite side, mimicking my previous movements. She responds with another low audible sigh, her hands fisting the sheet below her body, her lashes fluttering as she tries to look at me.

"I, I don't think I can. . . Not yet." She continues to pant as I lower my hand to her knee, tugging her so that she’s lying on her side. "James. . . please—"

This time I cut her off, placing my lips over hers, suckling gently at her lower lip. "Did anyone ever tell you—you talk too much?" I tease, my tongue making its way into her mouth.

Her hand reaches for my waist, pulling me against her, and she gasps into my mouth when she feels me harden against her thigh.

"James," she murmurs, still breathless, her head falling back so she can look at me. "I’m just. . . Oh God. . . "

And I’m the one who laughs quietly, pressing a tender kiss against her forehead. "There's no rush," I tell her, cupping her cheek in my hand and staring into those dark eyes. "Because the way I see it, we're just getting started, Miss Queen."

Three weeks later. . .

MY ANSWER TO the proposition is instant.

"No. And how do you know I need it?"

Rent is due tomorrow. The same sentence has been beating in my head all day, and I know exactly how much money I don’t have. All the winnings from Wonderland went toward my debts, unfortunately
.
I can’t ask my brother again, not after the incident a few months back involving public intoxication, nudity, and a hefty fine
.
Asking my parents is out, since it’s my financial straits that caused me to boomerang out of their house for the second time, move in with my brother and his girlfriend, and crash in the spare bedroom.

"Because it's the second of the month and I was the only buyer at your last showing,” Preston says.

I groan into the phone.

He’s right.

I hate it when he’s right.

Victory still hangs in its same spot at the gallery, earning exactly zero pounds for all the accolades it’s garnered, and I’m trying to scrape together enough money to keep my landlord and roommates happy by commissioning a charcoal portrait of some guy's ugly pug dog with human eyes. One week before the commission is due, and I’m still farting around on the eye.

The
eye
.

“By the way, that thing still gives me nightmares,” he continues. “I stuck it in the guest bathroom so I can unnerve my in-laws with it while they sit on the loo." I wouldn’t expect anything less from Preston.

I continue to towel off my hair, wet from the shower. "I was going through a surrealist period. That piece is refreshingly shocking."

"It's refreshingly shitty. The only thing that beats it is that disgusting pigeon-blood thing you sold to those delusional yuppie hipsters. That’s the only time your mangy cat has come into some use.”

Occasionally birds nesting in the attic will fall down the chimney and into my room. To solve that problem I had adopted a shelter cat, an orange critter with green eyes that tears apart any pigeon before it has a chance to wreck its way through my workspace. Again.

Unfortunately, Cheshire had mauled a pigeon on the canvas I’d been working on. Fortunately, my client’s theme for their studio was ‘War’.

When I don’t respond he continues. “It was a choice between that and the two hundred pound sculpture of. . . an aeroplane, I think, and I just didn’t feel like making my poor driver load that thing in the boot."

"I'm still not doing it. And Airship in Flight is a sculpture of a bathtub."

"It doesn’t make it any less heavy. Thousand pounds. It's his thirtieth birthday."

A thousand pounds.

"Can't you just buy a bottle of scotch like normal people?"

"I did that last year. It's been done. It's done. I have to go big, Adelaide. I got him the suite at the Helix and promised to make up for the shitty birthday he had last year."

"What happened last year?"

"I threw up in his new car. And his kitchen floor. And in his fridge."

"Sexy."

"I did tell him I didn’t do shots of Patron well. And I'm pretty sure some stripper stole his wallet. And I'm pretty sure said stripper wasn’t really all female. So anyway, will you do it tonight? Look, I can vouch for him. You know I wouldn’t send you somewhere you weren’t safe and he knows you don’t go all the way. I tried to explain what burlesque dancing is to him, I’m sure he understood. Adelaide, hun, tease him a little and put a smile on that pretty-boy face of his, for me."

One thousand pounds.

"What time?"

"An hour."

I stop drying my hair and let the towel slip to the floor. "Three thousand."

"Two if you can be ready in an hour. You don't even have to stay all night."

"Or I can just ask you for a loan."

Preston laughs softly. "Except that you will never take it. You didn’t take your ex-fiancé's money either, and now you're a starving artist that lives with her brother and does expensive favours for old friends."

"You make me feel really good. I'm glad you called just to cheer me up."

Another laugh. "A car will be downstairs in an hour. Tell pretty-boy I say ‘happy birthday, you big sexy bastard’."

He ends the call and I toss the phone onto my bed and pull open a drawer on my battered dresser. I let out a deep breath.

When my art doesn’t pay the bills. . .

Two. Thousand. Pounds.

It’s not like I do this all the time. The last time I gave a strip-tease was. . . for James Hatter.

My one-night stand.

The memory rises like a huge bubble to the surface of my mind. God, the sex. It was wild. Primal. And a little perverted on his end.

It rocked my freaking world.

All James had to do was give me a cocky smile for my heart to start to pound and for the butterflies to fill my tummy, and all my rational thoughts began to not make sense. He was bad for me, like a second—no, a fourth helping of rich, creamy chocolate cake; too damn tempting and utterly delicious to resist.

And I was so tempted to rescind my plan on bruising his ego by staying the next morning. But that would have been like diving into crocodile-infested waters. One night was harmless. Anything more and I’m asking for a world of hurt.

How can I trust a man who bets a woman in a game of blackjack? Trust isn’t something I find easy. Not after what happened with Ethan. . .

They call it the walk of shame. I feel regret not shame.

It doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s not like I’ll ever be seeing him again.