The third book in the Sexy Little Secrets trilogy reunites old flames April and Jamie ten years after their mysterious split. Jamie’s demanding answers—and after a little persuasion, April might just give him some...

It’s been ten years since April Darlington-Hume broke my heart—ten painful years of not knowing why she ran off. But after a very raunchy chance encounter with her at a fund-raiser, I finally had an opportunity to find out what had happened all those years ago. So I came up with a proposal that I knew an ambitious businesswoman like her couldn’t resist.

I’ve agreed to sell her my father’s company, if she admits I’m the only man who’s ever given her real pleasure. And I’m happy to show her what she’s been missing between the sheets all this time. Once I’ve driven her wild with lust, she’ll let her guard down enough for me to tease out her secret from ten years ago.

But it’s hard to be cold and calculating when we’re alone together. Every time we toy with each other, it only reminds me that beneath our scorching desire, there was always a deeper connection that burned even hotter...

Sexy. Passionate. Bold. Discover Harlequin DARE, a new line of fun, edgy and sexually explicit romances for the fearless female.

Formerly a video and radio producer, CHRISTY McKELLEN now spends her time writing provocative, passionate, seductive romance. When she’s not writing she can be found enjoying life with her husband and three children, walking for pleasure, and researching other people’s deepest secrets and desires. Christy loves to hear from readers. You can get hold of her at christymckellen.com.

She Devil

Christy McKellen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08707-0

SHE DEVIL

© 2019 Christy McKellen

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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This book is dedicated to my incredibly talented

editor, Vic Britton, whose encouragement, support and

insight has brought out the best in my stories and in

me as a writer.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE
April

SEX ISN’T ABOUT love and connection; it’s about power and control.

That’s what I’ve come to realise over the last ten years.

Yes, okay, I accept that it can also be used for the purposes of procreation and continuing a lineage—or, in my father’s case, providing an heir to his vast business empire—and I know that some people even think they’re doing it for fun but, take it from me, sex is just a tool we use to manipulate each other.

And, yes, it is true what people say about me—and when I say people I’m specifically talking about Jamie De Montfort here—I am a total and utter bitch.

Because I’ve had to be.

‘Hard as nails’ is one of the things I hear people say about me behind my back.

I like that.

Nails are useful items—essential, even. Structures would fall down without them.

‘As cold as a polar bear’s arsehole’—that one I’m not quite so keen on.

But I wouldn’t have risen to the position of Chief Operating Officer at DH Worldwide, my father’s aforementioned multinational corporation, if I hadn’t developed the ability to ignore what people say about me.

Except this time when I say people I don’t mean Jamie De Montfort because I’ve always been uncomfortably aware of what he thinks of me. Let’s just say that ever since my mother died and I was forced to step into her role as matriarch of the family—much to my sister Maya’s disgust—my relationship with Jamie has been on less than friendly terms.

Because it’s had to be.

I’ve never been able to tell him exactly why I finished our eighteen-month relationship during our third year at St Andrew’s University, so he’s chosen to think the very worst of me—and to make sure everyone knows it too.

But that’s okay. It’s had to be. For both our sakes.

If I told him why I’d been forced to do what I did it would destroy him—and me too.

Because I loved him.

But not any more. Not after the way he’s treated me since then.

Unfortunately we end up running in the same social circles a lot nowadays and he never misses an opportunity to let me know exactly how little respect he has for me now.

Like he did last night, for example.

Except in the end, last night turned out to be completely different from all the other times. In fact, thinking back, I can hardly believe it happened now. It feels more like a dream—or perhaps a nightmare, depending on how you choose to interpret it.

I’d gone to a charity fundraiser that my business associate’s wife had organised to raise money for a children’s charity that’s very close to her heart, having agreed to attend at the last minute after a meeting in Rome had fallen through and I’d found myself without anything to do that evening.

Which is why I had no idea that Jamie De Montfort was compèring the event.

As a world-famous former tennis champion, securing him as the host was quite a coup, and it was clear from the reaction to his obsequious, crowd-pleasing performance there was going to be a lot of money dropping into the charity’s coffers that evening.

At least from my seat near the back of the room I was able to observe him without feeling the usual compulsion to turn away.

I grudgingly have to admit he was looking good. Very good, in fact. His athletic physique was very much in evidence, despite being encased in a dinner jacket. He’s always had a great body, even in his early twenties, when I knew him best. And by ‘knew him’ I mean when I’d seen him naked on a regular basis.

Prohibiting my body from reacting to those memories, I attempted to study him with a dispassionate eye. He’d grown his strawberry-blond hair a little longer since the last time I’d seen him a few months previously so it curled around his collar at the nape of his neck and fell in tousled strands over his forehead. It reminded me of the way he used to wear it when we were dating, when he’d had to push his fringe out of his striking blue eyes whenever he’d turned to look at me. That simple idiosyncrasy had never failed to conjure a need in me that I’ve never been able to explain in words.

His strong jawline was very much in evidence that night too, because he was clean-shaven for once, seemingly taking a break from the designer stubble he’s famously sported in the ads he’s starred in for his own line of men’s sports clothing.

He’s always been demonstrably aware of how attractive he is, so it doesn’t surprise me at all that he has no qualms about using his looks for monetary gain.

The self-important narcissist.

I think that’s why he was so incredulous—and unreasonably malicious—when I called a halt to our relationship. He couldn’t believe I’d had the nerve to dump someone as outstanding as him.

But dump him I did. And I don’t regret that decision. Even now, ten years later. Especially when I see him flirting shamelessly with every single woman in the room, even the women I know he’s already talked into his bed—including some of my friends, I might add—but still treating me like the scum of the earth.

But I don’t care any more.

I really don’t.

Ironically, it happened to be that exact thought that was racing round my mind when the person sitting to my left—who I think was one of the organiser’s good friends—leaned over to me and whispered, ‘Did you hear about Jamie De Montfort’s father, Cliff?’

Just the mention of that name sent a shiver of unease through me.

‘No,’ I managed to reply, even though my mouth felt like someone had just filled it with rocks.

My dinner companion shook her head sadly, her eyes wide with compassionate dismay. ‘He had another heart attack and passed away a few days ago. Jamie was devastated, apparently, but he was determined to still come and host tonight.’ She nodded towards where Jamie stood proudly on stage, shaking the hand of the director of the children’s charity as everybody clapped. ‘That man is the definition of a true hero,’ she shouted above the sound of the applause, admiration shining in her eyes.

A thin smile was all I could manage as blood thumped in my temple and my stomach did sickening somersaults.

So Cliff was dead. And Jamie had still turned up for this gig. I couldn’t quite get my head around that. Jamie had idolised his father and, even though I had no kind feelings towards him any more, I understood how much he must be hurting right then. The news brought back a flood of painful memories from when my mother had died after a skiing incident, swiftly moving on to remind me of the dread and fear I’d felt when I heard that my own father had been in a near-fatal car accident only a month ago.

Yes, I knew exactly how he felt.

Frighteningly alone.

Especially because he was now the only De Montfort left. The last of his kind.

A wave of something like nostalgia crashed through me—undoubtedly in response to my own tormenting memories—and I had to excuse myself and stumble out of the room to drag some air back into my lungs. I meant to go towards the bathrooms, but there appeared to be a stream of other women doing the same thing ahead of me, so instead I diverted to a nearby office, which was mercifully empty. I didn’t bother switching on the light and strode straight over to the window, cracking it open so that the cool evening air rushed over my heated face.

My heart was pounding like I’d just run a mile at full pelt and my whole body hummed with agitation.

Cliff was dead.

I wondered whether my father had heard and if so why he hadn’t told me.

I jumped as the door to the room opened behind me, flooding it with light from the corridor.

I blinked at the outline of the tall, broad-shouldered man who stood in the doorway, instinctively knowing who it was even before my eyes adjusted and I was able to make out the familiar features of his face.

‘Good evening, Jamie,’ I said with as much indifference as I could muster. I didn’t want him to see me in this weakened state, and I knew if I gave anything away he’d jump on it immediately. I hoped, once he realised it was me alone in there, he’d just turn and walk away.

But it was not to be.

‘April, fancy finding you here skulking in the dark.’

Irritation clawed up my spine at the disparagement I heard in his tone.

‘I’m just taking a moment out. It’s so hot in there,’ I said blandly, keeping any emotion out of my voice so he had nothing to comment on, hoping he’d soon get bored and go away.

But of course he didn’t. This was Jamie, after all. The man who never passed up an opportunity to torture me.

Instead, he closed the door behind him, throwing the room back into shadow, and walked over to where I stood stiffly by the window.

Right at that moment I was immensely grateful for both the darkness and the cold breeze.

‘Is there a reason you chose to do it in my dressing room?’ he asked, the streetlight from outside casting his face into light relief.

‘I thought it was an empty office. I didn’t realise it was your room,’ I countered, aware of my face flushing with embarrassment at my unlucky faux pas.

‘Is that right?’ he replied, his scepticism clear.

There was an awkward pause as I tried to think of something to distract his attention away from my obvious discomfort.

‘I was sorry to hear about you father passing away,’ I said, deciding I might as well tackle the subject head on. No doubt it would come up at some point soon anyway. Jamie already thought my family was responsible for everything bad that had happened to his father and would no doubt try to pin this heart attack on us as well.

If only he knew the truth...

The air in the room had become very still, and I thought I caught a flash of pain cross his face, but in the semi-light I couldn’t be sure. My stomach still swooped at the thought. Jamie hadn’t shown me any real emotion—apart from anger—for years.

‘You heard about that, huh?’ he said eventually.

‘Yes, just now at dinner. I was surprised I hadn’t heard about it sooner.’

He shucked off his jacket and tossed it onto the back of an office chair that was tucked under a nearby desk. ‘No, well, my father didn’t want his death spread around like gossip. He’d had enough of that shit, thanks to your family.’

I had a lot of trouble biting my tongue at that, but somehow I managed it, despite the usual resentment building inside me. He’d have a very different attitude if he knew how much I’d done to protect both Cliff and him from gossip. And worse.

‘Speaking of which, I hear your father’s been spending time in hospital himself recently,’ Jamie went on, tugging undone his bow tie and popping open the top button of his shirt.

‘Yes, he was there for a week or so, but he’s back at home now recuperating,’ I said stiffly, trying not to think about how distractingly arousing it was to witness him messing up his neat formal attire.

‘You mean he’s actually taking some time off work? I thought I’d never see the day.’

I forcibly had to restrain myself from crossing my arms. ‘He’s not well enough to be back in the office yet and probably won’t be for a few months. He’s in constant pain and the painkillers he’s taking make his head too fuzzy for him to concentrate for long periods of time.’

Jamie nodded, his hair falling into his eyes. I watched him push it away from his forehead and my disloyal pussy gave a throb in response.

‘So he’s taking a break from terrorising his employees? That must be a relief for them all.’ He tilted his head, his gaze boring into mine. ‘Or have you muscled straight in to take over that role?’ The hostility emanating from him made my whole body prickle with an edgy, disturbing tension.

‘I’m acting CEO at the moment, if that’s what you mean, but I’d like to think I’m a fair and approachable boss.’

He snorted. ‘Approachable? You?’

And there it was, the inevitable slide into insulting me. Even though I’d been preparing myself for it, it still stung. I blinked hard, banishing the hot tears that pressed at the back of my eyes. No way was I showing him an emotional reaction. He’d only use it against me.

He took a step closer and I had to steel myself not to take a pace away, especially when his familiar musky scent hit my senses, making my head reel and my body pulse with an unwelcome carnal ache.

‘How does it feel to finally be allowed to stand on your own two feet without Daddy calling all the shots?’ he murmured, his bright-blue eyes searching mine, clearly looking for weakness in me.

Which I was not about to show him.

I let out a withering sigh and rolled my eyes. He might have just lost his father but that didn’t give him the right to be so vile.

‘You don’t change, do you? Still reeling out the same old, tired lines.’

‘Well, if you ever manage to do something new that was even vaguely worthy of my attention instead of being so fucking boring and soulless, I’ll finally be able to change my repertoire,’ he bit back.

Despite my resolve not to react to his contempt, I still flinched at that.

For one breathless moment I thought I saw something like regret pass across his face, but I wasn’t prepared to hang around and find out. I was too afraid my insouciant front might completely crumble, so instead I pushed back my shoulders and said, ‘Well, Jamie, it was predictably unpleasant seeing you again. If those are all the snide remarks you have for me this time, I think I’ll be leaving now. I don’t want to keep you from your doting audience. I know how much you need to be adored.’

‘April. Wait...’

As I turned away I saw him reach out as if to try and stop me leaving but, instead of his hand landing squarely on my arm, his fingers caught the thin spaghetti-strap of my dress. In my determination to get away from him I was moving too fast to give him a chance to untangle himself and I felt a sharp tug, then the strap give way on one side of the dress and slither down my back.

I sucked in a breath of agitation and turned back to glare at him.

‘Oops.’ The twitch of a smile at the edge of his mouth was more than I could stand.

‘This is a five-thousand-pound, custom made, Eva Verdano dress!’ I yelped, anger and frustration at his unapologetic amusement making my voice unsteady.

‘It’s not as if you can’t get Daddy to stump up for another one,’ he said with a condescending flick of his eyebrow.

‘I can afford to buy my own clothes, you arrogant prick,’ I couldn’t help but retort, despite hating the fact I was rising to his goading, ‘Because I happen to be one of the highest paid businesswomen in the country.’ I pointed a shaky finger at him. ‘And before you try and say Daddy just handed me the job I’ll have you know I worked my arse off to be where I am today!’

‘Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, if it makes you feel better,’ he growled back.

And that was it. I’d had enough of him. A blistering anger rose through me and without thinking I reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled with all my strength. The material must have had a high silk content because the top four buttons easily tore away, leaving his shirt gaping open and giving me a spectacular view of his muscular chest.

Neither of us reacted at first, both of us too shocked by what I’d done. Then, before I had chance to stop him, Jamie reached out and grasped the front of my dress and did the same thing to me, tearing a deep valley down the front of it and exposing my breasts, which unfortunately I’d chosen not to encase in a bra that evening so as not to ruin the line of my outfit.

I let out a low scream of frustration, not just because he’d totally ruined my beautiful dress, but because I was now completely exposed to his mocking gaze.

Through the red haze that descended over my eyes, I saw him lift a hand in apology. ‘Shit, April, sorry, I didn’t—’

But I didn’t want to hear it. I was way past trying to make any kind of peace with him. I wanted to hurt him, like he’d hurt me. Repeatedly. For years. But the words wouldn’t come. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would penetrate that thick hide of his so, in the absence of a better idea, I pulled back my arm and slapped him hard across the face.

The violent sound of it rang around the small room, but somehow still failed to penetrate my rational consciousness. I seemed to be in some sort of incensed rage that incrementally had been building for years, so I simply swung my arm back again and attempted to repeat what I’d just done.

This time he was too quick for me and managed to grab my wrist before my hand made contact with his cheek again. He gripped me tightly, staring into my eyes and shaking his head in silent warning. But I wasn’t having it. I wasn’t going to let him subdue me. So I raised my free arm and swung that towards the other side of his face.

He seemed to be anticipating this, though, and managed to grab hold of that one as well then twist us round and pin me against the window, holding both of my wrists in his large hands, effectively confining my wrath.

‘Stop!’ he ordered me as anger and something that looked suspiciously like desire flashed in his eyes.

We were both breathing hard now, the sound of it loud and raw in the otherwise silent room.

I should have felt scared and defenceless, alone with him and physically overpowered like this.

But I wasn’t afraid. In fact, I felt weirdly jubilant.

I had the strangest urge to push him as far as I could, just to see what he’d do. I wanted to force him to act, force him to the very edge of his comfort zone, and perhaps even past it. To make him feel as off-balance as I did right then. I was determined not to be the only one fighting to stay in control.

‘What are you gonna do now, huh?’ I growled at him. ‘Now you have me trapped here, half-naked and vulnerable.’

I stared into those striking eyes of his, hyper-aware of my bare breasts rising and falling only centimetres away from his own exposed chest. My nipples were rock-hard and felt super-sensitised and I was intensely conscious that it wasn’t just the cold breeze that was responsible.

Something flickered in his eyes and they appeared to grow darker as his pupils dilated.

It suddenly felt as if we were on the cusp of something—something new and dangerous.

And my whole body ached for it.

But to my frustration he loosened his grip on my wrists and backed away from me, his handsome face drawn into a deep scowl but his eyes still betraying a heated longing.

A moment of pure, sweet wistfulness hit me as a memory flitted through my mind of how he used to look at me with the same kind of unadulterated need.

We’d had a wild time together what felt like a lifetime ago now, experimenting with all kinds of crazy stuff—mostly power-play and some BDSM—which I’d loved at the time but had never wanted to do with a partner since. It reminded me too much of the time I’d spent with him—a happier, simpler, more naïve time, and one I’d been determined to forget. I’d needed to be emotionally rock-solid for my family’s sake since breaking up with him so I’d boxed up those desires and never peeked at them again.

Until now.

But to my raging disappointment he just shook his head and said, ‘I’m not going to do anything. I have zero interest in continuing this pathetic exchange, because I have zero interest in you. I don’t waste my time with cold-hearted bitches. Not any more.’

The words stung like a thousand paper cuts and the red mist of anger swelled in me again.

How dared he act as if this meant nothing to him? As if I meant nothing. Because I knew I did. He wouldn’t have acted this way towards me if he really didn’t feel anything.

Without conscious thought, I strode forward and braced both hands against his shoulders, using the surprise of my attack to catch him off-balance so I was able to push him against the nearest wall.

He let out a grunt of surprise as I pressed myself into him, jamming my pelvis up against his, jubilant to discover that his cock was as hard as I’d imagined it would be.

‘It doesn’t feel like you’re not interested in me,’ I goaded.

He let out a huff of a laugh and, before I could register what was going to happen, he wrapped his arms around me and swung us around on the spot so that now it was me with my back against the wall. Not wanting him to get the jump on me, I pressed myself backward, trapping his arms between my body and the wall so he couldn’t get away.

Looking up into his face, I saw both fury and confusion in his eyes, which only made me more determined to win this battle.

‘Now what are you going to do, huh? What’s your next move?’

Knowing his hands were securely trapped behind my back, I slid my fingers inside his open shirt and ran them up his chest, making sure to graze both of his nipples when I reached them, gazing into his face the whole time to check his reaction.

His sharp intake of breath and frustrated glare made my heart leap with satisfaction. I knew his body so well, even after all this time, and that knowledge made me unreasonably happy.

I felt his hands shift behind my back and realised they weren’t as trapped as I’d thought.

But he still didn’t try to release them.

He wanted me to do this.

So do it I would.

Skating my hands lower, I pressed the tips of my nails into the flesh of his torso, feeling him twitch and shudder under my touch. I watched with satisfaction as he closed his eyes, his breath juddering through his throat and catching each time I dug my nails into him a little harder.

And then I was at the top of his trousers, where I hung out for a moment, running my fingertip across the hard muscles where his taut belly met the leather of his belt.

‘Fuck!’ he moaned, his eyelids still squeezed shut. ‘Go on, then.’ He opened his eyes and looked straight into mine. ‘Do it.’

It was half challenge, half plea.

And I didn’t need any more encouragement than that. Laying the flat of my hand onto his chest, I pushed until he was forced to take a step away from me, giving me enough room to reach down and slide the soft leather out of his buckle. His arms fell to his sides as I pulled the belt free then popped open the button on his trousers and tugged down the fly so I was able to slide my hand easily into the waistband of his boxers, my eyes never leaving his.

I wanted him to know I was still in charge of things here. That despite his repeated attempts to bring me down he hadn’t succeeded. I was still directing the play. This was only happening because I was letting it.

His cock was hard, but his skin felt silky smooth as I wrapped my fingers around his shaft, drawing another guttural groan from him. I began to move my hand up and down, giving a little twist as I reached the tip and getting a short, satisfying pant of appreciation from him each time I did it.

I was aware of heat emanating from his body in waves now, warming my skin and causing goose bumps to rush over me, but I ignored my response, not wanting it to distract me from what I was doing to him. I wanted to revel in this, to enjoy the sense of power I was experiencing from totally being in control of his pleasure.

In control of him.

Heady with triumph, I increased both the pressure and speed of my movement and was rewarded for my efforts when he closed his eyes, dropped his chin and clamped his jaw shut, as if losing himself in what I was doing to him.

His chest heaved as his breathing became more laboured and I took great satisfaction in the knowledge that I knew exactly what he needed right at that moment. I sensed he’d been keeping his feelings about losing his father bottled up and this angry confrontation with me was a release for his pain. A way to hand over responsibility for the way he felt to someone else, if only for a short time.

I was the only person who knew how to give him what he needed.

And how.

Because I knew him.

I’d always known what he needed most.

Remembering how much he used to love me going down on him, I sank to my knees and took his cock in my mouth, delighting in his groan of appreciation as I used my tongue to find the spot he loved having licked. Cupping his balls in one hand, I used my longest finger and thumb of my other hand to form a ring around the base of his shaft, pressing firmly as I slid it up and down in time with my mouth.

I smiled to myself as I felt his body begin to tremble. He was completely under my influence. And I loved it.

‘Look at me,’ I heard him whisper, his voice a guttural rasp.

But I wasn’t going to let him start leading this now. I didn’t want him telling me what to do. Not any more. That wasn’t how this was going to work.

So I kept my gaze on what I was doing and continued to move my mouth on him, sliding his cock deep into my throat then pulling him all the way out again so I could play with my tongue around the head—just as I used to, to drive him crazy. I could tell he was getting close to coming by his short pants of breath and the way his hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides.

And I revelled in the idea of being in control of that.

I was so caught up in the powerful satisfaction of what I was doing to him I didn’t anticipate what he was going to do next—which was to let out a loud groan of frustration, suddenly withdraw from me then stoop down to grab me under the arms and lift me up, pressing me back against the wall and trapping me there with his hands on my shoulders.

He stared into my eyes for a moment, as if trying to centre himself, before flashing me a wicked sort of smile. Then before I could react he reached down and bunched the skirt of my dress in his hand so he could slide it up my body and roughly push his other hand between my legs. I let out an involuntary gasp of surprise as his fingers pressed into the desire-soaked material of my knickers.

‘It seems like you’re pretty interested in getting something out of this too,’ he muttered, leaning towards me so his words whispered over my lips, making them rush with intoxicating sensation. He slid his hand into my knickers and rubbed the backs of his long fingers over my mound, then pressed his thumb firmly down the line of my pussy, making my clitoris throb with the need to be touched more intimately.

‘I don’t need anything from you,’ I tried to protest, my heart thumping like a jackhammer as I tried not to let myself be pulled under by the erotic desire he was triggering in me.

But I could see from the amusement in his eyes and the sceptical raise of an eyebrow that he didn’t believe a word I was saying.

Frustration at losing my authority over this game built inside me, but I was suddenly at a loss to do anything about it as he dipped one long finger inside me, sliding it deep then drawing it out slowly, catching every erogenous spot I had.

I bit my lip hard to stop myself from letting out a moan of pleasure, but I could tell from the smile in his eyes that he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

And he wasn’t about to stop.

This time he used two fingers, curling them towards him to press on a magic area inside me, shooting tendrils of pure pleasure through my body. Then slowly he slid them out of me again, using the slickness of my desire to smooth his way back up to my needy clit.

‘Admit it, you want my cock inside you,’ he insisted, gently flicking his fingertip over the hard little nub of nerves there. ‘More than you’ve ever wanted anything.’

‘Fuck you,’ I moaned, barely able to think straight now.

‘What’s that? You want to fuck me? Yeah, I thought so,’ he ground out, twisting his fingers into my knickers and tugging on them so hard the fragile lace around the band ripped and they slithered down my legs to the floor.

That was the moment I should have walked away. I should have said that I didn’t want this, that I wanted him to leave me alone.

But right at that moment I couldn’t. Even though, intellectually, I knew I should.

Because my body wanted the exact opposite. Desperately. Like it had been starved for years and he was the most delicious meal in the world just ready and waiting to be eaten.

Which I suppose is why, instead of backing off, I closed the small gap between us and kissed him hard.

The moment our lips met it was clear to me he wanted the exact same thing because he opened his mouth and slid his tongue deep inside me, his groan of approval vibrating around the cavern of my mouth.

And it felt so incredible. Hot, dirty and urgent. His tongue firmly stroked against mine, over and over again, as if this was a duel he was trying to win, but I gave back as good as I got, pulling back to bite at his lips then suck the lower one into my mouth.

He gave a moan of what sounded like frustration, then pulled away from me to stare into my eyes, his expression fierce.

‘You want this?’ he demanded, his voice a growl of desire.

‘Just as much as you do,’ I murmured back. There was a hot, raging need inside me, something I’d been subduing for years, but it was out now, free and determined to get what it wanted.

I felt him slide his hands under my buttocks and lift me up. Instinctively I wrapped my legs around his waist, exhaling with satisfaction as his hard cock pressed between the folds of my pussy. He began to rock his hips, rubbing himself against the sensitive nub of my clit, and my whole world narrowed to that one sweet, lascivious sensation.

We were both panting hard now, our breath rushing in and out of our lungs from both the physical exertion and the intense need to fuck.

As much as I wanted to get back on top of this situation, I was aware I was losing the battle. My mind was hazy and overrun with an overwhelming desire to finish what we’d started, so it felt completely right when I felt the head of his cock pressing against the entrance to my vagina, then firmly and insistently pushing inside me.

I sucked in a breath as he slid deeper, my body stretching to take the impressive girth of him. He didn’t pause there but immediately began pounding into me, his powerful hips thrusting against my body as he took himself deeper.

And I loved it. Needed it. Needed more of it.

I began to rock my body in unison with his, taking his hard thrusts and urging him on for more of them.

I was wild. Abandoned. Not the controlled, tactically driven woman I usually was when having sex. I was suddenly a person I only vaguely remembered being all those years ago. A woman who had let herself enjoy fucking for the sake of it. Who had been capable of feeling love and affection.

Then suddenly, shockingly, he stilled. His cock was still buried deep inside me, but he was holding the rest of his body rigid, not moving a single muscle. I nearly screamed in frustration, wriggling my hips and trying to get him to start moving again.

But he didn’t.

Instead he leant back and cupped my chin in his hand, turning my head so I was forced to look straight into his narrowed eyes.

‘This is why you really came in here tonight, isn’t it?’ he murmured. ‘You can’t keep away from me. Wherever I go these days, there you are, hanging around at the edge of my vision like a mournful ghost,’ he teased, the words loaded with triumph as he began gently to rock back and forth again, the pressure of his pelvis against my clit sending echoes of pleasure through me. ‘I knew it. I knew you still wanted me. You’ve wanted me back for all these years but you’ve been too much of a coward to admit it.’

And that was the moment that reality and sense rushed in.

His jubilation killed dead the eroticism of the moment and in my anger and intense frustration I put my hands against his chest and pushed him hard away from me. I felt his cock slide out of me as he was forced to take a step back and I dropped my feet to the floor.

My whole body gave a throb of regret at the loss of intimate contact with his and an agonisingly familiar grief began to build inside me. But I knew I had to quash it quickly before my emotions got the better of me. Before he saw the pain and sadness I’d been hiding from him for all these years.

‘Don’t kid yourself,’ I said with all the disdain I could muster, pushing down the skirt of my dress. ‘This wasn’t about wanting you. It’s just a hate fuck. Something we’ve been dancing around for years. Which frankly has become very boring. It just felt like a good opportunity to get it over with and get each other out of our systems for good.’

He stared at me with his eyebrows pinched together, seemingly amused by my statement. ‘You’re really going to give up the best orgasm of your life to maintain your overblown pride?’

My laugh was scornful. ‘I wasn’t even close to coming then. You could never make me orgasm.’

He snorted in disbelief. ‘I seem to remember doing just that, quite a few times, in fact, back when you used to behave like a human being instead of a business-driven robot.’

I wagged my finger at him. ‘Newsflash. You didn’t make me come then, either. I faked it every time because I felt sorry for you and didn’t want to damage your fragile ego.’

This wasn’t entirely true. While I’d had trouble at first relaxing enough to orgasm, and had pretended I had out of shame at not being able to do it, I’d definitely come regularly once we were past the awkward new-relationship stage and we’d got to know each other’s bodies a whole lot better.

‘You’re a fucking liar,’ he said, pulling his trousers closed and buckling his belt.

‘Am I?’ I gave him my haughtiest look, one that reputedly could freeze people to the spot. ‘Honestly, you meant nothing to me then and you mean nothing to me now. You’re just a minor nuisance with a big mouth and an obvious lack of self-esteem. Perhaps it’s time you took a long, hard look at yourself.’ I straightened my shoulders, fighting back a wave of shame when I was certain I saw hurt flash across his face this time.

My gut clenched. What was wrong with me? The man had just lost his father and I was laying into him in the most vicious and hurtful way.

But he didn’t give me an opportunity to backtrack. He just looked me up and down with his jaw set, taking in my dishevelled state with a cool gaze, then turned, grabbed his jacket off the chair and threw it towards me.

I was too slow to catch it, so it just slithered down my body and landed in a heap at my feet.

‘You’re going to need that more than me. We wouldn’t want you getting any colder,’ he said before turning and walking away, slamming the door shut behind him.

* * *

I kept his jacket for far longer than I should have done.

It just sat there, on the back of the armchair in my bedroom, taunting me for the next few days.

I’m ashamed to say I ignored my better judgement at one point and picked it up and held it to my nose to remind me of the scent of him. I’m not sure why. Something deep and dark inside me compelled me to do it. An instinct to punish myself, perhaps. A form of self-flagellation.

It was wrong to have had sex with him. So wrong. Foolish and weak. And the shame of it infected me like a virus, waking me up night after night in a hot, feverish state.

Eventually, five nights after it happened, when I was still having trouble sleeping, I got up and angrily shoved the jacket into a carrier bag to be sent to the dry cleaners the next day.

It was funny, but as soon as it was out of the house I immediately felt better. As if I’d exorcised a malevolent spirit.

But of course I knew deep down that wouldn’t be the end of it.

Life didn’t work like that.

And, of course, I was right.

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