Page 105 of Fighting Mr. Knight

His mouth crashes down on mine and I go to fucking pieces.

One hand tightens around my waist while the other comes up to hold my head in place so he can claim my mouth. His tongue plunges into mine.

It’s desperate and frantic and paralysing. It’s a kiss that travels down my spine directly to my clit. Nothing has ever tasted as good as this man.

A growl rumbles from his chest as I grind my towelled loungewear against his hard cock straining in his wet trousers.

That’s the spot.

Holy fucking hell.

I’m vaguely aware of my cardigan being open, exposing my vest. I’m getting wetter by the second from the rain and the raging horn between my legs.

We sound like we’ve escaped from London Zoo. Small mewls escape me while he grunts like he doesn’t give a fuck who’s listening.

My hands are all over his body, his hair, his shoulders, his neck, the tattooed bicep holding me up. Sliding over every hard warm muscle I can find. I can’t touch it all fast enough.

“Get a room!”

The yell breaks us apart and I come to, mortified and gasping for breath.

We’re standing in an open doorway on the street, breathing hard. People are queueing for fried chicken just a metre away, for God’s sake.

Jack exhales a heavy breath, walks us into the hallway and slams the door. Without putting me down, he starts to ascend the stairs.

“Put me down, I’m too heavy!” My protests are weak. The fact he can carry me effortlessly is insanely sexy. “We’re going to fall.”

He continues up the stairs. Perhaps it’s for the best. That kiss made my limbs feel all flappy like one of those rubber dolls.

The doorbell buzzes, stopping Jack short. “Who’s that? Do you have another suitor waiting to claim you?”

I giggle. “It’s the pizza delivery guy.”

Jack reverses down the stairs. “At least it’s not the chicken shop. This pizza better be good. We’ll be working up an appetite.”

I giggle again into his neck. I’ve morphed into a flapping giggly mess since I opened the door to him. “Seriously, aren’t you going to let me down? I have to see this man again.”

Ignoring me, Jack opens the door.

The delivery guy is not expecting a grown man holding a woman in his arms like a small child. After the surprise wears off, he hands over the pizza box.

I thank him and take it quickly, my face boiling as Jack fumbles awkwardly with one hand to get something out of his pocket.

“Jack,” I mutter, trying to avoid eye contact with the delighted delivery guy.

After painful seconds, Jack cheerfully hands the guy a generous tip. “Here you go, mate.”

I sigh as Jack closes the door. “I’m never ordering fromSpicy Sliceever again.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m half Italian, remember? I’ll find you a good pizza spot.”

We hike back up the stairs and I’m suddenly aware of how shabby my flat is. I can’t actually let a billionaire in, can I?

“Why not?”

Shit, I said that out loud. Or can the guy read my mind?

“It’s not what you’re used to. It’s temporary until I figure out where I want to live,” I say in a rush. “I think the carpet was put down in the eighties. You can tell by the pattern. You’re probably used to marble tiles. But it’s the most modern thing in the flat. Everything else looks like it’s from the Victorian era.”

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