“Perish the thought.”
A smile broke out of her face. Sarah found these rare instances where Damian sounded British terribly sexy, but she knew better than to tell him. Querulous man that he was, he was likely to start acting and talking like a redneck just to piss her off.
When they reached the parking lot, Sarah couldn’t help but gaze admiringly as Damian loaded her luggage into the trunk like it didn’t weigh heavier than a basket.
“I spy muscles,” she teased in her usual singsong tone.
He turned to her, saying gravely, “I spy drool.”
What? She panicked right away and had only started checking the corners of her mouth when she saw the smirk that had unfolded over Damian’s lips. Argh! She rushed forward to sock him on the shoulder, but he caught her hand mid-air, and Sarah immediately forgot all about revenge as her breath caught at his touch.
Damian, who was old-fashioned in the sense that he didn’t like having a woman strike him for no reason, was about to gently reprimand Sarah for her actions when he belatedly noticed the way she was staring at him. Her lips were also parted slightly open in seeming invitation for a kiss, and the sight had him swiftly letting go of her hand.
“For fuck’s sake, Sarah.”
All thoughts of admonishment were immediately forgotten, and taking top priority was bundling Sarah into the passenger seat before anyone could catch a glimpse of the expression on her face, which was anything but sisterly.
Sarah could hardly contain herself as she watched Damian swiftly walked around the car to get behind the wheel. She waited until he had shut his own door closed before blurting out, “You still want me!” Her tone was joyous, almost bragging, but her dark eyes, full of ill-concealed relief, showed the true state of emotions.
Damian didn’t even answer her, but she didn’t care. She knew what she saw, and after all these years in which he had shown her nothing beyond brotherly affection, well…
“I know I promised you that night I’d forget what happened,” she confessed, “but I lied.”
“I’m in love with you, Damian. I never stopped.”
Still more silence, and just when she thought it would end there, she heard him say, “I know.”
Damian’s deeply tanned skin was glistening with sweat by the time he hit the treadmill’s Stop button, and his heavy-hitting run cooled down into a more leisurely walk. He reached for his phone before stepping off the machine, and a quick scroll showed twenty-plus messages waiting to be read…with over half of it coming from the girl he had dumped on the front steps of the family ranch.
Sarah: Please come back.
Sarah: I’ve only three days of spring break left.
Sarah: I promise we won’t talk about the awkward stuff.
Sarah: Just come back home. Please?
He reached for his hydro flask just as another member of the gym approached him, a rich divorcée in her thirties who was on the prowl for Husband #4. “If you happen to be free tonight—-”
Sarah: If you come back today I’ll give you a blow job. No questions asked before or after.
After reading Sarah’s message, Damian ended up spewing water all over the divorcée’s face.
He gave the woman a curt apology before walking out on her, hell-bent on getting to the locker room before anyone noticed the sudden bulge behind his shorts. And there’d even be more trouble, Damian thought irritably, if people thought it was because of the woman he had accidentally spat out water on.
Damian stripped out of his clothes as soon as he got into one of the frosted-glass cubicles and switched the shower to full blast. Icy cold water jetted down in the next moment, but the billionaire remained absolutely still underneath it. This would probably end up giving him pneumonia, but anything was fucking better than having to resort to jerking himself off to a measly fucking text message—-
As soon as he allowed himself to think about Sarah’s text, an erotic and decidedly forbidden vision followed: his beautiful, outrageous Sarah, her nubile body completely bare to his sight, an impish smile curving over her lips as she met his dark gaze…just before slowly kneeling down to take his already engorged phallus into her small, lovely mouth.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
His eyes squeezed shut as blood rushed to his head, and his hard body turned rigid for the worst possible reason. He tried to get the vision out of his mind, but his imaginary Sarah was just as stubborn as the real one. Refusing to go away, she remained on her knees while her head energetically bobbed up and down as she sucked harder and harder—-
A low growl tore out of his throat.
But this time, he had completely lost. He no longer gave a fuck about who would hear or know. His fingers were tightening around the swollen girth of his penis, and then he was stroking himself furiously, the jerking movements of his fist at pace with the sucking sounds his imaginary Sarah was making.