Burn Me Once / Boardroom Sins. Clare Connelly

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      There is no one in my mind but Ethan Ash as I push at his jeans until they’re open and then reach in and wrap my fingers around his cock.

      ‘Shit...’ he groans.

      ‘This is crazy.’

      ‘No,’ he grunts. ‘This is a proposition. You. Me. Sex. It’s easy.’

      He rubs his cheek against mine, his stubble coarse, and then he kisses me—hard, achingly, his tongue punishing mine, as though our four days apart were my fault. It is crazy and it is reckless and I know I might regret it, but I will regret stopping even more.

      He pulls me as we kiss, in through the doors, but we’ve barely made it inside before we tumble to the hardwood floors, a tangle of clothes and hormones, of need and lust. He pushes me onto my back and I’m shaking as he slides a condom in place. I’m pushing at his jeans and he’s sliding out of them, and all the while I’m chasing his mouth, not wanting our kiss to end.

      He doesn’t remove my underwear—who has time for that? He pushes the flimsy lace aside and thrusts into me hard and fast, with all the desperation in the world, as though he knows how ready I am for him. And I am. So ready, so wet, so hungry. I cry out at his possession and arch my back, inviting him to touch me.

      He doesn’t need the invitation.

      His hands are under my dress and he finds my breasts, rolling my nipples as he drives into me, and I am moving higher and higher above the earth with every touch, morphing out of this very plain of existence. I am all his...all this...all need.

      It is a primal coming together. There is nothing slow or seductive about it. But I have never been more aroused. Even as I come I feel another orgasm building immediately afterwards, intense and powerful. I dig my nails into his hips, feeling his warm, smooth flesh and wanting to mark it with my possession of him.

      I wrap my legs around his waist and he drops his hands to my ass, curving his hands beneath me and kneading my flesh until I groan into his mouth.

      I am incapable of thought. I am incapable of anything but feeling. And I feel him everywhere. Each thrust drives him deeper into my body until I am existing purely for this. All for him.

      And I’m just sensible enough to be afraid of that.

      * * *

      ‘You said two propositions?’

      Our breathing is returning to normal. His body is a weight on me that I crave.

      ‘Right.’

      He grins slowly, sensually. My stomach flops.

      ‘Do I take it that means you accept the first?’

      I pull a face. ‘I’m thinking about it.’

      He nods thoughtfully. ‘Might you need more convincing?’

      My body trembles. ‘I might.’

      I don’t. I want to sleep with him again and again—which should in and of itself warn me off.

      Ethan shifts a little; my body responds instantly.

      ‘I have a designer for the interior. But I want your artistic input. I want you to wave your magic wand over this place. Think you can do that? For me?’

      The way he says that should warn me, but I am not afraid. We have been honest—we have immunised ourselves against emotional fallout. Flirting with him is fine because we both know what we want.

      And what’s at stake if we don’t.

      ‘You’re asking me to work for you?’

      He nods. ‘Yes. What d’you say?’

      I say yes, don’t I?

      ‘Why don’t you show me the place while I make up my mind?’

      * * *

      ‘I guess this will be a kind of entertaining area.’ He gestures around the large open space on the top floor of the townhouse. It’s huge. Cavernous, even. I instantly see it as it could be. Neutral décor. Cream walls, polished floorboards and a single feature wall of a dark, earthy grey colour. Modern lighting, like round floor lamps and curved wall lamps, and perhaps a shag pile rug in the middle.

      And contemporary art. Abstract without being corporate.

      There’s a Hirst I know Christie’s has coming up for auction and mentally I picture it on the wall. I can’t recall the exact dimensions off the top of my head, so I reach into my bag and pull out my iPad mini.

      ‘What about something like this?’ I load up the painting and hold the iPad closer to him. Not too close. Not so close that I can breathe him in or risk touching him.

      What happened downstairs is still playing on the edges of my mind, and I don’t know if I should run and hide or pretend it’s business as usual. I’ve opted for the latter, but every movement he makes reminds me passionately of what we’ve done. What I want.

      I struggle to make sense of it.

      ‘I love it.’

      He smiles as he meets my eyes. He’s so straightforward and simple...it’s hard to believe he feels anything like my inner-turmoil.

      Why am I complicating things? We’re two adults who want to have a no-strings-attached sex-fest. What danger is there in that?

      I quickly spin away from him, not wanting him to see even a hint of my thought processes on my face.

      The business with Jeremy scared me. For life, possibly. Well, Eliza says it fucked me up good, and I’ve always kind of agreed with her.

      I fell in love with him hard and fast. And I thought it was mutual. I believed everything he told me. Six months into our relationship I should have seen the signs. The way he would often not answer my calls. The way he’d have weird explanations for what he’d been doing, and the way he’d change plans at a moment’s notice. The way we once went to a restaurant and a couple came over to speak to him and the woman kept looking at me with obvious confusion.

      And then, yes... The way his wife walked in on us in flagrante.

      God, what an idiot I’d been.

      So? Was I being an idiot now?

      ‘How come you have such a huge place when you don’t even live in the States?’

      His shrug is non-committal, as though we’re talking about a studio apartment rather than two brownstones joined at the seams.

      ‘I like it here. And there are times when I do American tours and it would make sense to have a bit of a home away from home. You know? Plus, it’s a good investment.’

      I nod thoughtfully. ‘Do you get sick of the travelling?’

      ‘I try not to do too much of it.’

      ‘But you tour...?’

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