Free Never Understand Part One ( Johnthen Trent Adult Romance 1) by Miranda Mailer

shoulder, ‘And if I did I’d probably flatten you. There’s more to me than your usual skinny nymphets.’ I turn my back, leaving Dark and Mysterious looking on. Am I completely insane?
    I clutch my champagne for dear life and start to make my way up the stairs. I realize my shoes are still killing me – John had just taken my mind off it - and what with the champagne as well, it’s pretty much an Oscar-winning performance for me to walk away with any kind of poise or grace and start to slowly climb the stairs. I listen for his steps, and he hasn’t moved away. I can feel his hot eyes are flicking over my back. I can’t help but think of his words yesterday: “You with your outrageously fantastic ass and that wonderful cascading hair,” and my head swims another flood of adrenalin. Then there was the creative thing. But I’m doing OK. I even shake my hair a little in provocation, looking in his eyes and then demurely at my feet again, just because he said it gets to him. And I’m sure as hell NOT going to take off my favourite fuck-me heels so that Dark and mysterious Johnthen Trent can smirk at me all the way up these stairs.
    You could say I have it all figured out.
    Except halfway up, I am aware of his steps coming up behind me, striding coolly across the floor and then coming up the stairs, deceptively catlike and graceful for a big, powerful man. Don’t look round! He’ll think I’m leading him up here deliberately. Maybe I am!
    But I can’t go fast enough to escape him. I’m cornered again like I was at that bar. At least I don’t think he’ll actually try to fuck me on the staircase though. He’s right up behind me.
    Shockingly, with one smooth movement, he picks me up, cradling me like a three year-old. He’s carrying me up the stairs like I’m nothing, which I can tell you, is very far from the case. A gasp escapes me. I have an urge to fight back. I have my little evening purse on a chain and think of hitting him with it. Pathetic. I kind of wriggle a bit instead.
    Up close he smells wonderful, and I feel myself nestled up to his torso, a slab of hard muscle, and his biceps are like big steel balls under the silk suit. I am obliged to hold on with a hand round his shoulder, holding his neck. His black hair plays over his collar and on my bare forearm, soft and thick. An erotic sensitivity reverberates in the pit of my stomach and my sex. I resist the urge to run my fingers through his hair. It’s a sensual maelstrom of champagne, his scent and his sheer animal power.
    I want to fight, I want to wriggle – but it would be undignified, and pointless. I also want to lay back and let him take me.
    ‘Put me down. Now.’ It’s all I can manage, and it’s feeble. Unsurprisingly, he’s not listening. He calmly carries me to the top and walks languidly over to a leather-covered bench on the empty mezzanine floor, before gently placing me down in his own time.
    ‘How dare you, you arrogant…’ That was weak, and we both know it. I scoot myself up so my back is against the cool of the white concrete wall, and my legs in front of me on the leather bench.
    ‘Come on, lighten up. I’m just trying to make an effort. Doing sweet things like other guys,’ he says, mockingly, then puts one, beautiful, lightly tanned hand down on the leather bench. It’s next to my knee, which is covered only in the sheerest, silky, hold-up stocking. There’s even something sexy about the smell of the leather bench. He leans over until his deep golden eyes are inches from mine. I feel like I’m hypnotized, like a small creature staring into the eyes. ‘And besides,’ he says in his quiet, deep voice, so sexy and intimate close up. ‘I’m going to do something I should have done a while ago,’ he says. I know what you want right now. More than anything. And you’re going to get it.’
    I try my best to make my eyes blaze defiantly back, but there’s a clenching inside my sex and my heart is starting to thump