Seared by Suleikha Snyder

Author:Suleikha Snyder
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: erotic romance, contemporary romance, interracial romance, chefs, romance, soap operas
Publisher: Suleikha Snyder
Published: 2017-12-12T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Lachlan woke up face down in the bed that still smelled of her. Passion and sweat and sandalwood soap. Sandalwood products were sold in every corner shop, it was no wonder so many people here seemed to be steeped in it, but he could still identify the combination as uniquely Naya. He, himself, was decidedly more pungent. He reeked of scotch and smoke.

He’d stumbled home in the twilight hours to find his flat empty—Naya and her mother having decamped to a hotel, the two of them resolute in his villainy. He would find no sympathy from Jyoti, he knew. As much as she adored him, her baby girl came first. In that, they were actually of like minds.

He gingerly rolled over, devoid of headache or nausea but still carrying the consequences of the day before. Morning was both a cruelty and a blessing, because he’d dreamed of Naya despite the thorough soaking in Johnnie Walker. Her echo, her shadow, had stayed with him in the dark—was still with him now. He stared up at the ceiling and brooded for a while, because it seemed warranted. How did it come to this?

Twenty-four hours ago, a beautiful woman—his beautiful woman—had been sucking his cock. Now all he had was a morning erection and his hand, Rosie Palmer and her five friends, with no one to blame but himself.

Her hair spills around him, a dark fall of silk tickling his thighs and his groin. She grins up at him, his darling brat, before she lowers her head and closes her lips around the tip of his cock.The tip, then the shaft, then down to the base.

She takes all of him. Nearly chokes on it. Keeps going. But it is not an act of submission. It’s war. And he loses. Against her wicked mouth and talented tongue and down her slender throat.

She drinks him up without hesitation. Paints herself with his come. There is no part of him that she doesn’t treat as sacred, as valued, as desired.

“How was that, Sir?” she wonders afterward, licking her slick bottom lip.

He can’t speak. He has no words. So he hauls her up and across his lap, and shows her with the flat of his palm on her pert bum. He spanks her until she’s writhing and red, dripping with arousal and begging for release.

Lachlan groaned, his cock rallying painfully at the memory. He batted at it ineffectually, too frustrated to even wank off. Naya was gone. She’d taken her things and cleared out while he wandered Bombay. He was alone. A man adored by millions, and he was alone. Stinking of ill-advised debauchery. With an obligatory “Fuck!” he scowled and forced himself upright. Then he cursed his own miserable hide and all his fucking antecedents until he got out of bed and went about the business of washing up.

So what if he stumbled in the shower? So what if the razor shook while he shaped his half-arsed beard? So what if he fumbled with the button on his tailored trousers? No one was there to see, to know.

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