Resisting Mr. Kane: An Age Gap Office Romance (The London Mister Series Book 2)
Resisting Mr. Kane: Chapter 5

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” Megan sniggers as she hands me an apron. “Although I’m mad at you for not texting me to say where you were.”

I take it, irritated. I’m exhausted, and the last thing I want to do is clean yacht toilets. “I’m sorry, I’m a terrible friend. I didn’t mean to make you worry.” I tie the apron at the back. “Tell me how these aprons help? They don’t cover our clothes.”

She shrugs. “Dimitris wants us to look like professional cleaners.”

I roll my eyes. “He didn’t exactly look at our cleaning credentials. At least we don’t have to sell anything,” I muse. “Cleaning toilets might actually be better than trying to coax people onto boats.”

Boy, was I wrong.

One hour later, I’m stuck cleaning a massive pretentious yacht owned by the biggest pain in the ass on the Greek islands. That title is fact.

It’s obvious she expects me to clean the yacht without being present as she entertains a small group of equally irritating friends. I try to clean around them as they get progressively drunker. They opened a bottle of champagne, forgot, then opened another one. Meanwhile, a nanny is entertaining the annoying lady’s child in the bedroom. The kid seems to spend most of his time on his phone, a phone way more expensive than mine. He must be no older than six or seven.

The woman is exquisite, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen such a beautiful creature in the flesh. The kind of woman who looks incapable of farting and is annoyingly dainty and willowy. I imagine her to be a rich ballerina who does lots of fund raising. Despite the island heat, her long blond hair isn’t frizzy, her sweat glands don’t seem to function, and her face is sculpted and contoured to perfection. It’s like she’s applied a real-life Instagram filter.

I spotted her husband on my way in. He must have a tiny dick to need a boat this big.

“Excuse me, sweetie,’ she says loudly and slowly, looking at me like I’ve got the IQ of a scarecrow. She beckons me, showcasing the most obnoxious engagement ring I’ve ever seen. The ring looks like a weapon. Maybe she’s mafia?

“Yes?”

“I need you.” She points at herself then me for the avoidance of doubt. “To pair the underwear and socks. Do you understand?” She rolls her eyes at her friends. “The dry cleaners are appalling.”

“No.” She wants me to match up her underwear? I’m a cleaner, not her mother.

Exhaling heavily, as though talking to me was draining her, she snaps open the dry-cleaning bag. Taking out a racy red lingerie set, she turns to me, “This,” she says loudly, enunciating every syllable and pointing to the bra. “And this.” She points to the thong. “Do you see? In these drawers.”

If she complains, I might not get this week’s pay. I’m not exactly part of a trade union so the risk is high. I remove my jaw from the floor and smile as sweetly as possible at the waif-like beauty. “I’d be honoured to match your underwear.”

Her eyes narrow, and she glances at me suspiciously, then nods, flicking her hair over her shoulder, and returns to her friends.

I get down to the critical business of matching the underwear and the socks from the dry-cleaning bag. I’m tempted to fluff her pants with the toilet brush, but I resist, being the bigger woman. Metaphorically and physically.

Not even five minutes later, she emerges. “Hi sweetie. I need you to pop out to the shop.” She’s talking very slowly to get me to understand.

“I’m Welsh,” I explain for the umpteenth time. Surely she can detect English is my mother tongue?

“We’ve ran out of bottled water. Oh, and we need limes. Key limes.” She thinks. “Also some more pomegranate and mint. So that’s bottled water, key limes, pomegranate, mint,” she repeats slowly. “Cash is on the table. I can make a list if it’s easier for you?” she says kindly as if she’s doing me a favour.

Does this woman understand the job description of a cleaner? I don’t think it extends into personal assistance.

“Sorry, I don’t have time. My shift is ending now.”

My pushback leaves her affronted. We are interrupted by her son, with the nanny trailing. I suspect she’s been told to keep him away from the party.

“Daniel, Mummy is entertaining her guests. Is everything okay?”

“When are we going home?” He sounds bored.

“We’ll sail when Daddy’s ready.”

Good riddance to you all, I say.

***

“That’s twelve euros,” I tell the guy communicating with my tits. He doesn’t answer. “Did you hear me?”

He hands me a twenty euro note. “Take one for yourself, sexy.”

“Thanks.” Does this guy even realise I have a face with two big fucking eyes glaring at him? I take a generous one for myself.

“Ass,” a man yells at me across the bar. “I need ass.”

“What did you say?” I bark back. How dare he! Just because I’m wearing provocative clothing as part of my uniform, does this man think that he can objectify and sexualise me? That he can talk to me as if I’m lacking mental capacity just because I’m wearing a bikini?

“He wants ice.” Megan bumps me out of the way to get to the ice dispenser.

Oh.

Perhaps I’m extra ratty tonight because I know the man of my dreams has departed the island. How is it that in the space of forty-eight hours you can meet your dream guy, have mind-blowing chemistry with him, then poof! That’s it, your time’s up.

I regret not leaving my number. I thought I was keeping my dignity intact by creeping out before we had the awkward morning after the one-night stand. Instead, I should have stayed, waited until he woke up and begged to have his babies.

Megan shoves me to the side as she leans over to get the sambuca.

“Watch it, Megan,” I snap as sticky liquid hits my arms.

“Stop being so grouchy, or you’ll get us fired.” She tuts as she pours the sambuca into shots. “You’ve got a face like a slapped ass tonight. I’m already walking a fine line after the suspicious, contagious, twenty-four hour bug bullshit you made up.”

She’s right. I didn’t know I could experience both ecstasy and pain at the same time. The pain part is winning right now.

“What you need to do is get back on the horse.”

“The horse has bolted,” I mutter.

“Not that horse. A different horse. There’s a whole flock of horses on this island waiting to be straddled, ridden, and fed.”

“A stud,” I correct her. “Not a flock.”

I move out of the way as she passes over a tray of shots to some teenagers. She still manages to spray me with sambuca. It’s irrelevant. By the end of the night, it’ll be stuck to me like Teflon.

She takes the money then turns to me. “Now saddle up, girl, and get ready to rodeo.”

“Are you done? You must have exhausted your horse innuendos by now. Although kudos for not using the stallion cliché.”

She is about to laugh when her jaw falls open slightly. “Not quite done. A horse walks into a bar. What does the bartender say?”

“Oh, Jesus.” I slap my forehead. “Hay.”

“Say hay to your horse, Elly.” She twirls me around, and I look right into the eyes of Tristan.

He’s here. He’s here, in the flesh, in front of me.

My heart somersaults in my chest.

His lips twitch as he registers my shock.

“You stayed?” I approach him and try to calm the adrenaline pumping through my veins. “I thought you had…” I’m too excited and nervous to think straight. “Did the boat not get fixed?”

“It’s fixed,” he says, looking me directly in the eye. “I wanted to see you again. You left without saying goodbye.” His smile slips slightly.

“Oh!” A ridiculous squeal escapes me. “You stayed because of me?”

“You left eighty euros on the bedside table. Did you think I’d let you get away with that? I felt like a prostitute.”

I lean across the bar, trying to hold it together. “But I thought you had important business back in London?”

“I do,” he says, deadpan. “But I realised I have very important unfinished business in Mykonos. There’s a lady who has been eating street gyros for weeks and hasn’t been for dinner at Botrini’s yet. It’s a crime.”

“Uh, I…” Christ, I can’t speak.

Damn. “I can’t go for dinner tonight,” I say, dismayed. “I’m working until midnight.”

“I guess my important business back in London will have to wait even longer then.”

Oh.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like a prostitute.” I laugh. “I kept twenty euros for a tip, four euros for each hour you spent at the bar.”

“Very precise. And under-charged if you ask me.” He grins, pulling out his wallet and places a number of twenty euro notes on the bar. “Since I’m going to have to tolerate this shithole for another night just to be in your company, here’s my tip in advance. That’s for five hours. Then hopefully you’ll let me show you how much I enjoyed last night by reliving it all over again.”

I choke a little as I swallow too much air.

Play it cool, woman.

“What makes you so sure it’s a done deal?” I ask defiantly.

He raises his eyebrows.

He was right. I’m all talk. The deal was done the minute he set foot in the bar tonight.

“Well, if we are playing this game,” Tristan starts with a smirk. “Last night I discovered there is nothing hotter than watching you come while you moan my name in your lovely accent. So tonight, what I want is to make you come so loudly that every room in the hotel hears your little pants and screams. That’s worth sitting in this sweaty bar watching a load of lads half my age throw up on each other for five hours. Does that sound like a good plan?”

Oh my God. This is fifty shades of fuck.

“You seem like a thorough planner,” I squeak.

“I’m direct, I say what I want,” he continues with unwavering eye contact.

That, he does.

“And I get what I want.”

I let out a laugh but he’s not joking. This man is going to ravage me tonight.

God help me.

And he does get what he wants. I’m a bag of nerves as he opens the hotel room door with one hand while the other rests on my lower back. The outline of his hardness is visible through his trousers, and I wonder if my ravaged body can handle round two so quickly after last night.

And just like that, we are attacking each other again, hands, tongues, thighs everywhere, trying to cover as much body surface as possible, like we both know this might be the last time. Taking off our clothes like they are on fire until I’m wearing nothing but my mascara.

He pushes me up against the wall, so I’ve got nowhere to go, no way to escape his demanding erection pushing up into my apex. Half kissing me, half panting into my mouth, he unbuttons his jeans.

He’s not waiting around tonight.

God, he smells fantastic. It’s a man-musk I want to take back to Wales. I yank his jeans down over his thick thighs, his cock springs free, curving upward, and I drop to my knees. He was so attentive to me last night. It was all about me; I want to show Tristan that I can give as good as I take.

Looking up at him with big eyes, I wrap both hands around his shaft and take his cock in my mouth.

He lets out a shudder that sounds almost painful. “It’s been a long time.”

My hands tighten further around his straining shaft. I pulse gently first, then more aggressively as his low husky grunts become louder and his grip around my hair tightens.

He groans my name as I speed up, and I wrap my hands around his buttocks so I can take him as deep as I can. Pushing himself deeper into me, he hisses as he hits the back of my throat each time. No one has ever fucked my mouth like this before, and it feels so damn good to be in control of this man’s pleasure.

“Elena.” He groans. “I’m coming. I’m going to come in your mouth if you let me pull out,” he warns, his breathing ragged.

I tilt my head up to look him dead in the eyes. It’s so sexy to watch him losing control. I pull him out of my mouth just in time. His eyes, hooded with arousal, meet mine and his face contorts into a mix of pain and pleasure as warm liquid sprays over my breasts.

“I couldn’t,” I whisper.

“I don’t expect you to.”

As he picks me up from the floor, he grabs my thighs and pulls me up, so I’m straddling him in mid-air. He walks us slowly over to the large armchair beside the mirror. Holding me in his arms, he lowers himself into the chair. He makes it look easy, like I’m weightless. I straddle his thighs, running my hand over his pectorals; I can feel his heart hammering in his chest.

He exhales a deep breath and gives himself long strokes up and down to refuel. His thick cock springs to life again, nudging my inner thigh.

“I thought older men took longer to recover.”

“Older men?” he mutters, slapping my ass. “Cheeky mare.”

Megan’s horse jokes flood my head.

“Condom, cabinet,” he says, pointing in the direction of the cabinet drawer.

I’d be pissed at the demanding tone if I wasn’t so horny. I leap off his lap and run over to the drawer, pulling it open.

He’s been shopping. Two packets of unopened condoms shine up at me. I rip open one of the packets and take out a silver ring.

“XL,” I read on the packet. “No wonder I can feel you all the way up to my ribs. Two packets of twelve?”

He gives me a smile, half tender, half predatory. “I’m a thorough planner, remember? When a man meets someone as enchanting as you, they want to be inside you all the time.”

I roll my eyes. “I can’t believe you just referred to yourself in the third person.”

“I’m talking on behalf of all men on earth. Now get back here and sit on me.”

I swallow a lump in my throat as I walk towards the beautiful man, his masculine thighs spread wide and waiting for me. Climbing on top of him, I take his wrists and hold them above his head.

He smiles wickedly back at me and lets me hold them in a lock, although we both know he could easily break free. “You’re in control,” he murmurs. “Do what you want with me.”

With one hand still holding his wrists, I take his length in the other and run it up and down my entrance, circling its tip around my clit.

“Do you like that?” he whispers. “I love feeling you on top of me.”

I give a curt nod. If I keep massaging myself, I’m going to come. Forcing myself to stop before I’m past the point of no return, I position his cock directly over my opening. I lower down onto him, first the tip, then letting his entire length in.

A low growl rumbles in his throat and his hands clench, but he doesn’t break them free.

I spread my legs further, so I swallow him whole then start hitching up and down.

Damn. This man is the best chair ever.

His face contorts as I thrust aggressively in an optimal position to stimulate my clit.

“Too fast,” he says in a stuttered breath, watching me jut up and down. “I won’t last.”

I ignore him. I control the pace, the depth, the pleasure. He’ll come when I want him to, and right now, I’m speeding towards climaxing so fast I feel dizzy.

“Elena” he groans, “I can’t stop it.”

I clamp down tightly on him, owning him. With a final choked groan, his whole body goes rigid, and his seed pumps into me, tipping me over the edge. I shudder over him, and I moan so loudly I’m sure the reception staff heard me ten floors below. “Oh. My. GOD.”

His hands flop down, and he falls back into the armchair as I ease him out of me. Sweat glistens on his forehead.

He runs a finger down my nose. “Careful,” he murmurs. “You’ve reeled me in now.”

I swallow hard, taking in his words and meeting the eye of a man who I know always gets his own way.

I’ve reeled him in? He’s got me, hook, line, and sinker.