Her Fantasy Read online

  Her Fantasy

  Saskia Walker

  “Which sexual fantasy is your ultimate turn-on?”

  How is Anya Reid supposed to control her lust for her sexy coworker Warren McClure when he asks questions like that on their very first date? She has wanted Warren and to be more adventurous in bed for a long time, but she never expected him to be so direct or to correctly guess that a ménage is her secret desire.

  Soon Warren isn’t just talking about Anya’s fantasies—he’s making them come true. But does he want a true relationship, or is he only interested in their erotic games?

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter One

  “Tell me,” Warren said, looking at Anya across the restaurant table, his eyes filled with suggestion, “which sexual fantasy is your ultimate turn-on?”

  Had he really just said that?

  Anya shifted in her seat and then crossed and uncrossed her legs. Her libido had been on a leash all evening and now he’d decided to talk about sexual fantasy. She knew this date with Warren was going to be a challenge, but she wouldn’t have predicted this line of conversation, especially not over dinner. Both her temperature and her pulse rate were rising, rapidly.

  The dessert had just arrived, and she lifted her spoon and gently tapped her way into the crčme brűlée before she met his gaze.

  “Sexual fantasy?” She laughed softly, playing for time to gather her thoughts. “Are you serious? You’d like to chat about stuff like that, now?”

  Warren’s stare was uncompromising, his intelligent blue eyes twinkling at her. He wasn’t going to let her off the hook. “Yes, fantasies. Come on, you can tell me.”

  He continued to look her over in that way he had, the way that netted the company they worked for so many advertising contracts. He was charismatic and self-assured, and Anya was pretty sure he always got what he set his sights on, whether it be a new client, or the best cut at the deli counter. Everything about him—from the closely cropped black hair and soul patch, to his rangy physique and understated style of dress—made her libido surge. Anya had wanted Warren for a long time, and now they were discussing sex over dinner. She could scarcely believe it was happening.

  “You just want to see me squirm.” Lifting her glass, she took another sip of her wine.

  “You could say that.” Eyebrows lifting, he eased back in his chair and reached for his glass. “I figured it would be fun to share.”

  Oh, that look he gave her was pure sex. If they weren’t in a public place she’d be squirming a whole lot closer to him. Fat Franco’s was a busy London restaurant, though, and the proximity of the other diners made the conversation feel both public and private, at the same time. This blatant approach was new to her, yes, but she was up for it. Sexual fantasy had previously been something giggled about with the girls. It definitely wasn’t something she’d ever talked about on a first date—and she and Warren were on a first date, even if they had known each other for two years. Andrew, her ex, had never raised the topic for conversation. Warren McClure wanted to talk about it, and that made Anya tingle with anticipation. She challenged herself to match him.

  Easing her hair back over her shoulders, she noticed that he watched her every move with possessive eyes. That felt good, but she wished she’d worn something less sheer. She could feel her nipples hardening under the filmy dress she had on. He’d noticed, she knew he had. Squeezing her thighs together, she took a deep breath. “What do you think my fantasy is?”

  Warren grinned. “I don’t have to guess. I know.”

  Her pulse tripped.

  “A threesome,” he added, before she had time to quiz him.

  “What makes you say that?” Her face heated. It was her number one turn-on, and just hearing the man she wanted so much say it aloud made her feel incredibly horny.

  “Women talk, men listen.”

  This was torture, but in a good way—a way that engaged her restless libido and breathed a silent promise of fulfillment to it. “I don’t understand.”

  He still wore an easy smile. “You had a lighthearted discussion about it with Lorie and Jean, a year or so back, at the office. If I recall correctly, it was stimulated by an article in a woman’s magazine. Details were passed around.” He paused, flexing his broad shoulders as if he were limbering up. Why did that action make her legs feel weak? “It was all very good-natured. I think you called the idea of two willing lovers ‘totally irresistible.’”

  Anya recalled the conversation, but his reaction to it astonished her. He wanted to know about her fantasies, why? Her cheeks flushed.

  Winking, he sighed softly. “Oh, Anya Reid, you look so adorable when you’re embarrassed.”

  “I’ll have words with Lorie.”

  “Ah, you were overheard, Lorie wasn’t the culprit. Besides, what’s wrong with being a sexually adventurous lover?” He didn’t let her look away when he asked that. “You are a sexually adventurous lover, aren’t you, Anya?”

  Only in my dreams, she thought to herself. Warren didn’t look as if he were talking about dreams. “I’m not answering that on the grounds I might incriminate myself.” Was this his secret, the mystery behind the enigmatic man she wanted so much—he was sexually adventurous and kinky sex was his thing? “Are you seriously asking me if I’d like a threesome?”

  “In theory, yes.” His eyes twinkled with humor, and desire.

  “In theory, huh? I suppose this threesome of yours would involve two women.”

  “Not necessarily. It depends on the aim, and the mix, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t know, does it?”

  “We were talking about your fantasy.”

  She stared at him, because she couldn’t quite believe he had listened to office chatter and that he had stored the information away. It was flattering, but it also made her very curious about his sexuality and his desires. “Tell me, why would a man want to share his woman? In theory, of course.”

  Discussing it “in theory” did seem to take the pressure off, marginally. The fact it was a superficial disclaimer was implied in his tone. Hers, too, if she were honest. He’d captured her interest long ago, and now she felt it being drawn down on to a much deeper level. It keyed into that part of her sexuality that burgeoned in response to him. Was he into playing sex games and making fantasies real? Could be. Warren was the sort of man who didn’t do anything by halves. How would that affect the potential relationship he’d suggested, when he’d asked her out on a date? The questions flitted around her mind, making her edgy with curiosity and arousal.

  “Well, now,” he responded, relaxing back in his chair. “I could say that you look like the sort of woman who could handle two men. Sensual, feminine, lush.” The lazy smile that played around the edges of his mouth tempered the directness in his manner. It was a skill he had, but she never found it so intimately focused on her before and it set her alight.

  He watched her closely, as if monitoring her reaction to his words. “Or I could say I like to watch the woman I want being pleasured by another man, so that I can learn what works best for her, sexually.”

  Christ, he really was serious. Anya instinctively moved her hand to her cleavage and fidgeted with the fabric of her dress. His stare was so weighted, so insinuating. She had to silently instruct herself to breathe. Eventually, she managed to respond. “You’re a very direct man.”

  Warren reached for her fingers, where they were wrapped around the stem of her wineglass, and teased over them, gently. The simple touch sent her into a fever of longing. She stared down at his hand, amazed at how the slight contact could cause such havoc inside of her.

  “I’m sorry. Have I been too direct?”

  “No,” she responded quickly, breathlessly, a
nd she meant it, even though it felt as if Warren were detonating a bomb here. “I like ‘direct.’” Raising her gaze to his, she braved herself to smile. “It’s just not something I’ve ever experienced, or expected.”

  She wanted him, and she also wanted to be more liberated about her sexuality, yes. Perhaps she had sensed that about him, that he could show her the way. She’d been drawn to him on several levels. Raw lust, and something much deeper. Identification, a yearning for a kindred soul perhaps. Affection was in there, too, growing fast, she couldn’t deny that, even if she thought she were being foolish.

  Andrew, her ex, had never encouraged her to whisper her fantasies to him. Warren was one of the reasons she’d ended it with Andrew, although back then she had no clue that Warren would ever ask her out. It wasn’t about that. Warren never gave her any cause to think that he would. He offered friendship, teasing flirtation, yes. No one knew much about Warren’s love life, but there was the occasional casual remark about flying out to Prague, Paris, or Berlin for the weekend, and speculation was rife about who the women he took with him might be. Anya had often wondered about it. She’d also imagined that it was her that he was flying out to meet.

  That alone made her admit there was something up with her relationship at home. It had been off the boil for a long time. The attraction to Warren was the last nail in the coffin. She didn’t ever want to end up having an affair, because that went against her core beliefs. She would rather be on her own. And she had been, for a few months. Then Warren had gradually gravitated closer, and each breath of space he closed between them impacted on her, profoundly, readying her for this moment.

  “We trust each other, don’t we?” His voice was husky and low, both reassuring and suggestive at the same time. He meshed his fingers with hers across the table, connecting with her directly and making her skin sizzle.

  “As old friends becoming lovers,” he added, and he said it so easily, locking down the flirty conversation into a direct statement of intent.

  They were going to become lovers.

  Anya nodded, unable to say more right then. They were at the start of something, and she craved it all. She trusted him to open her up to things she had only ever fantasized about.

  “And we’re consenting adults, aren’t we?”

  “Yes,” she responded, the flame of her desire flickering ever higher, “we are.”

  Chapter Two

  “You’re coming in, right?” Anya smiled up at him as they drew to a halt outside the building where she lived, a Victorian town house converted into studio flats. Dusk was falling on the Camden side street, but the midsummer air was still warm, the street life on the main thoroughfares vibrant.

  Warren hesitated. Walking her home had made this moment inevitable. If he went inside and she wanted him, there wouldn’t be any holding back. He was never so sure of anything than being right there with her, he just wished he knew if it was the right time for her. He’d been desperate for the chance to get closer to her, but what if it was too soon? He’d been warned by her friends at the office. Keep it light, they’d said. Make it about fun.

  He was trying to do that.

  He knew they were probably right. She’d been with Andrew a long time and there was still a chance she might get back together with him. Warren didn’t want to think about that, or what it might do to him if it happened. He wanted her too much to even contemplate it. If she had even mentioned her ex, Warren would have backed off immediately.

  He nodded, trailing his fingers along the underside of her jaw. As he did, her brown eyes darkened to black, and her lips parted. She was lush—lush and ready for physical contact, he had no doubt about that. Watching her arousal grow as they talked over dinner had made him want to overturn the table and lift her into his lap so that he could push that dress of hers up and wrap her legs around his hips. He ran the back of one finger down the soft skin of her throat.

  She pushed open the door, inviting him to follow, her thick blond hair a heavy, shifting curtain against the back of her shoulders as she walked. The way her hips swayed as she led the way through the communal hallway and up the staircase made him want to taste her, to wrap himself in her and bury himself deep inside her.

  “Here we are.” She pointed at the door marked number eleven.

  He pulled her against him after she put the key in the lock, and kissed her. She melted into him, her mouth warm and soft, opening to him as if eager for him the way he was for her.

  The door swung open.

  “It’s not much,” she announced as she drew back, cheeks adorably pink, “but it’s home. Come in.”

  Warren looked around with curiosity, eager to know everything about her that he didn’t already know. She’d moved here after she’d split with Andrew, but he could see she’d already put her mark on the place. It was an open plan studio design, the focal point being the window that overlooked the street. At the far end of the L-shaped space a curtain was drawn across the bedroom space. The kitchen area looked practical, whilst the living area was laid-back and chilled, with a long leather sofa. A stack of books spilled out from against the wall to flank one end of the sofa. The walls were decorated with black-and-white prints of fifties-style photos featuring street scenes from European cities.

  “Can I get you a drink?” she called over her shoulder, as she opened a kitchen cupboard.

  “Whatever you’re having.” He stepped over to the window. “It’s quite a view,” he commented, when she returned, looking at her.

  “If you get close to the window you can just about see the entrance to the tube station.” She had a glass in each hand and she offered him one. The tumbler was filled with ice and amber liquid. The ice crackled. “It’s Cointreau, is that okay for you?”

  He sipped the warm orange liqueur, made zesty and sharp by the collision with the ice, and smiled. “Delicious,” he replied. “But I’d much rather taste you.”

  Her eyebrows flickered. “All in good time.” She smiled then gave him an appraising once-over that made his cock harden. “You have to tell me your fantasies first. It was all about what I wanted, back at the restaurant.”

  She was his every fantasy, had been for two years.

  The tension between them was growing, now that they were alone. He waited until she’d taken another sip of her drink, then took her tumbler from her hand and set both glasses down on the windowsill. The need to kiss her from the tip of her toes to the top of her head—to adore her—had become pressing. “Why don’t you show me the view,” he suggested, ignoring her comment about his fantasies. “Talk me through the Camden sights.”

  “Okay.” The single word came out long and slow. When she moved closer to the window her face was illuminated by the streetlights as they flickered on, her features half in shadow. It gave her a mysterious look, filled with feminine allure. “If you look to the right, you can see the marketplace, the old stables.”

  Warren stepped behind her, stroking her hair, unable to resist touching her. Looking over her shoulder at the street, his hands instinctively moved around her hipbones. When he made contact against her back she took a deep intake of breath and swayed.

  He lifted her hair from the back of her neck and bent to kiss the soft skin there. As he breathed in her perfume he marveled at how her scent could conjure her image. Sometimes, when she wasn’t in the office, he would sit in her chair for a breath of it. It became so familiar that he could pull back the memory of her fragrance at will, when he was restless and alone in his bed at night.

  He’d fought this, long and hard. It hadn’t rested easily on him that he wanted another man’s woman. When he tried to have relationships with other women they simply weren’t Anya, so it never worked. Not for any great length of time. “I bet you look out here in the middle of the night.”

  “Sometimes, yes.” She gave a breathy laugh and then gasped when he moved his hands over the surface of her dress.

  He shifted the flimsy material up the length of her thighs, then rested his hands on that bare skin and growled against her ear. With his fingertips
on her naked skin, the tension in his body sharpened.

  “Not like this, though? Not with a man undressing you?” He could ask her that, because he knew she’d been alone since she came here.

  “No, not like this. This is much better.” She caressed him, one hand trailing over his where it rested on her thighs.

  He wanted to know what underwear she had on underneath the dress. He already knew she wasn’t wearing a bra. He lifted the material up and over her bottom and bunched it at her waist in one hand so that he could mold his free hand over her buttocks. Glancing down, he clocked a slip of black lace G-string on her hips. The globes of her bottom gleamed, framed by the flimsy garment.

  “You have the most gorgeous arse,” he commented, his body moving back in against hers.

  Anya chuckled softly. “Too much flattery embarrasses me, be careful.”

  “In that case you’re going to be very embarrassed,” he said as he breathed her in again. “I’ll be doing it a lot.” With his hands on her hips, and that beautiful bottom moving against his fly, the urge to lose himself in her was powerful. His cock ached for it.

  She arched against him, moaning softly.

  He restrained his smile, secretly loving her responses. The way she moved, writhing continuously as she listened, exposed her deep sensuality. “I’ve thought about making you come every day since I met you.”

  “Oh, Warren.”

  “There is nothing I’d rather do in the whole wide world than watch your face while I make love to you, again and again.”

  She shimmied up and down against him. The pressure of her body against his meant that he had to grit his teeth for a moment. He had to get a grip, otherwise he would have to ram her up against the window and have her immediately. He didn’t want to rush her like that, but it was hard not to.

  Just then, a double-decker bus slowed to a halt at a stop on the opposite side of the road. Warren stared at it, glad of the distraction while he moved one hand around her waist, locking her in place against his erection. With the other hand he cupped her warm pussy through the thin barrier of her panties.