Indecent...Proposal

Amber’s not the bride, but at this wedding she’s willing to say ‘I Do’ to almost anything…

Amber is a sexual adventurer. But at the wedding of two of her friends with benefits, she feels a little down. Cheering herself up with a quickie against a wall with one of the ushers, she’s caught in the act by her best friend’s handsome but uptight brother Scott – giving her a real taste for mischief.

Amber knows Scott wants her – and she tempts him into sexual explorations beyond his wildest dreams. But then Scott turns the tables, demanding something of her that’s way beyond her comfort zone. Something that frightens her. Amber likes being tied up… but can she be tied down?

Also available by Jane O’Reilly

Indecent…Exposure

Indecent…Desires

Indecent…Proposal

Jane O’Reilly

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2014

Copyright © Jane O’Reilly 2014

Jane O’Reilly asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2014 ISBN: 9781472084002

Version date: 2018-07-23

JANE O’REILLY started writing as an antidote to kids’ TV when her youngest child was a baby. Her first novel was set in her old school and involved a ghost and lots of death. It’s unpublished, which is probably for the best. Then she wrote a romance, and that, as they say, was that. She lives near London with her husband and two children. Find her at www.janeoreilly.com where you can sign up for her newsletter, on Twitter as @janeoreilly and on Facebook at www.facebook.com/janeoreillyauthor

For Patrick

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Book List

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Endpages

About the Publisher

Chapter One

I knew that coming to the wedding was a mistake, but I did it anyway. I knew the bottle of pink champagne wouldn’t help, but I made friends with it anyway. I knew when I watched those slender platinum bands slide onto trembling fingers that they only belonged to each other, now. I knew when I saw him kiss her that something had been made that I could not be part of. So I clutched my bridesmaid’s bouquet and I fixed on a smile, and I pretended to laugh at the speeches, and then I asked the man stood behind me in the buffet queue if he had a big cock.

‘I do OK,’ he replied, once the shock had worn off. ‘I’ve never had any complaints. My name is Lucas, by the way.’

‘Amber,’ I replied. ‘Are you sure it’s big? Most women are too polite to complain. Or they just haven’t seen enough cocks and don’t know what a big one really looks like.’

‘Can I assume that you aren’t most women?’

I tipped my head to one side, and gave him a thorough perusal. ‘You can.’ I could already feel the tingle of excitement starting, the curiosity and anticipation that come with the flirting, when you both know what’s going to happen. We could have carried on like that all night and maybe nothing would have happened. Maybe we both would have put it down to too much alcohol and pretended we couldn’t remember the next day. Maybe we still would.

But then I sat through the speeches, everyone raised their glasses to toast the happy couple and I looked at him, with his glass in his hand, with his chocolate eyes and scruffy suit and height, and I knew it was time to get back in the saddle, so to speak. ‘I think you should show it to me,’ I said. ‘Then the next time you’re asked about size, you’ll be able to give an honest answer.’

I set down my bouquet and excused myself from the table, then I exited the ballroom with a flutter in my stomach and a swing in my hips. The bridesmaid’s dress that Victoria had so carefully picked out for me pulled in my waist and pushed up my tits, putting it all on offer. I knew she’d picked it as much for herself as for Paul. I knew that because she’d buried her face in my cunt in the changing room of the bridal boutique.

It had started out as Paul and I. But then Paul had fallen in love with Victoria, and rather than accept it and let him go, when she proposed that I climb into bed with the pair of them, I’d eventually agreed. I’d never had sex like that before, and I was curious. The experience had not left me disappointed.

Only the vows they’d made today changed everything. They had something between them, something intimate and special, something I could never be a part of. Something I didn’t want to be a part of. It was time for me to accept that Paul had made his choice, and move on.

It was time for me to get back to what I was good at. Screwing some random bloke at the wedding seemed a good place to start, as much to prove to myself that I still could as anything else. Just because I wasn’t pretty enough for Paul didn’t mean I wasn’t pretty enough for the rest of the male population.

I pushed open the door that led out into the corridor, taking a moment to get my bearings. The hotel was vast, luxurious and surely littered with hideaways designed for those in need of a quick, hard fuck. I wasn’t surprised to hear the door behind me swing open, letting in a rush of noise from the ballroom that was rapidly silenced when it was allowed to close. My breathing sped up, pushing the heavy swell of my breasts against the tight hold of my dress. I have to admit, I liked the way it felt, restrictive and unforgiving. The pressure on my tits made me think of sex, made me want it, which was exactly how I wanted to feel. I tried a door to my left, but the damn thing was locked. I tried another to my right. That one opened. I slipped into darkness. I waited for him to follow me in, then I softly closed the door.

I left the lights off. Something about the darkness excited me. I didn’t want to see. I wanted the oblivion of the blackness, which swirled around the champagne in my system, shutting down some senses, heightening others.

His hands found my waist. Good hands. Strong, firm, unafraid. But I wasn’t there for his hands. I was there for his cock and I found it, my fingers searching out the hard edges of his belt buckle and the small pull of the zip below. I dealt with both without hesitation. ‘Not bad,’ I said, as I slid my palm down his length until I found the heavy weight of his balls. I cupped them, and the air left his body in a rush. ‘Not bad at all. Length is acceptable. Width is...’ Plentiful, for want of a better word.

He laughed. ‘As I said, I’ve had no complaints.’

And he wasn’t going to get any from me. Not when his hands were pulling at my skirt like that, or when his fingers moved inside the feather-light thong that I’d slipped on under my ankle-length dress. Then it was my turn to exhale. ‘I want a fuck, not a grope,’ I told him. ‘Pleasant though this is.’

‘A woman who knows what she wants,’ he said, as he pulled back from me. ‘Who am I to argue?’ I heard the rustle of fabric, the thump of a wallet being tossed to the floor, the snap and tug of a condom, and it was clear that I’d chosen well. Hung and smart. Is there a better combination in a man?

‘Shut up and fuck me,’ I said. ‘The quicker and harder, the better.’

‘I aim to please,’ he said, as he moved back between my thighs. I gathered my skirts at my waist and pulled my thong to the side. A leg hooked over his hip and the head of his cock was tucked snugly against me, a tease that didn’t last long.

I didn’t want foreplay. I wanted the hard, randy thrust of him inside me, the hot breath of a desperately aroused male in my ear, the satisfaction that comes with making a man surrender. And he was fit and anonymous, and I would never see him again after tonight, and I wanted that too. I gripped one muscular buttock and squeezed. My other hand skated up his jacket, up the smooth satin fabric of a tuxedo lapel. I pulled him close, let him feel how hot I was, that my cunt was already wet.

He resisted, but not for long. I yanked down the bodice of my dress, let him feel the warm, heavy weight of my tits pressed against him and with a groan, he shoved his cock inside me. ‘Naughty boy,’ I whispered in his ear. ‘Look at you, fucking the maid of honour up against a wall.’ His ragged breathing excited me, as did his thickening cock. I rocked my hips, clenched hard against his length.

I needed this. I needed to move on from the two people in the ballroom on the other side of the corridor. I needed to feel in control, I suppose, because I had never been in control with them. You’ve still got it, I told myself. You’re still the same hot blonde you were before. You can still have any man you want.

His hands found my waist, and he started to move. There was no hesitation, no caution. ‘Someone might catch us,’ he said, as he pounded into me. His hands moved up to grab my tits. ‘Someone could walk in here at any moment, see you with my cock in your pussy and your tits in my hands.’

So that was his game. Everyone has one. The trick is to work out what it is. ‘Is that what you want?’ I slid a hand between us, put pressure on my clit. ‘You want someone to catch us? You want someone to see?’ But he didn’t answer. Instead, he slid a hand under the knee I had hooked over his hip, pushed it higher. The wall held me up, the wall and one spike heel and my hands on his shoulders. He’d been right about the size. I had no complaints. But that didn’t mean that I had nothing to say.

I stopped teasing my clit and started to rub it, and then I started to get loud. If he wanted to get caught, then so did I, and the louder I shrieked the harder he fucked me. I imagined the whole reception sitting there listening to me getting pounded against the wall, and the thought was deliciously exciting.

‘I’m coming,’ he said. ‘I’m coming so hard.’

His fingers dug into my leg as he slammed into me, fast and deep. I rode out his orgasm with one of my own, sharp enough to make me silent, which was a pity, though I tried not to feel too put out. It had been a long time since I’d come with anyone but Victoria or Paul, and it was good to know that while my heart might be broken, my pussy certainly wasn’t.

It was about that time that the door opened and the light flicked on, and Scott Smithson walked into the room.

Chapter Two

So that’s how I ended up where I am now, pinned to the wall by the cock of a man I don’t know, with Scott Smithson, a man I most certainly do know, staring at me in that judgemental way of his. ‘Scott,’ I say, blowing the hair out of my eyes as I fight to get my breath back. ‘Do you mind? I’m a little busy here.’

I stay where I am, with my dress around my waist and my tits exposed and a still hard cock buried in my pussy. I would move, but my legs aren’t steady and my new friend doesn’t seem in any hurry to pull out.

‘I can see that,’ says Scott, his voice low and angry. ‘Fortunately, the disco was loud enough to block out most of the noise.’

‘That’s disappointing,’ I reply, letting my leg slide to the floor. Two feet are definitely better than one, and I need two right now. You see, Scott Smithson is my best friend’s brother. We don’t particularly like each other. Never have, if I’m honest. It’s hard to like someone who thinks that they’re perfect and treats everyone else like an inferior species. ‘If you came here to lecture me, can you get on with it? I feel like a dance. How about you?’ I glance at my companion. He catches my eye for a second, then pulls out of me, quickly turning so that his back is to Scott. Fine. I’ll let him have that one. I wouldn’t want to deal with a used condom with an audience either.

‘You’re the maid of honour,’ says Scott. ‘You’re supposed to be supporting the bride, not screwing one of the guests.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I reply. ‘I thought it was traditional for the bridesmaids to get laid at the wedding. Or does that only apply to the best man?’

I run my hands over my hair, which is sticky with hairspray. ‘Come to think of it,’ I continue, ‘the best man has been looking down my dress all day. Maybe I’ll go and find him, see if he fancies a blowjob.’

‘The best man is married,’ Scott says coldly. ‘I refuse to believe even you would stoop that low, Amber.’

‘What’s up?’ I taunt him. ‘Jealous?’ I put my hands on my dress and am about to pull it up when I catch sight of something that makes me pause, something so unexpected that it takes a moment to accept that it’s happening.

Scott Smithson is staring at my exposed breasts. His blue eyes are dark, and there’s a flush highlighting the sharp line of his cheekbones.

It’s the same reaction I’ve had since I grew them at fifteen. But I’ve never seen it from Scott Smithson. I find myself watching him, curiosity swelling inside me. This is something new, something unexpected, and it seems all the champagne I’ve drunk has made me reckless. ‘Are you looking at my tits, Scott?’ He swallows as I smooth my hands over the curve of my breasts, then test the weight of them. They’re heavy, too big for my hands. ‘Like what you see?’

He says nothing. He doesn’t need to.

I move closer. ‘You can leave, you know. The door is right there.’

But he doesn’t. I catch a nipple between my fingers and play with it, then I lift my breast to my mouth and tease it with my tongue. Despite all the champagne I’ve drunk, I feel suddenly very steady and in control, and I like it. Scott doesn’t look in control, though.

‘The door,’ I say again, watching as his hands clench into fists at his sides and his chest heaves as he sucks in air. I take another step towards him. I wonder what he will do if I get close enough for him to touch me. I wonder if I want him to touch me, and I’m surprised to discover that I definitely don’t not want him to. The thought of his hands on my flesh is astonishingly delicious, especially given the situation we’re in.

But before I can get that close, Scott does what I’ve been telling him to do. He swiftly turns away from me, slamming the door closed behind him. The bang makes me jump, makes my heart thump hard in my chest.

‘A friend of yours?’ The voice comes from behind me. Lucas. I’d almost forgotten he was there. I turn back to look at him.

‘Not exactly,’ I say. ‘More of a pain in the arse.’

‘More fool him,’ says Lucas, with a slow, easy smile. It’s the sort of smile that should undo me, that should have me taking him back to my place, but I can’t get the image of Scott Smithson out of my head. He looked devastatingly attractive, with his evening shirt fitting snugly across his shoulders, that dark hair and those light blue eyes. He always looks devastatingly attractive, and it has always made him all the more annoying, because I’d rather he didn’t have any positive qualities at all.

‘Thanks for the fuck,’ I say to Lucas, as I tug my dress back in place and then head for the door, kicking my skirts out of the way as they tangle with my heels. ‘It was fun.’

‘Any time,’ he says, tucking his hands into his pockets with the resignation of a man who knows he’s just been knocked back, but isn’t too hurt by it.

Then I open the door and stumble out into the corridor. To my left are the double doors that lead back to the reception. Music is filtering through the gap, the soundtrack to Dirty Dancing. What a cliché. In the other direction, I spy the broad shoulders and long strides of Scott Smithson. I’m slow in my heels, but I’m determined. ‘Scott!’ I yell. ‘Hang on a minute.’

I want to know what the hell just happened in there. I want to know why Scott, Mr Perfect, was looking at me like that. He thinks I’m a tart and I think he’s a bore. I never suspected he might want me. I never suspected that I might want him, either, and that’s what has me chasing him down now.

‘Scott!’ I yell again, and this time his shoulders stiffen inside his white shirt, their width highlighted by the black line of his braces. He stops. Then he turns around, slowly. ‘What do you want, Amber?’

‘I…’ I fumble for something to say. What do I want? Not sex, surely. I’ve just had sex. And I wouldn’t want it from him, anyway. Would I? That thought is so disturbing that I switch to the defensive. ‘You were looking at my tits,’ I say, using that word because I know that he’ll hate it, the big prude.

He turns his head to the side, his jaw set hard, as if he’s working to hold back a response that he doesn’t want to give me. Then he turns back to me, fixing those eyes on me, so stunningly pale in contrast to his midnight-black hair. ‘Why did you do it?’ he asks.

‘Why did I do what?’

‘Why did you take a man you barely know into a room and have sex with him?’

Because I just watched a man I was in love with get married to someone else. Because I wanted to feel something other than hurt, just for a few minutes. I plant my hands on my hips. ‘It might come as a shock to you, Scott, but some women like sex. I happen to be one of those women. I know you think we should be all prissy and virginal, but fortunately you don’t get to tell me how to behave.’

His hands go to his throat and start tugging at his tie. He pulls it loose, letting the ends fall flat against his shirt, then he unfastens his collar. The button below it is unfastened too. I see a flash of skin, a dark dusting of hair. A strange fluttering sensation starts up in the pit of my stomach.

‘But why him?’ he asks.

‘Why not him?’

‘Because he’s a stranger,’ he says. ‘Because you know nothing about him. You had no idea what he was going to do to you in that room.’

‘Trust me,’ I interrupt him. ‘I had a pretty good idea.’

‘No, you didn’t.’ He’s almost shouting now. He looks really, really angry. I stumble to the wall, lean against it, my legs suddenly unsteady. I bend down and unfasten my shoes then pull them off. When I glance back up at Scott, I realise my mistake. He’s tall and I’m not, and those extra four inches were making all the difference. ‘If you wanted sex, Amber, you should have asked someone you know. Someone you could trust. Not some man you’d only just met.’

‘Who should I have asked, then?’ I yell right back at him. ‘You?’

Silence drops. Scott’s chest heaves. He stands there; staring at me, then shoves his hands back in his pockets. ‘Yes,’ he says, his voice low. ‘Maybe you should have asked me.’

Chapter Three

I go home shortly after that. I tried to dance, but I couldn’t. I tried to drink more champagne but I couldn’t do that either, and the thick slabs of wedding cake that had been laid out on all the tables just made me feel sick. Paul and Victoria disappeared shortly after I got back to the reception, after I’d left Scott standing in the corridor. I hadn’t said anything else to him. I had simply turned around and walked away, and he had let me.

Now it’s Monday, and I’m back at work. I’ve spent the morning dealing with paperwork and answerphone messages, and now I have to show some bloke around various flats in town. One of the things I like about working at the Estate Agents is that I’m not tied to my desk, but right now I’d give anything to be locked in the office with a cup of tea, browsing shoes on the internet.

Especially given that the bloke has turned out to be Lucas. I fix on a smile and try to be professional, but that lasts about five minutes. I don’t seem to have the energy to maintain it, especially not when he’s flattering me with that slow smile. It’s almost a relief to have some distraction from my constant thoughts of Scott.

‘So,’ Lucas says. ‘Got anything good to show me?’

‘That depends what you’re looking for.’ I unlock the door to flat number one, a first-floor two-bed in a new build complex behind the library. I push it open, and we walk into the smell of new carpets and fresh paint.

‘I’m not sure,’ he says. ‘But I’ll know it when I see it.’

‘A man who likes to keep his options open. I approve.’

I show him the living room, the kitchen. Everything is neutral and bland, completely inoffensive. There isn’t much furniture either, as the owners are abroad and most of it is in storage. ‘Nice,’ he says.

‘If by nice you mean boring, then I agree with you.’

Then we find ourselves in the bedroom, staring at an expanse of mattress. There aren’t any sheets, and the curtains are thin voile that does nothing to block out the light.

‘You know,’ Lucas says, ‘if you did have anything good to show me, this might be the time.’

I glance across at him. His hair is untidy, and he’s wearing a V-neck sweater with a striped shirt underneath. There’s a definite sexiness to him, a scruffy, I-don’t-give-a-damn edge. He’s a couple of years younger than me, I reckon. Eager. Easy. Perfect for my first post-Paul and Victoria fling. He’s practically drooling already, and I haven’t even started flirting with him yet, not really. I lower myself onto the edge of the mattress, and unfasten the front of my suit jacket. My pencil skirt keeps my knees together for now. ‘What do you want to see?’

‘Your pussy,’ he says. ‘It was dark last time. I didn’t get a good look at it.’

The hot ache between my legs cranks up a notch. It has been annoying me all day. If I’m honest, it has been annoying me ever since I caught Scott Smithson staring at my tits. ‘You like looking at pussy?’ I ask, as I ease the hem of my skirt up to mid-thigh, flashing the lace edge of my hold-ups. I never wear tights. Probably because my bras are all a miracle of modern engineering, so I overcompensate elsewhere.

‘Looking,’ Lucas says. ‘Touching. Tasting. All the usual things.’

I ease my skirt higher. He doesn’t move from his position in the doorway. ‘What else do you like?’

‘Women who know what they want.’

‘You mean slutty women,’ I say. It doesn’t offend me. I’m used to it. Something about the combination of blonde hair, big boobs and high heels makes people think I’m easy. I don’t have a problem with that. I’ve never bought into the idea that it’s wrong for women to chase sex, to want it, that we’re somehow dirty if we want lots of sex with lots of different people and we don’t need it to mean anything.

It’s just sex.

‘No.’ He gives me that nervous smile again, and this time I notice he’s got dimples. I’ll do a lot for dimples. ‘Not at all.’