Finnegan might resist it, thinking I’ll give up and release her, or he might think he can bargain or kill me, but even if she bored me to death, I’d never let her fall into his clutches.
I clip it into place and tug on the lead, turning her to face me. “Fucking gorgeous.”
She’s naked and I want to dip into her, but the more she wants, and the more I deny, the better this will be. So instead, I have her step back, releasing my hold on the leash of jewels.
No, I kneel down in front of her, that sweet cunt with her intoxicating scent of arousal and innocence meeting me. It’s subtle but there, mainly because I’m a hair’s breadth from it. It takes more willpower than expected to not flick out my tongue to taste her, but I don’t. Instead, I grab the silk and lace garter belt.
The panties… I decide to leave them off, hooking the belt into place instead.
“Stockings.” I take my time rolling them up her legs, over her knees up to her thighs. I carefully close the clasps to hold the stockings up, then turn to pick up the rose petal pink heels, in satin, and slip them on her feet.
Fuck, she’s so hot.
Rising, I grab my phone before she can move, snapping photos while she reddens with embarrassment. Just the stockings, heels, garter, and collar. Fucking hell.
I point to the bathroom. “Make up.” I lean against the bathroom door as she does it, arms folded, watching every move. Not because I don’t trust her, but because I can. When she’s done, I help her with the dress. It’s heavy, coming down to the swell of her tits in the front and low, almost to her ass, in the back. The sleeves are thick, off the shoulder. It’s simple, because with an intricate collar like she’s wearing, it has to be. The bodice is fitted, the rest skimming her hips and following her legs. It’s like an exaggerated fifties pencil, but with one slit that crosses at the front, left calf to right hip. Her legs peek when she walks, but it also gives me access should I choose it.
The dress is sexy with an aura of demure. Until she turns. Until she spreads her legs.
I zip up the side and smooth it down. I want to kiss and suck on her throat. I want to bite it. She’s so close, but there’s already a fading mark, so I don’t. The game being played is intricate and too much might give it away. I do kiss her, though, softly on the collar bone, just to get her blood moving a little faster.
“More where that came from if you do your job, Rose.”
“Nikolai-” She stops, and whatever she’s going to say ends there.
“Hair?”
“Up.”
I watch as she pins it, hands deft. Once I’ve deemed her presentable, I hold out my arm and together, we leave the room. I’m fucking hard, which is a pain in the ass, but I also don’t care who notices. The fact that she keeps glancing at my junk is both perfection and an added turn on I don’t need.
As we sweep out the door, her hand curls around my arm, and I lead her to the chauffeured car. Normally, I prefer to drive myself, but a splashy entrance is worth it sometimes. We’re going to Sweet Williams, dead center in neutral territory, but I know her father’s out there, watching every step.
That’s the point-make the fucker watch, make him suffer, and maybe he’ll make a mistake. If he doesn’t, it just sweetens the pot.
I slide a hand up her thigh, under the slit, and her legs part for me on their own. I don’t slide up further, but Christ, her responding sigh is music to my ears. I work to concentrate not on her, but on the evening. I don’t want to ruin my suit.
“Same deal?” she asks quietly as we pull up and my driver comes to open the door.
I take my hand from her thigh and pick up her hand, kissing it gently. “Bigger, better, but yes.”
Her breath hitches a little at the touch of my lips as I kiss her again in the same place. I signal to my driver not to touch her, and I lean in, mouth on her ear. “Wait.” I insist on escorting her out myself.
The place is packed when we enter, dozens of couples gathered under a colossal crystal chandelier, which suits me just fine. We’re being watched, but Rose is a fucking master at keeping to the charade. It’s like she’s born to do this, laughing and looking at me like I’m her world, almost purring when I tug gently on her chain.
We’re shown a table near the tall windows, far enough from the dance floor for privacy but at the very center of the room so that anyone walking in would catch eyes with us first.
Perfect.
As the night goes on, I ply her with wine and spirits, and when we eat, I feed her and she slides across the tall booth seats, sitting close and pulling my hand to her thigh. I slide it beneath her skirt and skim those bare, warm, slick lips.
“Rose, I should punish you for that.” I finger those lips, pushing in, just a little.
She gasps, her eyelids fluttering as she pushes forward a little and I retreat with my touch. Just a little. “Why?”
I laugh. “Because you’re a fucking bratty little minx, Rose. You disobey.”
“You wanted a show.”
“You want to get off.”
“I…” She looks down and I slip a finger beneath her chin, lifting her face.
“Luckily, I like touching you. If you’re good, I’ll make you come so fucking hard, you’ll scream the place down.”
She stares at me. “Promise?”
Her earnest honesty is so pure and beguiling, I laugh and I pull my fingers free, making her suck them clean. My heart skips at how easily she obliges. “We’ll see. Dance?”
If I was a kind man, I’d find her eager nod heartbreaking. But I’m not, so I just kiss her sweetly and lead her up to the dance floor.
Wrapping my arm around her waist, I press her perfect little body against mine. The music is thumping through the speakers, but since this is a classy club, the DJ keeps the rhythm slow and seductive instead of fast and gritty, like the underground places Rush likes to indulge in. It doesn’t matter though-I’m barely paying attention to anything else besides the woman swaying with me.
“Enjoying yourself, Rose?” I ask and twist the chain around my finger.
Her pulse beats hard and fast against my lips when I press my lips against her neck. “Always. Thank you.”
“You’re a good dancer,” I murmur. “And you smell so fucking sweet.”
“Nikolai… you… you feel good.”
Oh, fuck. With every sweet and courteous word, she swoons into me. She’s an intoxicating drug. We look like we’re on a hot, intimate date to anyone watching, a couple falling in love.
After a bit, we part to use the restroom, and when she returns, I pull her to me and I spin us so she’s against the wall. It’s a dark little spot where we aren’t likely to be seen, and I kiss her slow and deep as I push my hand through that slit. I finger her just as slow and deep, and as she slips a little over the edge, into the beginnings of an orgasm, I stop.
I hold her and kiss her again and again, until I lift my head and whisper,
“This isn’t the place.”
She looks at me confused. “I… I thought you didn’t care.”
I laugh. “Fuck me, Rose. Normally, I don’t, but I promised you a night and we have some more dancing to do. It’s not all orgasms, you know.”
“No. Sometimes, it’s you not letting me come.”
I bite her earlobe at her impertinence. “Don’t be like that, sweet Rose. You look perfect, the envy of every woman. Every man here wants to be me. So come dance. You deserve to be the star.”
She’s only partly mollified, but she smiles all the same. I wrap my arm about her, and she looks up, curling herself around me as we dance. I’m getting really fucking familiar with the term blue balls.
I know I shouldn’t have taken that invitation and touched her at the table. I shouldn’t have fingered her outside the bathroom. I should have made her wear panties, doused her in heavy perfume, but the scent of her skin is its own brand of intoxication, and we dance again, then sit for dessert and the conversation is pleasant and mindless and I can’t help myself. I’m apparently some kind of punishment junkie because after dessert, I hold her tight as we dance and she plasters herself against me.
I have to remember that this is a game. Part of the plan. All of it. It’s not real.
Maybe it’s the atmosphere or the glamour of “What ifs” and “Maybe one day” but I’m entranced by her.
I may be getting trapped in my own web.
“Nikolai,” she whispers, sliding her cheek against my chest a moment. “I know this is an act, but I like it.”
I try to think of something to say, but I have no words. Instead, I kiss her. It’s cowardly, a thank you for making this evening so fucking easy, and I know she can feel my erection against her stomach. She’s been rubbing against it, like it’s all she can think about.
For the first fucking time in my life, I’m having trouble controlling myself. That great iron control of mine rusts into dust with her. She’s a drug I can’t cut myself off from. I’ve been hard ever since I helped her dress.
No, that’s a lie-I was hard the moment I stepped into her room. What the fuck is wrong with me?