“I have a better place for you to sit.” His other hand pats his lap.
This is far from the rejection I was expecting. Although,maybe it’s only because, like me, he can’t back down from a dare. Not that I meant it that way. My defense is to joke, to push the envelope before extracting myself from the situation and sauntering off to tend to my wounded ego in private.
But my usual methods and put-on nonchalance aren’t fooling him, and I have no idea what to make of it.
I draw my head back a little, turning so I can look him in the eye. I’m being completely serious when I ask, “Do you actually want that? Or are you playing with me?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. He merely stares me down as my stomach sinks and sinks and sinks, ready to hit the floor.
But it never does. Because Thomas hauls me into his lap with an arm around my waist, settling my back against his chest as I battle my surprise. The bulge in his tuxedo pants is solid under my ass, and I swear it only grows when I shift to get more comfortable.
“If you don’t want this, then tell me,” he says against my temple. “But I think you can feel exactly how much I want you.”
His hands are heavy on my hips, anchoring me and yet light enough that I could move away if I wanted. Not that I would.
So I let my head fall back. Allow my body to melt into him. Press my cheek to his so he can feel my smile. “The feeling’s mutual.”
His right hand slides down from my hip to the top of my thigh, practically crushing the feathers there. “Then let me show you what I’ve been thinking about since dinner.”
An eager shiver rolls down my spine. He feels it, I know he does. “Just don’t damage my dress,” I warn him. “It’s expensive.”
“I’ll buy you a new one.”
“It’s couture.” It’s not.
Spitefully, he plucks off one of the feathers and flicks it to the floor. “Five new ones, then.”
“Wealthy bastard.”
“Says the woman wearing couture and thousand-dollar shoes.”
“Six hundred,” I correct, my breathing growing shallow as he spreads his legs apart, moving mine with them until cool air rushes up to meet the soaked lace covering my heated skin. “Got them on sale. Love a bargain.”
“Don’t tell me you’re cheap,” he chides, hand delving between my thighs but still far from where I desperately want it to be.
“I’m the most expensive woman you’ll ever touch.”
It’s my turn to feel his smile against my cheek. “NowthatI believe.”
The table hides us from the waist down, the white tablecloth hopefully shielding the view straight up my skirt as his fingers finally reach the lace of my underwear. He dips one under the elastic, tracing the smooth skin there up and down, practically hypnotizing me with the motion.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, but his teasing doesn’t cease.
I shake my head. I’m struggling to form a single word as my pulse thuds heavily at my core. “No.”
“No?” he presses, low and rough. “Are you sure?”
“If you stop,” I tell him on a sharp inhale, “I might have to kill you.”
He chuckles, not taking my threat seriously, even though I’m not remotely kidding. If he stops, I’ll combust on the spot, and I’ll take him down with me.
“We can’t have that, can we?”
Another finger joins the first under the fabric, both slippingbit by torturous bit closer to where I desperately want him to touch. My heart races like I’m on mile twenty of a marathon. But it’s the anticipation that makes it hard to breathe.
“Thomas,” I beg, desperate for him to justdo it, to just sink his fingers into me and stop with the torment. “I need—”
But my plea ends on a gasp when his touch drags down my slit, setting every nerve ending ablaze.
