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Her chest rises and falls rapidly. I can see her nipples harden beneath the silk of her blouse. I know I’ve already crossed all sorts of boundaries, but seeing her turned on like this, seeing her on edge is driving me crazy, and I have no intentions of turning back now.
“There will be no denying him because he will have you so turned on, so eager and ready to be pleased, that you’ll beg for it.”
Chapter 9
Brontë
“A real man will know exactly what it takes to have you dripping with desire, Brontë.” He says my name and it sounds so tantalizing on the tip of his tongue. “He’ll know how to toy and play with you so you’re primed and ready.”
His fingertips reach out and settle on my arm for a brief few seconds before he begins to move them, slowly dragging them up my arm as his eyes drop down to my lips that are now parted as I try to suck in enough air to quell the burning in my lungs.
“A real man will have you so turned on that by the time he slides into your soaking wet cunt—” The brashness of his words should shock me, but instead they only fuel the fire that’s begun to burn inside me. “You’ll be coming on his cock.”
He reaches my neck with his featherlight touch, his hand coming around to rest against it as he drags his thumb softly against my throat.
I’m on the edge of my seat, leaning toward him like I’m wishing he’d do everything he just described to me right here, right now. I don’t give a damn where we are or who’s watching us. I look down at my hand that’s balled into a fist, clutching his pant leg.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry.” I release the material and reach for my martini, almost spilling it in the process before taking a large gulp that makes me cough.
Get it together!
He pulls a few hundreds from his pocket and tosses them on the bar top.
“Let’s head upstairs, sweetheart, I think you’ve had enough lessons for one night.”
My heart feels like it’s about to beat out of my chest as we walk through the lobby of the hotel toward the elevator. Beckham’s hand is at my back, guiding me through the throngs of rowdy Vegas partygoers. When we reach the elevator, he reaches around me, the warmth of his body pressed against mine as we await the car. The doors finally open, and we step inside where there are a few other couples.
He maneuvers me in front of him before settling his hands on my waist. I try to read his expression in the reflection of the mirrored wall in front of us, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking. His hands feel like they’re going to burn through my skirt at any second.
How does he seem so unfazed by the conversation we just had?
I’m practically panting, already aching with need. I close my eyes and take in a deep breath, exhaling slowly as I attempt to calm my nerves. The car opens a few times, everyone finally exiting till it’s just us, but he still doesn’t move his hands from my hips till we reach our floor.
He presses against me, ushering me out into the hallway where we walk in silence, side by side till we reach our adjoining rooms.
I stop at my door that comes up first and turn to thank him for the night, but he grabs my arm and pulls me toward his door. He waves his keycard and swings the door open, holding it for me.
“How about a nightcap.” It’s not a question or suggestion, more of a demand.
I know I should be the responsible one here, but I don’t want to be. I’m tired of always doing the right thing, the thing that’s expected of me. I want to misbehave, to be naughty and adventurous for once.
I step inside his room, the smell of his cologne lingering from when he must have applied it earlier.
He follows behind me, flipping on a light before heading to the fully stocked bar in the far corner of the room.
“You like whiskey?”
“Sure.” I smile, even though I’ve never actually drank it outside of a cocktail. Tonight is for doing things I wouldn’t normally do, right? I’m in Vegas after all.
He pours us each a glass, then turns to drag two chairs next to each other so they overlook the massive window in the suite, the dancing lights of the strip far down below.
I take the tumbler he’s extending toward me and bring it to my lips as he removes his suit jacket. He unbuttons another button on his Oxford shirt, his tie long gone after our meetings earlier. I’m fully engrossed in the way he’s slowly and methodically rolling up the sleeves to reveal his tanned, muscular forearms.
Why are a man’s forearms so hot? Such an innocuous body part to make a woman drool but damn, it works every time.
“What’s going through that pretty head of yours? You haven’t said a word since we left the bar.”
My eyes snap upward to where he’s staring at me. I bring the tumbler to my lips to take a sip, but the whiskey causes me to cough.
