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“Who introduced you two,” his mother continues.
The tension grows and I suddenly feel awkward. I try to piece things together in my mind: she has two sons; they go to school at Crestwood, and she is apparently a longtime friend of Weston and a business acquaintance. It all seems so aboveboard and perfectly acceptable so I’m unsure why it seems to have struck such a nerve with him. My stomach flips a little as a lingering question pops into my head about if he’s telling the full truth regarding the extent of their relationship.
Before, I told myself it was none of my business and it wasn’t… but now, if there is something more between them, I don’t want to be the reason it falls apart and I certainly don’t want to be the other woman.
“So, Daphne”—Regina turns to me as I pick up my glass of water—“what did you get up to today?”
I attempt to swallow but choke. “Excuse me,” I say through coughs as my eyes fill with tears. “Sorry,” I say, finally regaining my composure. “I just relaxed, laid out for a bit.” I swear I see his mother’s eyes shift slightly toward Weston but maybe I’m just reading into it considering what I actually did today with her son. I feel my face growing red at the thought and I almost jump when I feel the soft touch of Weston’s hand on my knee beneath the table.
“And what about you, son?”
Weston sips his scotch, squeezing my knee softly. “Relaxed, worked, swam. Didn’t realize I would need to give an account for my day while on vacation.”
His mother scowls. “Did you eat today, son? I know how you get preoccupied with work on these trips when you’re supposed to be relaxing.”
Weston’s hand drifts further up my thigh, his fingertips finding the slit in my dress and now burning a path on my skin. “I did, but not nearly enough,” he says, glancing over at me with a devilish smirk.
Oh my God, I’m going to melt into a puddle right now.
I reach for my ice water again, taking several large gulps, but it does little to squelch the fire starting to burn inside me. I cross my legs, trapping his hand between my thighs so he can’t go up any further.
His parents turn their attention back to Daisy as she tells them a funny story.
“You getting shy on me now?” Weston says in a low voice as he leans in. “Uncross your legs.”
I smile, pretending to listen to Daisy’s story and ignoring his command. A second later he’s gripping my thigh so tight I have to stop myself from yelping.
“I don’t ask, Daphne. I command and you obey.”
I turn halfway to face him, lifting my glass as if it will block my mouth. “I will yell and cause a scene,” I say through gritted teeth, making him chuckle.
He leans in closer this time, pushing his fingers up further, even with my thighs trying to stop him. His thumb reaches my panties, pressing against my clit as he growls in my ear. “I like when you’re defiant; it’s a turn-on for me but don’t think it will stop me. You might cause a scene, sweetheart, but the second I get you alone, you’ll also crawl and beg.”
* * *
I sit on one of the decks with Weston’s parents as he puts Daisy to bed. I offered to do it, but he insisted, his threat from dinner lingering.
“So, are you from Chicago originally?” Alec asks as I sip a small glass of Prosecco, the warm night breeze on my face.
“I am, born and raised.”
“Are your parents still in the city?”
“No, my mother passed away and?—”
“Oh, that’s tragic. I’m so sorry,” she interrupts.
I smile awkwardly because I never know what to say when I tell people that and they respond like that. “Thanks, and my dad lives in Florida now.”
“Ah,” Alec says, nodding his head, “the retirement life.”
I look at Alec’s profile. Strangely, Weston looks nothing like his father who is shorter and squat, his barrel chest and broad shoulders making him appear larger than he is. Weston is tall and lean like his mom and has her eyes but not her blond hair, which if I had to guess is probably from a salon anyway.
I don’t have to turn around to know that Weston has joined us; I can hear the ice in his glass as he steps over the threshold behind me.
“Are you married, kid?”
“Jesus, Dad,” he says.
