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I smile at the nickname. “If I didn’t know better, Maddox, I might have mistaken that for a compliment.”
He pulls my chair closer so my knees are in between his. The pendant lights cast a halo over his dark hair and his strong features. His blue eyes burn with that ever-present challenge that seems to have the power to plant a tiny pulse inside me. I can feel my heartbeat between my legs and my panties feel…wet.
Help.
The harp player bows to some light applause as she leaves the stage.
“I hope you don’t mind that they want me to sing,” I say. “It wasn’t really part of our…deal.”
He’s relaxed now, still holding my hand. His thumb lightly caresses my palm. “Clearly it would break Leah’s heart if you refused. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“It’s fine.”
Margot is hovering near three members of a band, who are preparing to take the stage. She points in the general direction of where Alexander and I are sitting, her eagle-eyed gaze lingering. On how close we’re sitting. On the way Alexander is holding my hand.
So I do what I’m being paid to do. And I find myself…not hating the thought of it. I mean, this isn’t difficult. The grumpy billionaire is turning out to be more than a little irresistible. I’ve been quietly wondering what that thick black hair would feel like between my fingers since the minute I saw him.
“Cleo told me to…play with your hair,” I murmur, almost breathless with the heady cocktail of his man-scent, his warmth and the anticipation of what I’m about to do.
“She did, did she?”
“Do you want me to?” I’m pretty sure he’s okay with it. Not only because he paid me two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to do exactly that, but also because his eyes are glowing like blue embers, with a danger-edged challenge behind them.
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
Watching his eyes, I lean closer and I slowly, carefully smooth back an unruly lock of it.
He smells like warm sun and late nights. Like whiskey and smoke on a fall afternoon, Upstate. Not that I know what an Upstate fall afternoon actually smells like, but I can imagine it. Laughter on a crisp sunny day with low golden sun and the reds and oranges of the falling leaves. I crave him with a deeply romantic side of myself I’m just beginning to discover. It’s a part of myself I’ve never really had a chance to indulge. I let my fingers weave into the course silk. “She’s watching,” I whisper.
“I don’t care what she’s doing. I only care about what you’re doing.”
He doesn’t like the mention of her, I can see this. And I suddenly feel the desire to free him from whatever grasp she feels she has on him. “Do you want me to…”
“To...?”
“To kiss you?”
His dark amusement makes him look even more handsome, if that’s possible. I can feel the heat rise to my face. He pulls me onto his lap, his burly arms supporting me. “Make it good, Jones.”
God. The huge ridge of him underneath me is rock-hard. He’s…holy shit…is that his…?
I can practically hear Cleo’s voice through the airwaves. Of course it is, girl! What else would it be?
He’s…freaking…huge. I mean, I’ve never sat on a man’s lap before. Not once. I didn’t have a father or uncles and both my mother and my aunt had been so badly burned by men, they completely gave up on trying to find someone who wouldn’t smash their hearts once again into smithereens. Of course I have friends and acquaintances and fans, but I’ve been distracted by work and by Josh. I’ve also been wary, because of my trust issues. I really haven’t had a lot of time for…exploration. Right now I’m learning more about the anatomy of a fully adult and very virile male body in the prime of its life than I ever have.
I’m also learning what a fully adult and very virile male body in the prime of its life does when it’s pressed up against an incredibly intimate part of me in all its gigantic, rock-hard glory.
It cranks a mild curiosity and a half-baked craving into something else altogether. A wild need courses through my veins in hot pulses. The silk of my dress is very fine and my panties are nothing more than a shred of barely-there lace. I can feel every ridge of him as the throbbing heat of his massive hard-on presses against my pussy, which feels soft and slippery, cradling the huge, rigid shape of him invitingly.
Holy shit.
Not only that, but a warm, sweet ache centers in my clit, making me squirm against him.
Oh my god.
If I kept doing that, if I kept squirming just like that, I think I could...I know I could…come. Something I’ve never, ever done before. The elusive orgasm, which all of humanity is having thousands of, if the internet has any truth to it, every chance they get. Except for little old me, who’s been my brother’s caretaker for as long as I can remember—and if you want to know if sharing a bedroom with your baby brother when you’re going through puberty, or how living in the same apartment with him as he’s going through puberty might dampen your sex drive, I can tell you it really does. Because I know all about it.
And right now, I’m much, much more turned on than I’ve ever been. I so badly want to…get there. I want to feel, so desperately.
