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Pasha does none of those things.
I’m forced to swallow back a moan when his fingertips press against the fabric of my panties over my mound. So slow, and yet so firm. Like he’s letting me know that this is definitely happening, and I need to relax and let it.
I take a deep breath. Hide my gasp of pleasure as a happy sigh. Steal a glance at him.
He’s “focused” on the emcee like everything is perfectly normal.
I want to slap him.
I should slap his hand away for being so publicly indecent. But aside from the fact that no one can actually tell he’s now inching aside my underwear, I’m kinda enjoying this.
I’m kinda loving this.
Pasha presses his free hand to my side for a brief moment. He adjusts himself on the chair and settles back in without more than a contented sigh.
Under the skirts, though?
My ass is resting squarely on his very, very sizable bulge.
The host speaker announces something I don’t quite catch; whatever it is, it has the room applauding with a few half-hearted cheers. The asshole from earlier skip-walks to the dais, a perfect politician’s smile stretched across his weathered face.
“Good evening, everyone!” Senator Brennan wastes no time in delving into his platform, some political mumbo jumbo that means very little to me and, I’m sure, very little to Pasha. The same old promises everyone makes. The same old observations, the same old complaints.
Pasha shifts under me again. His fingers hook inside the crotch of my panties, pulls them aside…
And then he’s inside me.
I barely have enough wherewithal to cough my way through the sudden gasp he rips from my chest. A few people glance over.
The senator is one of them.
A pink flush has traveled up to his puffy cheeks. He’s staring at us.
He knows.
Pasha stretches his arms out with a yawn and rests them on either side of the chair. He is so visibly unbothered by all this. I don’t know how he’s managing it, but there’s no way anyone could tell just by looking at him that he’s completely impaled me on his throbbing dick.
But from the waist down, he’s killing me slowly.
Every squeeze, every roll, every subtle grind is driving me up the wall with pleasure and need. I feel him throbbing and pulsing inside me.
God help me, I’m already on the verge of coming.
On stage, Brennan keeps stumbling over his words and clearing his throat. This is maybe the fourth glass of water someone’s handed him to help. He’s gone from pink to red all over his face, and he keeps shifting his focus between the teleprompter and our cozy little spot in the corner.
Part of me wants to know what the hell is going on between these two. For Pasha to be so vicious, and for the senator to be so hung up on whatever he assumes we’re doing.
Not that he’s wrong in his assumption.
I hear Pasha take a slow, deep breath. His hand on my hip tightens.
And then I’m filled with warmth. It spreads low through my belly, filling me and reminding me of how thoroughly I belong to this man.
It takes every ounce of self-control within me to hide my own release as a sudden shiver. I want to scream, I want to grind, I want so badly to ride him until we’re both limp. But I’m stuck here, in the middle of this crowded room, playing off one of the more intense orgasms of my life as a “sudden chill.”
Pasha rubs my arm and leans in close to my ear. To anyone else, it looks like he’s asking me if I’m cold.
“Enjoy that?” he asks instead.
