Greg smiled good-naturedly. “I see. Nice meeting you, Tia. Enjoy your evening.” He nodded to Santo and disappeared into the crowd.
I stepped away from Santo’s touch. “That wasn’t necessary. He was just being friendly.”
“He was hitting on you,” Santo countered, sliding into the vacant seat, his eyes still lingering on my thighs. “And you were letting him.”
“We barely spoke,” I said quietly. “There was no need to chase him away.”
Santo’s expression softened. “Can you blame me for being jealous?” He reached out, his fingers brushing the hem of my dress. “Especially when you look this stunning tonight.”
I felt my resolve weakening. “You have no reason to be jealous. We’re not...”
“Not what?” His eyes held mine. “Not attracted to each other? Not thinking about each other constantly? Because I’ve thought about nothing but you for days.”
My heart fluttered traitorously. “Santo, this isn’t right. You know that.”
He moved closer, his knee brushing against mine. “It’s only complicated because you’re making it complicated.”
“Your ex-girlfriend was my friend—”
He leaned forward and kissed me. Not demanding or possessive, but gentle. I kissed him back, my fingers resting lightly on his arm.
This was so not me. This was wild. This was Kat’s ex. But his lips were on mine, and suddenly I didn’t care.
After Santo pulled away, he took a sip of my cocktail. “You taste sweet,” he murmured, setting the glass down.
Under the cover of the table, his hand found my knee, his fingers tracing light patterns on my skin. I swallowed hard, my heart pounding.
“Santo,” I whispered. “What are you doing?”
His hand moved higher, his fingers slipping under the hem of my dress. “What I’ve been wanting to do since I saw you in this dress,” he growled.
I should have pushed him away, but the feel of his fingers on my bare thigh sent heaps of pleasure through me. His hand moved higher still, brushing the edge of my lace underwear.
“You’re playing with fire, aggelé mou,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re making me want to do very bad things to you.”
His fingers slipped under the fabric, stroking my wet folds. I gasped, my hips jerking involuntarily.
“Santo,” I breathed.
Santo leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. “Shh, aggelé mou. Just let it happen. Let me make you feel good.”
His fingers moved expertly, circling my clit, sliding through my wetness. I gripped the edge of the table and tried to keep my composure. The music vibrated through my body, heightening every sensation.
I was definitely close. My muscles tightened. My breath caught. Oh God, was this happening in a bar?
Santo’s fingers moved faster, applying just the right amount of pressure. I bit my lip, trying to hold back the moan threatening to escape.
“Come for me,” he whispered.
And with a final stroke, I did. My body convulsed, stars blurring my vision. I threw my head back, no longer trying to hold back. Instead, I let loose, screaming his name in time with the music, the pounding beat drowning out my cries of pleasure.
Santo’s fingers slowed, drawing out the last of the pleasure. His eyes locked on mine, drinking in every moment of my release. He licked his fingers, then captured my mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. I tasted the sweetness of the cocktail on his lips and the saltiness of my arousal.
“You look even more beautiful when you come, aggelé mou,” he murmured, his eyes filled with dark promises. “And I intend to make you do that again and again.”
I caught my breath, still trembling, and let my fingers trail down his shirt. “Congratulations on your win in Japan, by the way,” I said.
“How did you know?”
