She leans close. “Possessive looks good on you.”
“Precision looks better,” I say.
“Not jealousy?”
“Jealousy is loud. I’m not.”
“Except when you’re threatening to rip people’s teeth out. You introduced me as your girlfriend, not your property.”
“Both can be true,” I tell her, a small smile testing my lips. “You’re not here for the taking. You’re here for me.”
We stop in a shadowed alcove by the stairs. I step into her space, my knee slotting between her thighs just enough to make her balance on me.
“Eyes,” I say.
She lifts them right away. Her perfect obedience pleases me.
My thumb brushes the red bow at her wrist. “Normally,” I say at her ear, “I’d take an assistant where everyone can see. You’re not my assistant tonight.”
“So I don’t get the public show?” she whispers.
“You get privacy. I don’t waste attention.”
She smirks. “Maybe I wanted applause.”
I press two fingers to her lips, silencing her. She freezes, a faint smile curving under my touch. I shift, sliding my thigh deeper between her legs, popping it up until it rubs against her pussy through her dress.
“Grind on me,” I command, voice rough. “Show me how bad you want it.”
She obeys, hips rocking slow, her slick pussy grinding against me, the damp lace of her thong rubbing with each desperate roll. Soft moans spill from her lips, raw and needy, her eyes locked on mine.
The heat of her arousal sears through the fabric. Her breaths become ragged, her breasts straining against her dress, nipples hard under the tight bodice.
“Please, sir,” she whispers, voice trembling, begging without permission, testing me.
“Only when I say,” I respond, pressing my thigh harder against her slit, forcing a whimper. “Show me how much you want it.”
Her hips buck faster, slickness coating my slacks, the musky scent of her desire mixing with the alcove’s cool air. My cock throbs, straining against my trousers, but this is about her submission.
“Come for me,” I snarl, grinding my thigh up, pinning her clit. “Now.”
Her body trembles as the orgasm crashes over her, a muffled cry breaking free. Her thighs quake, slickness soaking through, her submission a fire that’s all mine. I grip her waist, steadying her as she gasps, chest heaving as she catches her breath.
“Good,” I say.
She smiles, and I reward her with a slow kiss.
I take her hand. “Now, come with me.”
We walk past two doors to a third that blends into the wall. I pull out a key and turn the lock.
“A private room? Should I be flattered or relieved?” she asks.
“You should be ready,” I say.
I open the panel and nod her in. She hesitates for half a heartbeat, then steps through. I follow and close the door.
The room is red, with low lighting, heavy drapes, and mirrors. An exclusive private room with a large, two-way mirror that looks out over the ballroom. Through it, I can see the orgy taking shape, men and women on their knees in front of one another, bodies grinding, hands gripping.
