His hand rises, palm open, not a command. He pauses an inch from my jaw. When he touches me, it’s to the unhurt skin, thumb sliding under my ear in a stroke so delicate it steals my breath. I didn’t expect tenderness to feel like power. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“I will.”
He draws me in. The first press of his mouth is deliberate, not a rush or a claim but a promise of both if I want them. Heat unfurls low in my belly, steady and deep. My hand finds his lapel. The fabric is fine and slick against my fingers. I open to him because I asked for this and I intend to keep asking.
Applause bursts somewhere at the far end of the room. A laugh arcs like a comet. The bass shifts into a darker pocket. He lifts his free hand and brushes a small button set into the throne’s arm. Panels rise around us with a whispering slide—smoked glass that refracts the room into warmth and color while granting us a new kind of quiet. Not a cage. A boundary.
“They cannot see us now.” He watches my face as the world softens. “Still yes?”
“Yes.”
He smiles now, not big, not bright, just real. He kisses me again, deeper, the kind that requires my name even if he doesn’t sayit yet. Kissing makes my jaw ache worse, but I don’t care. I rise onto my toes and meet him hard enough that our breath tangles. He steadies me with a palm at my hip and then guides me backward until the edge of the throne meets my thighs. The chair is broad enough for two. Or three. Maybe more.
He sits and draws me into his lap without breaking the kiss, arranging me to be comfortable. My dress slides over my thighs. His hands are heat and intention. One at my spine, one at my thigh, fingers firm, patient. He does not hurry. He explores at his leisure.
I answer by learning him in return—jaw, cheek, the shallow divot at his temple where gray threads through. Touching, teasing, kissing, he seems to like it all. “Good,” he murmurs, mouth at the corner of mine. “Just like that.”
I am suddenly greedy. I kiss him until I’m dizzy, and I’m over the foreplay. He lets me take what I want and then takes it back, not to punish, but because the dance is better when it’s shared.
“Careful,” he says when my hand skims the side of my face by habit. He catches my wrist, turns my palm, kisses the center of it. The gesture is so unexpectedly reverent that it undoes me a little. I make a sound I’ve never made in public.
His answering inhale is sharp, hungry, contained. “Tell me to stop,” he says again, rougher now.
“Don’t you dare,” I breathe, and the words break on a laugh that surprises both of us. His smile flashes, quick and devastating, before heat takes it.
We move together with the kind of focus that empties the mind. I am aware of the glass humming with the music. Of shadows moving outside our little square of privacy. Of the way he keepshis touch clear of the wound without treating me like something fragile. He finds the places that make me say yes without words and returns to them with patience and precision until the yes fills the air around us.
His hands slide under my dress and over my underwear-covered ass. “Beauty, I am quickly losing my restraint.”
“Good.”
He arches a brow in a question.Now?
I nod once, and the next thing I feel is him ripping the fragile lace apart until my panties are a stringy memory. I go for his zipper, and when I reach inside his trousers, it’s all I can do not to panic.
How is that going to fit anywhere?
But I came all this way, and I’m not a quitter. I want revenge.
When his fingers glide over my slick pussy, I gasp at the sensation. It makes him smile.“There?”
“Yes.” The word contains no breath.
But I am here for a mission, not an orgasm. I grab his cock, stroking it until I have his full attention.
“Soft hands.”
“I’m softer inside.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” He aligns our hips and pulls me on top of him. When he starts to enter me, it’s a stretch. I lose my breath and wonder if this was a mistake, but there’s no going back now.
I wouldn’t if I could.
I’m halfway down his shaft when he loops an arm behind me and suddenly stands, flipping us around. He presses another button on the throne’s arm, and the throne reclines, lies flat. He lays me down, using the throne’s arms for leverage as he works the rest of his cock into me.
Slowly.
Excruciatingly slowly.
