With a hand at my back again, he presses his lips to my neck. “You keep teasing me, I’m going to collect.”
I lean back against his chest. “Good.”
Groaning, he pushes me forward.
As we descend the steps, the music gets louder, but the lighting dims. When my feet hit the bottom step, I pause and take in the space, working hard not to show my reaction.
The basement has been turned into an apparent speakeasy. Women wearing diamond thongs with their breasts completely exposed spin around on poles set up throughout the room. The poles are bolted to the floor and ceiling. They’re permanent. Not props for the night. A half-naked woman sits at the piano in the corner, playing, while another lies on top of it, singing a raspy melody.
“You still good?” Camden says into my ear, his warm breath sending a shudder through me. He steps up close and wraps an arm around my waist. Maybe he can sense how unsteady I suddenly feel and he’s worried I’m going down. Even so, I lean into him, appreciating the move.
“This is—” I can’t even find the words. Incredible. Hot. Fucking incredibly hot.
“Too much?” He presses his lips to the sensitive spot below my ear.
A deep moan rolls out of me without my permission. “No.” I metthis man half an hour ago, and already I’m ready for my first orgasm. What the hell is happening?
“Good, let’s find a seat so you don’t miss the show.”
I squeeze my thighs together, unsure of what the hell to expect, and nod.
Camden slips his palm into mine and then squeezes my fingers gently, giving me a thoughtful look. The moment is so surprisingly sweet that I forget for a second that he’s basically turned his basement into a sex club.
This isn’t romantic, Savannah. He’s the definition of a playboy.
With those thoughts cemented in my brain, I ignore the butterflies flapping in my chest and allow Camden to guide me deeper into the room. He stops at an open love seat, and as I turn, ready to ease down onto the cushion, he grasps my arm. He holds me there as he sits, then he pulls me onto his lap and loops an arm around my waist, settling his palm on my bare thigh.
“What do you want to drink?” He holds up a hand to summon one of the servers.
“Um, I’ll take a vodka soda.” I wiggle forward. “Also, my own seat.”
Chuckling, he tightens his hold. “I won’t be able to hear you if you aren’t right here, and I told you, I intend to learn everything I can about you tonight.”
Without waiting for a response, he turns to the server and orders our drinks.
I take the opportunity to study him. He’s painfully good-looking, and the command he has over himself, the confidence, like he’s used to getting exactly what he wants, is really doing it for me. Every person he encounters smiles at him genuinely. That’s another thing I like. He’s well liked.
I shake off the thoughts. He’s obviously a good time, and since I’m only going to spend the evening with him, that’s all that should really matter to me.
I lean in close to his mouth and whisper, “Why talk when we can do other things?”
“You’re making this so fucking hard,” he breathes, the warmth of his body engulfing me.
“I’m trying to make you hard.” I wiggle on top of him. “How am I doing?”
He tilts his head against mine and groans. “I’ve been a steel rod since I first saw your ass. You just have to exist and I’ll be hard.”
A thrill zips down my spine. I like that. Probably more than I should. Especially when I realize that though the tits of the woman now delivering our drinks are in our faces, his eyes haven’t left mine.
Not wanting to be rude, I take my drink and thank her. Cam only grunts as he accepts his. He sets it on the table beside him, finally looking away. But a heartbeat later, his attention is back on me.
“I’m going to be honest,” he says, voice low, hand cupping my cheek. “I like you and I want more.”
I ignore the hope that unravels inside me at his words. It’s something I’ve never had, and I won’t start believing that can change now. “I intend to give you plenty more too.”
He sighs like my avoidance is frustrating. Then he nods. “Okay, baby girl. Show’s about to start, relax.” He shifts and leans back against the couch, pulling away. The move is subtle, but it’s enough to tell me that I’ve fucked up.
I’m annoyed. With myself. With him. But mostly with the possibilities forming in my mind. The ones trying to tempt me into hoping for more rather than focusing on the here and now.
