And walks straight toward me.
“Is this seat taken?”she asks the blonde sitting at my side, eyes locked on mine the entire time.
The air between us snaps tight.This isn’t about a chair.It’s about a challenge.A claim.
I scramble up like a schoolboy caught watching porn.“Uh—sorry, if you don’t mind…”
The blonde blinks, disbelieving, but stands.Katharina slides in as if the seat has always belonged to her.Maybe it has.
The other women watch her like vultures, sizing up the prey that just bit back.
I sit, too slow, too stiff.My knees aren’t steady.
Her perfume hits me first—musky, sensual, warm with a whisper of spice.Heat.Skin.The air shifts.Under the table, her thigh brushes mine.Not by accident.
My cock hardens on contact.The tux pants weren’t made for this.
She doesn’t look at me.Just traces a fingertip along the stem of her wine glass, slow enough that I can imagine those fingers curling around my cock.My pulse spikes.
A slide of silk against my calf.The deliberate press of her knee.Intentional.Unapologetic.
I grip my own glass tighter, glass cool against my palm, mouth suddenly dry.Thank God for the tablecloth that hides my hard-on.
She leans toward Anton Fuchs, the legend himself, voice rich with genuine admiration.“I’ve always respected the way you took the Hausbergkante—no one else carried speed like that.”
Pure fan energy.Pure devotion.And somehow, it still turns me on; the way her lips part around each syllable, the sparkle in her eyes.
I should let her have the moment.
But fuck that.I want that spark turned on me.
I reach for her hand, letting my fingers graze hers; just enough to feel the warmth of her skin.Small.Electric.
“Sure, Anton’s a legend,” I say, my voice a shade tighter than I want it.“But I wasn’t bad today, right?”
Her breath catches.I feel it in the space between us before I hear it.A tiny, dangerous sound that punches straight to my cock.
Fuchs smirks.Old bastard knows.
“Easy, Kern.Let the lady pay her respects to the old lion before she returns to her king.”
I almost laugh.Almost.
Then she turns back to me—eyes molten.
“You know you’re the only one for me.”
I can’t laugh it off.She’s not smiling.She means it.
“You know it, right?”
I nod.Useless.Numb.Owned.
Her fingers brush my forearm, lingering just enough to leave heat in their wake.“I see someone I need a word with.I’ll be back.”
When she leaves, the rest of the room turns to noise and glitter again.Models laughing, champagne fizzing.And all I see is her at the bar with some tuxedoed prick.His hand grazes her shoulder.The dress clings to her ass, and I realize she wears no panties.My jaw tightens.
Gosh, I want her so much it actually hurts.
