The privacy partition is already up. Bless my driver and his impeccable discretion.
The second the door closes, Audrey’s hand is back on my thigh.
“You’re evil,” I tell her.
“You liked it.”
“I nearly had a cardiac event at the table.”
“But you didn’t.” She shifts closer, her lips brushing my ear. “You held it together. Barely.”
The car pulls into traffic. The city lights blur past the tinted windows, and Audrey’s fingers trace patterns on my leg—spirals, figure-eights, a slow migration upward that has me clenching my jaw.
“Fifteen minutes,” I manage. “That’s how long the drive takes.”
“I know.” Her hand slides higher. “What should we do to pass the time?”
“Audrey—”
“Hmm?”
“My driver is right there.”
“He’s very focused on the road.” She presses her palm against me through my pants, and I have to swallow a groan. “And you’re very focused on not making a sound. I find that interesting.”
“You find my suffering interesting?”
“I find your self-control interesting.” She strokes me slowly, deliberately. “I want to see what it takes to break it.”
The next fourteen minutes are the longest of my life.
She doesn’t let up. Not when we stop at a red light. Not when we pass a group of pedestrians who could theoretically see through the tinted windows if they looked hard enough. Not when my breathing goes ragged and my hands grip the leather seat.
By the time the car turns onto my street, I’m wound so tight I can barely see straight.
“We’re here, sir,” the driver announces through the intercom, and I’ve never been more grateful for those words.
“Thank you. Take the rest of the night off.”
“Very good, sir.”
I’m out of the car before he can come around to open the door, pulling Audrey with me. She’s laughing, breathless, her eyes bright with mischief and want.
“Someone’s eager.”
“You spent fifteen minutes trying to make me come in the back of my own car. Eager is an understatement.”
“I wasn’t trying to make you come.” She grins up at me as I fumble with my keys at the front door. “I was trying to get you desperate.”
“Well, mission accomplished.”
CHAPTER 34
Logan
The massive oak door swings open into the grand foyer, all marble floors and towering ceilings with stained-glass windows letting in faint moonlight. The house is dead silent, staff long gone—it’s all ours, every shadowed corner of this Victorian relic I’ve claimed back from my family’s bullshit. I don’t bother with lights. I just pull her inside, kick the door shut with a boom that echoes up the three stories, and slam her against it.
“Hi,” she breathes, her tits heaving under that tight dress.
