I want to taste her.
Taste her mouth.
Taste her tits.
Taste her cunt.
Taste everything in between.
“I could kiss both lips.”
Her breath hitches at my offer, understanding I want to eat her out. She doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t knee me either. Instead, her pussy slides higher on my leg. She rubs it harder, and her hip brushes against my hard-on. She arches her back, her tits pressing into my chest as our gazes meet. She licks her lips, knowing how enticing that is.
I’ll fuck her knowing she doesn’t give a shit about me beyond likely trying to kill me.
What a way to go.
Dancing with her gave me the chance to be sure she isn’t carrying a weapon. I’ve run my hands over her hips and upper thighs. My hand hovered at her lower back as we joined the otherdancers, making sure she didn’t have a knife she could plunge into me while no one noticed in the near dark. She doesn’t have a barrette or hair clip that could really be a stiletto.
“You can’t do that here.”
“I can start.”
I nudge her chin, turning her head to bring our mouths closer. As our lips press together, I feather my fingertips down her throat. They glide around to her neck until my palm rests heavily just above the dip between her collarbones. I don’t squeeze. I don’t want her to think I’m onto her and threatening her. No. It’s erotically possessive—or so I’ve been told from women I’ve scened with at my BDSM club.
She attempts to take the lead, swiping the tip of her tongue across the seam of my lips. I open to her, but before she can press forward, I thrust my tongue into her mouth. Not enough to choke her or repulse her. But I lead, and she follows. I feel her gasp before she gives herself over to it. Her arms wrap around my neck as my free hand grips her ass. I squeeze, and her hips jerk closer to my dick. She grinds harder.
She likes it.
I increase the pressure on her throat and ass. She sighs then moans. I feel her nipples through the material of her dress and my shirt. They could cut diamonds. Heat from her pussy seeps onto my thigh. I wonder if I’ll have a mark since she’s definitely wet for me. Just like on the yacht.
I like it. A fucking lot.
She might want me physically, but I can’t delude myself that it’s anything more. I can’t let it become more on my end. She intrigues me though. She’s brave, intelligent, resourceful, and even charismatic. If I’m not careful, I might declare my devotion—at least to her body. She’s sexual and intellectual puzzles I want to put together. Shift the pieces to make her come. Shift the pieces to discover what she’s hiding.
Why the fuck did people give board games to an only child? Every fucking birthday, at least one classmate—or their mom—got me a board game. I’ve always enjoyed puzzles even with a herd of cousins. I would put them together then take them apart just to do them over again with a different strategy. I’d do the same to Tiffani just to make her come over and over.
“Mmmm.”
She moans into my mouth, and I fight not to respond with a less than manly moan of my own.
“What next, little one?”
My hand glides down her chest, along the side of her breast, and settles at her waist. My other hand skims the back of her thigh where her miniskirt ends. My thumb slips under the hem. Her fingers weave through my hair as she arches her back again in the pretense of moving to see my face better.
“That was one set of lips.” She cocks an eyebrow.
I’m not dragging her out to my car like some horny teenager with an eleven o’clock curfew. I’m definitely not taking her back to my place, and I’m too tight fisted to get a hotel room just for her to try to kill me. The club has a private room no one’s renting tonight. There are sofas along three walls.
I withdraw my leg from between hers and take her hand. I lead her down the hallway and up the stairs to the mezzanine level. The fourth wall of the room is a one-way window. People can see out, but no one can see in. The room’s position relative to the stairs makes it impossible to tell that the window doesn’t work both ways. It just looks like a glare from the overhead lights makes it hard to see in. Let’s see if she enjoys the risk of voyeurism.
I stand close to the door as I punch in the code, making the pocket door slide open. It won’t lock from the inside without a different code, which I enter. I don’t want anyone actually watching us. I know Joaquin spotted me heading up herebecause I already heard him tell the men through the earpieces we’re wearing not to bother checking up here while they make their rounds. Unless any of them spotted me bringing Tiffani up here, they’ll assume one of my cousins or I have a private meeting—a legit meeting not a fuck fest—up here.
“It’s crowded tonight.”
Tiffani stands beside the window and looks out on the moving throng of dancers. I rest my hands on her hips as my lips graze her shoulder and up her neck. I lift her hair and drape it over her opposite shoulder before my fingers lift the strings that keep her dress in place. I don’t miss even a millimeter of her skin. Tonight, she smells like jasmine. I don’t tug the straps, giving her a chance to refuse me. When she lifts her chin and tilts her head away from me, encouraging me to kiss her again, I take it as silence is consent.
I untie the bow and let the material drop down her chest. My fingertips descend from her shoulders to her elbows before my hands cover her tits. I knead them, then tweak her nipples. She arches her back, trapping my hands between her and the glass, forcing me to hold onto her.
