Tabitha’s footsteps pause. “Need anything? We’ve got fifteen minutes before the setup crew wants to check the lighting.”
Minji takes me deeper, her eyes locked on mine, challenging me to keep my composure. Fuck.
“I’m good!” I manage, threading my fingers through her silky hair. “Perfect, actually.”
I hear Tabitha’s footsteps retreating, and Minji increases her pace, her hands gripping my thighs. The danger, the thrill of possibly being discovered, pushes me to the edge faster than I expected. I bite down on my fist to stifle a groan as pleasure rockets through me, my body shuddering as Minji takes everything I give her.
When she stands up, she looks completely composed, with only a satisfied gleam in her eyes and slightly swollen lips hinting at what just happened. “There,” she says, straightening up. “Consider your nerves eased.”
I pull her against me, claiming her mouth with mine. “You’re going to pay for that later,” I promise against her mouth, and her eyes widen slightly. “I promise I won’t edge you.”
“Well, in that case, I can’t wait.”
I hastily make myself decent, fumbling with my zipper.
“Showtime,” she sings, reaching to straighten my collar.
I catch her hand before she can step away. “Because I’m a gentleman, I’ll give you a heads up, but tonight I’m taking your ass.”
Her breath hitches, and I watch her pupils dilate with desire. “Is that a promise or a threat?”
“Both, but I promise to take care of you every step of the way,” I murmur, stealing a final taste of her lips before stepping through the curtain.
The signing was a runaway success,nothing like the stiff San Fran events I’d braced for. Readers arrived with dog-eared copies of every book I’d written, not just the latest. But the real surprise was how quickly Minji became the center of attention. Tabitha orchestrated it perfectly, winking as she vanished to ‘chat with the events coordinator.’ Minji took over, uncapping Sharpies and sliding books my way like she’d done it a hundred times.
The questions started out innocent but soon drifted into the personal. “So, who’s this gorgeous woman?” a middle-aged reader asked, eyeing Minji as I signed her battered paperback. The question rippled through the crowd, heads turning, whispers buzzing. Minji shot me a look—half disbelief, half amusement—before answering with cool poise, “I’m just a divorce attorney, helping out a friend.”
Her answer unleashed chaos. “Oh my God, you’re Sophia from his upcoming bookLove and Lawsuits.” The woman squealed, hand to her chest. Instantly, half a dozen readers abandoned the line, swarming Minji with phones at the ready. She glanced at me, half-panicked, half-laughing, then faced the crowd with courtroom composure. She fielded their questions,never confirming or denying their wild theories about being my muse.
By the time we reach the hotel, my phone is exploding. #MinjisLaw is trending, flooded with selfies of her dazzling smile. The woman who once dismissed romance novels as ‘contractual fantasies’ now has book club invites piling up in my direct messages. Watching her charm my readers stirs something unexpected in me, pride, and maybe something more.
Back in our hotel room, Minji is tipsy—Tabitha’s doing—after a round of celebratory drinks. I can’t tell if I should be concerned or just enjoy how uninhibited she becomes, her laughter infectious. I half-expect her to collapse in the elevator after all the limoncello spritzes and the whirlwind of attention, but she’s buzzing with energy. The moment the door shuts, she makes a beeline for the minibar.
“Inadmissible,” she proclaims, brandishing a tiny bottle of hotel gin. “But I’ll allow it.” She waves it at me with mock authority, cheeks flushed, her usual composure melting into something softer and more alluring.
“You know those cost twenty bucks a shot, right?” I’m not trying to seem like a penny pincher, but damn. However, it doesn’t matter now she’s already downed it, grimacing at the taste.
“Worth it.” She tosses the empty bottle on the floor and rummages for tonic. “God, I needed this.” She sighs, finally sinking onto the mattress. The glass bottle dangles from her fingers, cool droplets glistening on her thigh.
“Had fun?” I ask, stepping in until I’m standing between her knees.
She looks up, lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile. “You’ve got two interviews tomorrow, and you’re still trying to seduce me.”
“A gentleman has to have principles.” I cup her face, my thumb tracing her lower lip. My need for her is a physical ache. I want to memorize every version of Minji Lee—the steely professional and the wild woman before me now. The glass bottle is still in her grip, and when her knuckles graze the front of my pants. “Careful,” I warn, but she’s already unbuttoning my pants.
“I want to try something.” Her words slur slightly. “Don’t move.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I stand perfectly still, watching her. She downs the rest of the gin and makes a production of licking the dribbled drop from her lip. She slides my pants and underwear down, releasing my dick, stroking it with both hands as I brace myself on the dresser behind her. Then she takes the cold, wet rim of the bottle and presses it right to that spot beneath the head, the chilled glass a stark contrast to the heat already pulsing through me.
The first touch makes my knees buckle, but she holds me steady, smiling up with wicked intent. I have no defense against her when she’s like this. She moves the bottle up and down with slow, lingering friction, switching between the cold glass and the heat of her mouth. “You’re beautiful when you’re trying not to beg,” she murmurs. I want to tell her I’d beg her until I lost my voice, but I can’t speak at all right now.
I grip the dresser, my fingers tangled in her hair, careful not to break her focus. She turns it into a game, seeing how close she can get me to losing control. She switches between hot and cold, her tongue swirling, the cold glass tracing the ridge, making me tremble. When she tightens her throat around me, I see white and have to bite down to keep quiet.
She eases off at the last possible second, letting me slide from her mouth. My dick bobs helplessly in front of her painted lips.She clicks the bottle down on the nightstand, wipes her mouth, and grins.
“Not so cocky now, are you?” She leans into the word, dragging her tongue along her upper teeth. I shudder.
“You’re wicked,” I moan, off-balance.
