The way she feels.
The smell of her.
The tremor of her bottom lip.
“I want you to come for me, Arloe,” I mutter in her ear. “Can you do that?”
She nods with her palms on the desk again, and I lean back to look at her.
My wrist moves faster, and her pussy cries out for me. The sound of her wetness fills the air as she contracts her muscles and falls back on the hard surface.
“Ah, fuck,” she lets out.
It’s a weak plea, but flows through me nonetheless.
“That’s my girl. Let me hear you.”
I continue fucking her with my fingers, a groan trapping itself in my throat.
“I’m—” She pauses to breathe, a long harsh inhale to brace herself. “You’re—you’re going to make me ruin this dress.”
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “You think I give a fuck about this dress? Now come, gorgeous, and call my name when you do.”
And she does.
“E—Easton,” she bellows out around the explosion that is her climax.
Her back arching, rising off the cold desk as she twists her head from side to side. Her legs tighten around my wrist, locking me between her thighs, and I push them back open so I can see her pussy convulse. She doesn’t fight me.
She continues to come—long, hard, and violently. And when she’s done, when I’m certain I’ve wrung her dry, I pull out of her soaked cunt. Pride fills my chest, and satisfaction is evident in my grin.
Arloe lies there, sated and spent until she can breathe again. I step back, picking up her torn panties from the floor, and use them to wipe her arousal from my rings. I yank the dark-green pocket square from my breast pocket and replace it with her underwear.
I offer her a hand, but she ignores it as she lifts herself and scoots off the desk. My ears take in the music again and the voices from patrons outside the door. She notices it, too, and I can see the slight panic in her eyes when she darts them to the door, probably worried they heard us.
I huff with a smirk and adjust the sleeves of my tux. “Now, we have an event to finish.”
Arloe shimmies her dress in place and looks around until her sight lands on an object on the desk. I notice the sharp letter opener sticking out from the pen holder and my back stiffens.
Don’t be stupid, amore, I think, and grip the handle of the gun tucked into my pants at my back.
She reaches past the object, to retrieve a large tan rubber band, and I relax. My brows knit tight and I watch her, confused, but then it all registers. Arloe secures her hair into a messy ponytail.
“Go,” she shrugs with more attitude than I like toward the door.
But I do as she instructs and hold it open for her, a grin on my lips as we slip into the crowd.
Chapter Eight
Easton
The rest of the night has been uneventful. I’ve shaken hands, made small talk, and watched Arloe. You would think she’d be more relaxed after coming all over my hand, but her feisty attitude hasn’t left yet.
Everything comes to an end, and my brother makes one last thank you announcement, I take that as my cue to leave. “Come, amore,” I say and lead her toward the entrance.
Once we make it outside, I wrap my arm around her shoulders and we wait for my car to be brought to the front. The night air has turned bitter and cold, and all it makes me think of is my father. The thought of him alone pisses me off because here I am, a beautiful woman in tow, and he still assaults my mind. His requests, his rules, his fucking voice.
“Are you going to tell me what lies behind those curtains yet?” Arloe asks from beside me, pulling me back to reality.
