I look in the living room mirror and barely recognize myself. And it’s not just because of the clothes. It’s my eyes. They’re bright and alive, like I’ve become a new woman.
“I have to text a pic to Cassi,” I giggle. “Is that okay?”
Dominic smirks and takes my phone from me. “Only if you let me take it.” I try not to blush as I pose for him. “Tilt your hip. That’s it.”
The camera snaps, and he taps the screen.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Sending a copy to myself first so I can start my collection.”
Yeah,nowI’m blushing. I text the pic to Cassi, and she instantly writes back:What!? How much did that cost? Who bought that for you?
Laughing, I write back.
You know who ;)
Dominic takes me to a restaurant that looks like something out of a movie. There’s no sign on the door and the maître d’ calls him Mr. Blackwood as he leads us to a private table in the back.
Low candles glow over white tablecloths. The menu doesn’t even have prices on it. I guess if you have to ask, you don’t deserve to be here.
I couldneverafford this. But the man I’m with? He could buy the building.
He orders for both of us. Food I can’t pronounce and wine I’ve never heard of. I was nervous about that, but the waiter doesn’t even act like he’s going to card me.
Dominic rests his hand on my thigh beneath the table, heavy and tough, like I’m an extension of him. The warmth from his palm radiates up my leg and through the tiny line of silk between my legs.
Halfway through our appetizer, his fingers start moving…
Not quickly, not dramatically. Justslowlycreeping up the inside of my thigh, exciting the sensitive skin, lifting the hem of my dress higher and higher, one centimeter at a time.
He’s teasing me. On purpose.
I take a sip of my wine and try to keep my face calm.
When his hand reaches the top of my thigh, his pinkie brushes against the thong he bought me, and I almost choke.
“How’s the wine?” he asks, his voice conversational, like he’s intentionally baiting me.
“It’s good,” I manage to say. “Yeah…good.”
It’s probably one of the best wines in the world and deserves a much better description. But I can barely think right now.
Not about anything other than what his fingers are doing.
There are people in this restaurant. And unlike at Dominic’s office, they can see us. There’s no smart glass here. It’s just me and him, sitting at a table.
“Dominic—” I start to say.
“Sir,”he corrects, his voice low enough that only I can hear. His fingertip traces the seam of my thong, caressing my sex through the damp lace. I realize just how wet I am as he moves up.
“Yes, sir,” I breathe. “We’re–in public.”
“Oh, I am aware,” he replies, his lips twisting into that arrogant, I-own-the-world smirk that I love so much.
He pulls the thong aside and slips two fingers through my wetness, parting my lips with such a skillful touch that I nearly scream. Golden electricity sweeps through me, igniting my nerve endings, causing my back to stiffen.
His thumb finds my clit—that sensitive nub he introduced me to—and applies pressure. Slow circles, precise accuracy, doingexactlywhat he knows I need.
