“A good boy?” I turn my head, and our faces are inches apart.
Instead of answering, he just hums and slips his fingers beneath the lace of my thong, pinching my clit between his thumb and forefinger, making my hips lift off the seat.
The contrast between his calm, effortless posture above the table and the intense, scandalous heat of his hand completely unraveling me under it is entirely maddening.
Just as I lean in closer to kiss him, his hand disappears but stays on my leg.
“Sup, Vaughn,” Aston says with a cocky edge to his voice.
“Hey, buddy, I’m gonna take off,” Brody says, smirking, looking between Aston and me. “You good?”
“Yeah, man,” Aston says, lifting his chin in a nod. “I’ll give you a buzz tomorrow, and we can meet at the gym.”
He’s talking like he didn’t just have his hands in my panties. It’s maddening that he can act so unaffected.
“Sounds good, brother. Eva, see you soon, yeah?” Brody winks at me and lifts a hand as he turns to walk away.
“Bye, Brody,” I manage to squeak out with a nod.
I lift my glass to take a drink, my throat suddenly dry, then set it on the table with a definite clink when I feel Aston’s fingers tugging at the string of my thong, then feel the snap of elastic against my hip when it breaks.
“Did you just rip my thong?” I gasp.
“Yep,” he says, smiling, and moves to the other side and breaks that strap too.
“Aston,” I breathe, feeling entirely too turned on in this very public setting.
“Lift,” he demands, pulling at the lace covering my pussy.
I do as he asks and lift my hips off the bench as he pulls them off me and stuff them in his pocket.
“Is stealing underwear a kink of yours or something?” I lift a brow.
“Only yours, Honeybee,” he whispers against my neck, as his fingers move back between my thighs. Instinctively, I open my legs wider, craving his touch.
With my eyes on the room, I reach under the table and wrap my fingers around his wrist, and instead of pushing his hand away, I hold it in place. “You’re a bad influence, Griffith.”
“By the way you’re soaking my fingers, I’d say you like it,” Aston says gruffly, his calm exterior crumbling as he pushes a long finger deep inside of me, hitting my g-spot.
My hips rock into his hand, trying to create the friction I need, but then he pulls his finger out. I squeeze his wrist and turn my head sharply to look at his face. “Aston,” I say breathily. Our faces are just inches apart, and I’m seconds away from covering his mouth with mine.
He pushes his finger back inside me, and circles my clit with his thumb. His eyes are locked on mine, his blue eyes burning with desire. “This what you want, Eva?”
“Yes,” I pant, my inner walls tightening around his finger.
Aston’s eyes flare with satisfaction, his thumb putting pressure on my clit before his hand stills, resting possessively over my pussy.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
“So … do you want to stay here and let the entire room listen as you scream out my name, or should we get out of here?” he asks, his eyes dropping to my lips before meeting my eyes again with an unyielding intensity.
“Come back to my place,” I say without hesitation. “Now.”
Aston doesn’t give me a chance to change my mind. He pulls his hand out from under my dress, stands, grabs my YSL clutch from the table, and offers me the hand that was just torturing me. We slip out of the VIP section unnoticed and pass through the heavy doors to the cool, New York City night air.
He had taken a car service into the city, so he pulls out his phone and dials the driver. Within minutes, a black SUV pulls up to the curb. He opens the door for me, then slides in after me.
The ride to my downtown loft apartment in Tribeca was full of tension. Inside the car, away from the noise, the air between us is thick. Aston sits close, his large hand resting on my thigh, his thumb burning hot circles on my skin. Every time the car hits a pothole or breaks suddenly, he squeezes my knee.
