Page 169 of Sexting His Assistant

“It’s expensive. Your card paid for it. I’m protecting your investment.”

“My investment is not the bag.”

She goes quiet.

I let that sit for a moment. Then I reach across the console and place my hand on her thigh.

Her breath catches immediately. “Luka.”

“Relax.”

“That word has never relaxed anyone.”

My thumb moves slowly over her skin. “Try.”

“We’re in a car.”

“I noticed.”

“You’re driving.”

“I also noticed that.”

“And your security is behind us.”

“They cannot see through the seats.”

Her laugh comes out shaky. She looks at the road, then at my hand. “You are insane.”

“No. You are thinking too much.”

“I’m going to a gala with my boss, who I’m secretly sleeping with. Of course I’m thinking too much. This is insane⁠—”

I slide my hand a little higher. Her sentence dies.

The skin under my palm is warm. Soft. Her thighs part a fraction before she catches herself and presses them together again. I almost smile.

“Don’t,” she says.

“I said nothing.”

“You looked like you were about to feel very pleased with yourself.”

“I’m driving. My attention is on the road.”

“Liar.”

“Yes.”

I keep my eyes forward as my hand moves under the slit of her dress. She’s breathing differently now, quieter, more careful. The traffic light ahead turns red. I stop behind a line of cars, check the mirrors, then let my fingers move higher.

Her hand clamps around my wrist. “Luka,” she whispers.

“Tell me to stop.”

Her lips part. She does not say it.

The light is still red.