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“Poor baby,” I whisper, the fake sympathy only making her shake a little harder in my hands, practically trembling. Running my nose over her neck, I’m careful to stay near her left ear, even though she has her hearing aid in. “You need me to choose?”

She nods like a bobblehead, melting against the wood of the door when I let go of her completely, sinking to my knees in front of her. My fingers ghost down her dress and under it, they find the end of the black mesh like I knew I would. Fucking thigh-high stockings. As if I wasn’t rock hard already.

I lift one slender leg up over my shoulder, then the other, using her weight against the door to lift her entirely by the mass of my shoulders, spreading her wide. My hands grasp the outside of her thighs, rings leaving impressions on her porcelain skin I’m sure.

“Pretty baby,” I hum, pressing my nose into the white lace of her panties, before using my teeth to pull them to the side. She gasps for relief, her fingers diving into the strands of my hair, just long enough for her to thread and pull.

Which she does, the second my tongue presses flat against the seam of her lips. I part them, slow and careful with the sharp point of my tongue. For a moment, I miss my piercings—the ones on my lip and tongue, as if that might make this better.

But I also know I’m fucking good at this. And I know Lily LaBlanc’s body better than my own. The same way she knows mine.

Which means I know she’s a hair-fucking-trigger.

“Tor,” she whines again, a breathier sound. She’s already close.

I’m specific in how I eat Lily out; I always have been. Mouth and two fingers, my other hand on her low belly, making humming sounds against her. Sometimes, when she’s too keyed up, I slip a finger somewhere else to distract her enough to last a bit longer. I’d prefer to tease her, to draw it out, and speak filth in her ear because I know what it does to her. I want to take my time down here. But it’s time we don’t have.

My tongue flattens again, hard and insistent on her clit, circling slowly but every ounce of pressure I dare, before one of my hands darts up to her throat with a warning squeeze. The movement makes her body slip down, only making my mouth press more intensely to her.

“You can’t be loud,” I say. “I’ll stop.”

“I can’t—Toren—”

“Bite down on my hand then,” I say quickly, frustrated that I’m even talking when my face could be buried in her cunt. “Come on, Lil. I know you’re already close.”

She bites down, her little teeth piercing against my skin. I wonder briefly if she’ll make me bleed.

And then she comes, clenching down on nothing. I could give her my fingers, but I don’t want to. I can’t come in my pants before this goddamn dinner party, so she’s only getting this—even if she already looks ready to beg me for more as I slip her down off my shoulders.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, then lick the excess while Lily watches, eyes glazed. Grabbing her neck in my hands, gentle but insistent, I pull her closer. “Wash up. Count to one hundred. Then you can come out.”

Already knowing she won’t make it all the way to one hundred, I head out and into the bar area where Holden is currently holding court with Sahara as his only audience.

“Tor,” he greets. His face is relaxed enough that I don’t worry about my absence alongside Lily. “LaBlanc took Harris to show him something in his office. I wasn’t paying attention.”

I nod, pouring myself a glass of water and refilling Lily’s half-empty champagne flute. “I’m starving.”

Holden’s eyebrows rise, as do the corners of his mouth, practically twinkling with innuendo. “Really? I thought you had a snack.”

Shoulders hiking, I turn to snip back at his playful antics, when someone clears their throat. Lily, looking only somewhat put back together. She’s not flushed anymore, all the creases smoothed from her dress, but her hair is slightly lopsided in the pearl clip.

“They’re waiting in the dining room for us,” Lily says, eyes looking for a long time at Sahara Harris, at the proximity I’ve allowed with her. She fidgets, her fingers playing with the hem of her dress against her thigh.

Holden pushes off from where he was leaning, stepping forward and offering Mrs. Harris his arm dashingly. She takes it and they stalk off, leaving Lily across from me. I hand her the flute of sparkling gold liquid and offer her my arm, which makes a bright, bursting smile pull across her still-swollen mouth.

Maybe this time can be different.

“Hey,” I say, grabbing her wrist and keeping her back as the others leave.

For a moment, it’s just like a fantasy I’ve had a million times over. Her dressed up on my arm at some fancy NHL event, showing her off. Perfect. Ready to be undone by my hand the second we’re alone.

I picture it again, reframing the daydream that’s invaded my head since I was sixteen to the image of her here, now. Real and in my grip once more.

“I am happy,” I say, “that you’re here. And I’m done fighting it, okay? I . . . I missed you, Lil.”

“Really?” she asks, and her eyes are so hopeful, it’s impossible not to feel it, too, bubbling in the space between us like the champagne in her glass.

“Really.”