“I don’t deserve it, I guess.” She shrugged.
He wasn’t above using a girl for his pleasure, but to never let her get off? That didn’t sound like Ambrose’s kink. And was it affecting her self-esteem? He could almost hear it in her voice—doubt mixed with frustration. His heart twisted. What was Ambrose thinking? Maybe he’d talk to him about it later, if he could figure out how to ask without seeming like an interfering ex-boyfriend.
Not that he wanted Ambrose to touch Kate ever again. The statement about fucking her later nagged at him. It had been crass and obviously designed to bother him, and it had worked.
“That’s between you and Mr. Fabulous,” Banner grumbled, then walked away. What he wanted to do was hold her, tell her how perfect she was, then make her come all night so she knew it without a fucking doubt. He pushed those thoughts away. This was going to kill him.
He could feel her walking two steps behind, like a good girl. Everything she did now was just fucking perfect. Almost as though she’d been trained to suit his preferences.
Damn it, Ambrose.
The great room had turned into a different party. People had begun shedding clothing while he’d been down the hall. A few women walked around topless now, wearing only underwear, and Banner was one of the few men still wearing a shirt.
Kate smothered a laugh. “I think you’re overdressed.”
“It’s funny you should say that.” He unbuttoned his white dress shirt and removed it, sticking it on top of the entertainment unit. When he turned to Kate she was staring at his chest as if she’d never seen it before. “What?”
She averted her eyes and smiled to herself. “Uh, nothing. You’re just . . . well-made.”
“Well-made?” He barked a laugh. “Thanks. I’ll have to remember to thank my mother.”
Her gaze drifted lower. “I thought you had a no leather pants rule.”
“It was more a guideline than a rule.”
“Hmm.” Kate had gotten over her momentary bout of shyness and ogled him. She reached out a hand and drew a tickling line from his side to just below his navel, following the waistline of his pants. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice the bulge she was encouraging.
“Do they look stupid?”
“No. On a lesser man they’d look pretentious, but on you they’re . . . quite . . . fitting.” Her eyes had slid to his obvious hard-on. Amused, she covered her face with her hands, as though she couldn’t believe what she’d said.
“Ha-ha, funny girl. Are you wearing a bra under that?”
Her amusement faded instantly. “Well, no. I couldn’t with this dress.”
“Take your dress off.”
“What?” she squeaked. “Here?”
“Now.”
“But . . .”
“Are you wearing underwear?”
Her mouth opened but no sound came out. “I . . . Yes.”
“Take off the dress.”
“No, I couldn’t.” She clutched the bodice of her dress as if she thought he’d tear it off. The thought had crossed his mind.
He lowered his voice to a growl. “Are you going to be a bad girl, Kate?”
Her gaze flew to his, and he was lost in the warm, green depths. The rebellion there faded, dissipated, and was gone.
“Such a good girl. Are you going to let everyone see your pretty body?”
Kate dropped to her knees, but didn’t break eye contact.