She deserves better than being bought at some auction like livestock.
And she’ll have better.
In a slow, smooth motion, I draw my fingers from her slick pussy. It takes all my willpower, but they do it. They’re soaked from her wetness. I touch them to her lips and she sucks them clean without a second of hesitation.
Her warm mouth makes me think of so many ways it will be used for my pleasure. So many possibilities. So many fantasies wrapped up in one, simple little suck.
“I wish you hadn’t stopped,” she half-whispers as I pull my fingertips from her lips. “I just hope I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Fuck, no. I don’t think you could do anything wrong.”
“But I still want you.” She winks. “Right now. Just like this.” She adds a shimmy of her hips that makes me fucking want her—need her—right down into the hot marrow of my bones.
But I play it cool. I don’t answer her at first. Don’t say a word. Instead, I straighten her up in front of the dressing room mirror. I adjust the thigh highs, working the lace between my fingers, feeling the smoothness of her flesh.
I take my time, savoring every sensation, then fasten the remaining straps and pull the black sequin dress back down. It fits her like a glove. Like it was made for her.
Then I lean in, and kiss the soft, white flesh at the nape of her neck, the flavor of her skin flowing through me, becoming part of me.
“Patience is a fucking virtue, Princess. Just you wait.”
I get us out of the merciless fucking dressing room before I snap, winding our way toward the music, and I pull her onto the dance floor in the enormous ballroom, feeling her up here in front of everyone. Touching every inch I can reach, making damn sure everyone understands she’s mine.
I memorize the small of her back, the hourglass of her hips. Every curve, every valley. She’s slim, but soft and lush in all the right places.
We move together like we’ve had a lifetime membership at Arthur fucking Murray and I note the way some of the other couples are looking at us with jealousy in their eyes.
I adore the way she moves. Confident, passionate. I twirl her once, then again. Then she spins herself back into me, wiggling her ass into my throbbing cock, which nestles fucking perfectly into her softness.
She reaches back as I tighten my embrace, running her fingers down my cheek. But just as I’m about to spin her back around, her body stiffens and then she turns to face me.
“Uh no,” she says.
Her change in demeanor has my senses on alert.
“What’s wrong?”
“Someone I know.” The playful, seductive purr in her voice is gone. “And someone who could get me in so much trouble.”
The music changes, slow and intense. I hold her closer, making her a part of me, so whatever or whoever might think they can get her in trouble, knows they’re going to have to go through me first.
“Who is it?” I growl, swallowing as my fingers twitch, ready to turn to fists.
“Blue suit, six o’clock. A business associate of my dad’s. Shit.” She tucks her head against me and I fucking feel powerful. More powerful than ever before, even when I held someone’s fucking life in my hands.
I see the guy. Balding, respectable, like a high-end tax attorney. Looks harmless enough, but what matters is that she’s uncomfortable.
The problem is that the guy is right by the main exit. I can’t see an easy way to get her past him without him getting a clear view. Unless…
I press my lips to her ear, spinning her as we dance to guarantee she’s facing away from whoever he is.
“Do you trust me?”
Her warm brown eyes crinkle in a smile. She slips her arms under my tux jacket and loops her fingers under my waist band. Cheek to my chest, eyelashes dusting my collar.
“Probably shouldn’t. But I do.”
I tip her face up to mine, taking her cheeks between thumb and forefinger.
“Then take off your shoes and pick them up.”
She gives me a puzzled look. “My shoes?”
“Your shoes. Right now. No more fucking questions. Do as you’re told.”
She squints, and her eyes glisten with excitement.
“Has anybody ever told you that you’re a tiny bit rude?” she whispers, as if she’s telling me a special secret.
A tiny bit?
I ignore her question because it’s sort of rhetorical and instead re-affirm my order. “Shoes. Now.”
Never breaking my gaze, she steps out of her heels, bending down farther than necessary with her ass high, giving me a view of where the straps pull at the tops of the thigh highs and my dick throbs like a toothache. I give her ass a little swat to hurry her up and she stands back up, one heel hooked on each finger, giving me this ‘So now what?’ trusting look.