It's the same limo, but it feels different. Like it's ours.
We sit the same way, on the bench parallel to the car door, legs pressed together, eyes on the mirrored wall.
The reflection. My wine lips. The color smeared on his. The hickeys on my neck. From last time.
Or maybe this time.
"Indigo?" Ty runs his thumb over my skin.
It feels so fucking good. Too fucking good. "Who?"
He smiles.
It's rare for him. A real smile. And this is so real and broad and beautiful.
I want it so badly.
"I'm a little distracted." I make eye contact through the mirror. "Someone is keeping me on edge."
"Someone cruel."
"Very."
His smile widens. "I meant what I said."
"I'd think… that covers begging." My breath catches in my throat.
"For now."
Fuck.
He turns toward me. Looks me in the eyes. "What do you think about? When you fuck yourself?"
My cheeks flush.
"You're shy now, baby?"
"A little."
He brings his hand to my cheek. Runs his thumb over my temple.
It's more sweet than carnal, but it warms me all the same.
"I'd hate to send you home alone," he says.
"Would you?"
He nods.
"That doesn't seem fair. I tell you everything. You tell me nothing."
"You want a deal?"
I nod.
"A fantasy for a fantasy?"
"We keep trading until someone says uncle?"
His eyes flit to my lips, breasts, thighs. "If you go first."
I can do that. And I want to. I want to tell him. To drive him crazy. "I do think about you. Coming to my apartment. Surprising me," I say. "I'm wearing some slick silk robe. You knock. I answer. You don't say anything. You enter. Pin me to the wall, pull my robe aside, toy with my breast. Kiss me. Touch me. Fuck me."
"I could."
"Sienna would be home."
"When she's not."
My sex clenches. The image threatens to consume my brain. I fight to hold on to some hint of sense. "It won't be my apartment for much longer."
"No. But it is now."
"Maybe." For a moment, I see it. Me in a long purple robe, him in a black suit, pinning me to the wall, sucking on my nipple as he drives into me. I can feel the pressure of his hand. Smell his soap. Taste his skin.
Fuck.
I take a breath. Force myself to look him in the eyes. "Your turn."
"Any fantasy? Or one of you?"
"Do you think about other people?" I bite my tongue. "No. Don't answer that. I'm sure you do… That you think of her."
His smile disappears.
"But I don't want to hear it. I just… I want to hear if it's me. Or if it's no one in particular."
"I do think of you."
"When was the last time?"
"Last night."
Of course. I was teasing him last night. And he was teasing back. "Before that?"
"I thought about taking you home, ordering you to do away with your dress. To sit on my lap and fuck yourself for my viewing pleasure."
"And?"
"Then I threw you on the bed, on your stomach, and I fucked you until you were groaning my name."
Again, desire floods my senses. "What else?"
"That isn't enough?"
"Is it?" I place my hand on his thigh. Just above his knee. "Or do you need it harder? Rougher?"
"It's your turn."
It is. "If you asked, I'd take control. Climb into your lap and fuck you. I'd still like it. I don't need it rough to come. But I want it." It's strange, admitting it out loud. Admitting I'm going after my desire for the first time in forever.
Admitting I'm out of my fucking mind.
Did I really say yes for the money?
I need the cash, sure, but there are other ways of making money.
It's him. The feel of his presence, his touch, his kiss.
His fuck.
I force myself to look him in the eyes. "I want you in control. I want you pinning me to the bed, binding my wrists, ordering me to take your cock like a good girl." My chest flushes, but I press on. "I think about that. The way your hand felt around my throat. The rough edge to your voice when you purred, 'Come for me, baby.'"
His eyes stay glued to mine.
"For a long time, I tried not to think about you. Tried not to think about that. But I always go back to it. I always think of you when I fuck myself."
"You remember?"
"Remember. Or fantasize about more. Harder. Rougher. Riskier."
His pupils dilate. "Someone watching?"
"Sometimes."
"Watching us?"
"Watching us." I take a deep breath. "When I saw that picture of you at Paradise."
"That wasn't—"
"It was."
He tries to hold a poker face, but his eyes betray him. We both know it. Some paparazzi caught Ty's fuck of the night getting him off under the table.
"I was angry. You fell in love with Rory. I understood that, even if I hated it. But she left, and you came here, and still, you didn't call. And you were with some girl you barely knew… I was angry. And jealous. And I couldn't stop thinking about it. Imagining it was us. At some crowded bar. Dancing to throbbing electronic music. Then finding a quiet spot on the balcony where we have just enough privacy..."