Page 53 of Mob Knight

Joey

How the hell am I supposed to concentrate now?

I’ve been thinking that since Cormac gave me another searing kiss and a slap on the ass, before holding my car door open for me to get back in. I thought it the entire way back to the office. I thought it the entire time I sat in a staff meeting. I’m still thinking it as I take a cab to Obsidian.

He offered to pick me up, but I don’t want another uncomfortable situation like last night in case things go to shit again. I don’t relish being stuck in a car with him if I don’t want to see or hear him. I hedge my bets with the cab. I don my mask before I get out of the vehicle and look around. The moment I shut the door, Cormac steps out of a shadow with his mask on. There’s no way I could confuse him, even with his entire face and hair covered. I’ve been with him once, but I already know his body. It’s his bearing—his stance and walk. It’s captivating and hypnotic in its pure masculinity.

If I had panties on, they’d be soaked. Instead, it’s the inside of my thighs. I glance down to ensure my coat covers the parts of me the real world doesn’t need to see. He meets me morethan halfway while allowing him to remain mostly out of sight of anyone walking down the street. He slides his arm around my waist and fists my hair. Even in the near darkness, his emerald eyes stand out. With holes only for his eyes and mouth, he should be unrecognizable. There’s no doubting who he is when he kisses me.

“Cailín—”

“Please, sir, can we just go inside?”

He sweeps his gaze over the surrounding area before looking down at me.

“Sir, I’m too impatient. That’s why I want to go in.”

“And if I want to make you wait until I’m ready?”

I look below his belt and grin beneath my lacey mask that covers me from mid-forehead to the end of my nose and over my cheeks. I cross my wrists behind my back and lean to whisper to him.

“You might want to make me wait, but I don’t think you want to wait.”

“Mmm. You might be right.”

He cups my jaw, and I wonder what suggestion he read into that somewhat bungled and ambiguous comment. He kisses me again before we turn toward the door. His hand rests at the small of my back like yesterday. There’s a coat check near the door, so we stop. He helps me off with my trench coat. His eyes sparkle with approval at my wetlook style dress. The way it hangs on me—gathered in some parts and clingy in others—gives the appearance of the dress being wet and sticking to me.

I’ve had it for a while, but only pulled the tags off today. It’s sheer, so he can see my demi bra, garter belt, and fishnet thigh highs beneath it. The one part that isn’t transparent is over my pussy and ass. It leaves something to the imagination, so he can’t see that I’m not wearing panties. The way he watches me makes me feel like a million bucks. It’s as though no one else exists.Like I’m the only person in the world right now. Even though I’m certain his situational awareness is so keen, he could describe everyone on the first floor.

“Little one, you’re stunning. You must have been one of the great Renaissance artists’ muses in a past life.”

“Sir, you exaggerate. I know the Irish are renowned storytellers, but that’s a ‘I caught a fish this big.’”

His gaze hardens as he pauses halfway through unbuttoning his shirt. He leans so close his lips brush my hair when he whispers.

“Are you telling your Dom he’s wrong? Are you arguing with me, little girl?”

“No, sir. I appreciate the compliment. It’s just over the top.”

“I know you think you do, but I will punish you.”

“What? Why?”

I jerk away, but a swat to my ass makes me freeze.

“If you don’t believe the compliment, then you don’t believe me. If you don’t believe me, you must be calling me a liar. That’s part one. Part two is not being gracious when given something. Downplaying the value of what I say means you can’t accept it in the nature I gave it. Next time I give you a compliment, say ‘thank you, sir’ and leave it at that. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

Goosebumps rise on my arms as I fear I’ve ruined the night by earning a punishment before he’s even gotten his shirt off. He slides it off, his pecs and shoulder muscles rippling as he moves. I want to lick him like a lollipop should be licked. His black tank top stretches across his chest. I know the thick straps over his shoulders hide tattoos. I know a large shamrock with an O in the center sits on his left pec. There are likely other women here—like Deirdre—who know the secrets his shirt hides, but I feel like I’m part of an exclusive club. I want to remain a part of that, but I pissed him off.

He hands the shirt over to the attendant, who puts it on the same hanger as my coat. He pockets the slip before his hand slides around my waist and down to my ass. He squeezes it so hard I squeal.

“You apologized, Esme. You’re forgiven. That’s unconditional. I’m going to punish you, so you know I’m displeased, and hopefully, it deters you from making the same mistake twice. But I won’t hold this against you, and it doesn’t change how much I want to be with you.”

He remembered to use my middle name rather than my real one. The protected anonymity along with the relief that he’s not angry eases my worry about returning to a club I don’t know.

“Thank you, sir.”

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