Page 23 of Kiss Me, Mr. Bridge

The agreement I made.

I lean back against the leather seat, my fingers tracing the hem of the pale green panties I specially picked out for her. Lucia’s breath hitches as I slide my finger along the delicate fabric, teasing her without actually touching her most sensitive areas.

“Please,” she whimpers, hips shifting, wanting more.

“Are you asking for more?” I murmur, my lips brushing the shell of her ear.

She nods, eyes half-lidded. “Just touch me.”

Slowly, I press my knuckles along her slit, applying firm pressure against the thin material of her panties.

She lets out a shuddering gasp, her thighs trembling.

“I want you needy and desperate,” I murmur, my free hand gripping her hip to hold her in place.

“I am,” she breathes. “I wanted to touch myself at home, but I couldn’t. I want you to do it.”

Arousal spikes through me at her words.

Her hips tilt upward, silently begging for more friction.

I oblige, slipping my fingers beneath the lace to stroke her slick folds. Lucia whimpers, her whole body quivering.

I press my fingertips against her clit, rubbing in slow, teasing circles. Lucia’s head falls back, a moan slipping from her parted lips.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” I murmur, nuzzling the side of her neck. “Let me take care of you. Ask me to please you.”

She squirms, chasing my touch. “Please me, Mr. Bridge. I need more.”

“Good girl,” I praise, my voice rough with desire. “So wet and needy for me.”

She moans and I silence her when I plunge two fingers deep inside her aching heat. Lucia cries out, her inner muscles fluttering around me.

“That’s it, baby,” I growl against her cheek. “Come for me.”

And with a shuddering cry, her hand grips onto mine, and she comes for me like the good girl she is.

Ten minutes later, I settle my hand on the small of Lucia’s back as I guide her through the dimly lit restaurant to the rear table I booked.

We slide into a secluded booth, our thighs brushing together as I shift closer. The privacy of our tucked-away corner feels intimate, and I don’t worry about being caught.

A waiter approaches, and I order a sharing platter of specialty dishes, along with a bottle of champagne. I want to indulge her, to make this an experience she’ll remember.

As the waiter departs, I turn to Lucia. The soft glow of candlelight casts a warm hue over her face. “So, tell me, what do you want out of life?”

She pauses, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “I’ve always wished I was an artist, you know. I loved art at college.” Her eyes light up as she speaks. “But my father pushed me into law. He said it was the practical choice. And I appreciate that now, but there’s still a part of me that dreams of traveling, especially Europe, visiting galleries and museums, immersing myself in the art world and the history of it.”

I can’t help but feel surprised by her admission. In all the conversations I’ve had with her father, he’s never mentioned her artistic aspirations.

The waiter returns, setting down the platter of delicacies and pouring two glasses of champagne. I handpick a few items from the sharing platter, placing them on Lucia’s plate, before I take a spicy prawn and lift my fork to her mouth. “Try this,” I say, my gaze fixed on her.

She takes a bite, her eyes widening in delight. “Mmm, this is amazing.”

My eyes dart from her eyes to her mouth as she savors the flavors, a small smile playing on my lips. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

Lucia turns to me, her green eyes shining. “What about you, Ronan? What do you want?”

I pause, considering my answer. “I have everything I want,” I say, but the words feel hollow, even to my own ears.

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