Page 40 of Lady and the Hitman
I didn’t hesitate.
And that terrified me.
But I did it anyway.
The fabric of my dress shifted as I parted my thighs under the table. The cool air brushed against heat. Slickness.
He didn’t touch me.
Not there.
His fingers stayed just shy, stroking the inside of my thigh with maddening restraint.
“You’re still soaking,” he said, the words so soft I felt them more than heard them.
I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe.
He moved a single fingertip higher.
Still not quite touching.
“I could take you right now,” he said. “Push your dress up. Slide inside you slow. Make you ride my cock while you try to stay quiet.”
I whimpered, nearly knocking my wineglass over in the process.
He caught it without looking.
Set it down gently.
Then smiled at me like he hadn’t just said the filthiest thing I’d ever heard.
The waiter approached with the main course.
I nearly panicked.
But his hand withdrew before anyone saw.
He leaned back, glass in hand, cool and composed.
I adjusted in my seat, heart pounding, thighs clenched.
The scallops arrived, plated like art. I took a bite, thechampagne sauce delicate and sweet, but it barely registered.
Because he was watching me again.
Not my face.
My mouth.
He lifted his glass, eyes still on my lips. “You taste like trouble,” he said.
I swallowed hard. “You don’t know me.”
“I know enough.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”
“That you’ve never let go like this. That you’re scared of how much you want to.”
