Page 9 of Fair Trade
A whispered “fuck” escapes her lips as her hands squeeze my thighs once more. But I’m not letting up. If she thought she could throw me off with her sexual innuendos before, she’s in for a rude awakening. Or, at the very least, a very sexy one.
“Tell me, love. If I were to slip my hand up your dress right now and slide my fingers over your pussy, how wet would you be, hmm?” Her eyes widen before she bites her bottom lip again. “Because the way you’re holding yourself back from outright grabbing my cock in public, I’d guess you’re fucking drenched.”
I place a single finger on her bare knee and trail it up her skin until I reach the hemline of her dress. Her breaths start to come out in short spurts, and I momentarily wonder if I could get away with getting her off right here at the bar.
But that would mean I’d have to share the sounds she makes when she comes with the rest of the bastards here, and for somegodforsaken reason, I’m feeling a bit too possessive to allow that to happen.
“Sweetheart, I need you to keep breathing so you can tell me how close I am to the truth.” She shifts oh so subtly, but again I miss nothing when it comes to her. I tsk. “It pains me that you’re trying to find some friction to ease the ache when I’m literallyright here.”
She glares at me. “Don’t be so smug about it. It’s a biological reaction.”
“Which part? Your pussy begging to be played with or your hands inching up even closer to my cock.”
She seems shocked to find that her hands have, in fact, traveled higher, and the jolt my cock makes at her nearness has the zipper of my trousers fighting for its life.
“Oh—I…” I place my hand over one of hers and let my other caress her cheek before settling on her chin, angling her face closer to mine.
I speak the words into her lips, featherlight touches too soft to be considered a kiss. “I’m flattered that you trust me, a perfect stranger, to be this close to you. I tell no lies when I say I’m honored to be allowed the privilege to taste your sweet breath on my lips. But please don’t test the final tethers of my restraint, because I promise you, I am no saint.”
She sucks in a breath, and me along with it. My lips drag across hers for no more than a few seconds. Yet it feels like the most erotic thing I’ve done in ages.
“Give. Me. Your. Name.” I stare at her lust-filled gaze, which I’m sure mirrors my own.
I swear she’s about to give it to me. Victory already tastes as sweet as the brief touch of her lips.
Until she tortures me with “No. Names.” I feel my sanity slipping right as she says, “But there is one thing I need you to tell me.”
“Anything. Name it.” I’ll tell her my fucking bank account number at this rate.
My house in the Hamptons?
My private jet?
Fuck. Anything, and it’s hers at this point.
But what she asks for instead?
Well, that might be the most satisfying request I’ve ever heard.
“Give me your room number.”
three
We barely make itto the room in one piece.
After my mystery man dropped five hundred-dollar bills as a tip for Jess, we were off in a blur of giggles and heated looks.
He held my hand firmly in his as we strode across the lobby and planted his hand on my lower back as we entered the elevator. I was sure he was going to pounce on me as soon as the doors closed, but a group of tourists entered at the last moment, prompting him to place his hand on my stomach, pressing my back into his front.
Whether it was to make sure I didn’t make a run for it or to torture my ass with the feel of his hardened cock, I’m not sure.
The doors opened on a random floor and the crowd exited, unaware of how close they’d been to watching a show more exciting than anything on Broadway.
His firm hold tightened on my front when we were alone, and the heady silence was almost enough to make me beg for an elevator quickie.
Luckily, the doors opened to the top floor, and he silently led me to the double doors of his room, murmuring “almost there” in my ear, as if he could read my prior thoughts.
I walk into the room and immediately admire the gorgeous suite we’ve stepped into. There’s a dining table set for eight people, an impressive living room with seating for a small crowd in front of a massive fireplace and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Central Park.
