Page 18 of Sacred Vow
“Oh, believe me,” I say. “The pleasure is all mine.”
A hint of a smile pulls at the corner of his lips when his son’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife. “What the fuck is happening here?”
Caesar holds on to my hand for a second longer than necessary before finally pulling away with a slight laugh. His gaze shifts to his son. “Nothing at all, Son,” he says before striding toward the bar and helping himself. A moment of silence passes as he fixes himself a drink, and after taking a long sip, his gaze shifts backto mine. “Tell me, Tilly. Has Zephyr here been using my home to impress you?”
A teasing smile pulls across my lips as I glance toward Zephyr. “He’s a red-blooded man. Of course he has.”
“And is it working?”
“No.”
Caesar arches a brow, and the silent laughter in his eyes sends me spiraling so much deeper. “Oh? Why not?”
“Because I’m not the kind of woman who can be bought,” I tell him. “Your home is absolutely magnificent. It could impress even the harshest critics, but it’s not what would make me come back for more.”
“And may I ask what would make you come back for more?”
A grin stretches across my face, and there’s no denying what my answer is, but something tells me that screamingYOUR DICKisn’t appropriate, so instead, I’ll just let that one hang silently in the air between us.
“I see,” Caesar responds as Zeph practically vibrates with pride.
“Okay, have you interrogated Tilly enough, or would you like to keep drilling her?”
Oh dear God. Does Zeph not even see what he’s doing to me? How can he not see that the idea of his father drilling me is the only thing keeping me conscious right now? How can he not smell my desperation in the air? I know Caesar does. I can see it in his eyes. He’s like a lion preparing to attack, getting ready to take what he wants, and damn it, I’ll let him.
Caesar laughs. “I suppose I could take it easy on her,” he rumbles, his gaze sweeping back to mine. “But you don’t strike me as the type of woman who likes it when a man goes easy, are you, Miss Bardot?”
I shake my head. “Not even a little bit.”
“That’s what I thought. I’ll have to keep giving it to you hard.”
The cocky grin on my face matches the one on his. “Oh, you have no idea what you’re getting yourself involved with. Whatever you’ve got, I can handle it.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Caesar looks proud of himself as he strides out of the living room with his drink, and I’m all too aware of every step he takes, especially the ones that take him sailing right by me. As he goes, his eyes linger on mine. He’s too much, and while Zeph sits in the opposite corner of the room, somehow completely oblivious to the tension in the air and the second meaning behind every word that was just uttered, all I can do is crumble.
I fall onto the couch and reach for my drink, needing a moment to calm my racing heart.
“So,” Zeph says, as I hear his father disappear deeper into the massive house. “You actually down to stay for dinner?”
“You promised to scratch an itch until it no longer existed, and I intend to make you keep your word,” I tell him. “Because suddenly that itch is more potent than it’s ever been, and if you don’t do something about it soon, I’m pretty sure I’ll explode.”
“You don’t need to tell me twice,” Zeph says, springing up from the couch. He launches toward me, his arms circling around me and forming a protective cage as we crash down against the cushions.
A loud squeal tears out of me but quickly morphs into a satisfied groan when his lips come down on my neck. They roam over my sensitive skin, his hand shooting up my shirt and to my aching breasts.
His thumb flicks across my pebbled nipple, sending hot waves of electricity shooting through my core. My back arches off the couch, and he takes advantage of the moment, bunching my shirt into his other hand and whipping it over my head.
His hands scoop behind my back to unlatch my bra, and within seconds, he throws it over the back of the couch. Zeph’slips roam lower, and he sucks my nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak.
“God, yes,” I breathe.
I scramble for Zeph’s shirt, pulling it over his head and throwing it over the back of the couch, probably somewhere alongside my shirt and bra. He reaches between my legs, cupping my pussy over my jeans, and grinds his palm against my clit.
“You sure about this?” he asks. “We can go somewhere a little more private if you want.”
I shake my head, the thought of Mr. Silver Fox walking in to watch me riding his son, sending a wicked thrill shooting through my body and spurring me on. “I’m good right here,” I tell him. “Unless you’re not.”
