Page 85 of Sinful Desires
But he’d stayed quiet.
He sat in that car like he hadn’t made me come twelve hours earlier. When he helped me out, I grabbed his hand. He held it too tightly. Then he let go, like touching me made him sick. He said something into his earpiece, nodded once, and motioned me forward.
I walked; he followed.
The silence was painful, so I decided to make him pay.
He’d banned me from sleeping with Jonathan, which was rich, considering he was the reason I was so goddamn desperate for sex in the first place.
I didn’t want Jonathan. I ached for Théo LeRoy, deep between my legs, breaking every rule he swore to follow.
But since I couldn’t have that, I’d picked the next best sin.
Jonathan Peers was pop’s golden boy, with a tongue so talented it practically had its own record deal. Girls said it was divine. That his mouth alone could make you believe in God.
So, if anyone could exorcise the sex-obsessed little demon in me, I figured it was the guy invited to events just because his oral game was stronger than most men’s careers.
I thought maybe if I let someone else worship me for a night, I’d stop fantasizing about what it would feel like to be fucked by the man who was paid to protect me, not ruin me.
I was wrong.
Because when I danced on Jonathan, grinding against him, his hands locked on my hips, my eyes foundhim.
LeRoy.
He’d sat a few steps away, drink raised to his mouth. Eyes fixed, jaw tight, knuckles pressed hard to the glass.
I was flushed with desire, breathless from the friction and the weight of his gaze. Jonathan leaned in, voice low and filthy,and I let my head fall back, eyes closed. But it wasn’t Jonathan I pictured. It was the man across the room. The one who never touched me, but owned every fucked-up thought in my head.
What I hadn’t expected was the punch. Quick. Brutal. Jonathan had hit the floor. LeRoy had followed me to the VIP suite and ground against me, dragging the heat between my legs up to my throat.
And now he was acting like it never happened.
Guess the bastard still didn’t know me.
He called me a brat? Fine. I would remind him what that actually looked like.
“Gracias,preciosa. The pictures are absolutely perfect. We have to run, I have another meeting,” Lucía said as she clicked off her camera.
Her assistant swept in, scooping up the laptop and stuffing everything into their bag.
“I’ll send the selects to your assistant and Victoria for approval.Adiós!”
“Thank you again, Lucía. It was an honor working with you,” I said, my voice bright and sugary as they walked out. The second the door clicked shut, the sweetness drained.
Now it was just me, LeRoy, and a towel hanging dangerously low on my hips.
A slow smile bloomed across my face. I adjusted my grip, cupping my bare chest with both hands. Then I let out a soft groan, tilting my head back, eyes fluttering shut.
“Mmm?…?I think I need help,” I murmured. “My head’s pounding. Could you walk me back to the dressing room, please?” I opened my eyes and looked at him.
His fingers gripped the top edge of his bulletproof vest, knuckles taut, hands trembling slightly. His eyes dropped.
They traced my fingers, the swell of my breasts pressed high against my bare stomach, my skin flushed and exposed, the towel clinging low to my hips.
His gaze dragged lower. Exposed thighs. Ankles. Bare feet pressed to cold tile.
His jaw flexed. The muscle jumped once. Then he moved, his boots closing the space between us one heavy step at a time.
