Page 17 of The Delta's Rogue
She does as she’s told. My arm winds around her waist and settles at the top of her leg, right where it meets her body.
“Good girl,” I murmur.
Sarina’s thighs clench, her throat bobbing at my praise. She clasps her trembling hands together, wringing them in her lap, her eyes darting around the room as she watches the other guests.
Most of them sit as we do—Doms with their subs in their lap, or cozied up next to them with their arms around them possessively. Others are bolder. Their sub is only wearing lingerie, kneeling at their feet with a lowered head and waiting to be told what to do, as their Dom speaks with friends and other guests or observes the room.
Several booths have the translucent curtains drawn. While it’s impossible to see everything, the outlines of bodies are easy enough to make out as they writhe, bounce, play, and fuck in near privacy.
As Sarina observes the club, her heart quickens and her chest heaves. She adjusts her position on my lap. Her hair tickles my nose, and her honeysuckle scent swirls inmy nostrils, mixing with another, headier one rising from between her legs. She exhales shakily, her eyes lowering to her hands again.
I tug her closer to my chest. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” She turns her face towards mine. “I’m just a little”—her teeth sink into her lower lip as she meets my gaze, her eyes dark, hooded, and shining—“aroused.”
“That’s normal,” I say. “This place is designed to be titillating. Your body’s response to the sensuality surrounding us is natural.”
She holds my gaze for a split second, then ducks her head to her hands again. “Right. It’s my body. I’m just reacting to the atmosphere.”
At her words, my fingers flex against her hip. She’s repeating what I said, reaffirming it, but somehow it feels like a rejection. Our bodies may be responding to the innate eroticism of the ambience, but for me at least, it’s more than that, and I regret implying that it isn’t.
I shift Sarina’s body so her leg brushes my hardened cock through my pants. Her breath catches, thighs clenching again. My hand wanders across her stomach. Her lashes flutter and her back arches, those gorgeous tits pushing forward, showing me the pointed tips of her nipples poking against the fabric.
I kiss her neck softly and trail my fingers down the V of her dress, the tips slipping beneath the fabric. “Do you want me to touch you, Baby Girl?” I ask against her skin. “Do you need me to give you some relief?”
“We’re working,” she counters, even as she relaxes into my body and my touches.
“Subterfuge requires full immersion at times.” My hand moves from her abdomen to her skirt, lifting the fabric until her entire leg is visible.
“Is that all this is for you?” She spreads her thighs as my hand slides between them and grazes the exposed skin. “Subterfuge?”
I don’t reply. I don’t have to. We both know the answer doesn’t matter. Because even if it is more than that for either of us, it changes nothing. She’s still a rogue. A free spirit. Someone who will disappear and leave no trace behind.
Save for the imprint she’ll leave on my heart.
I continue my gentle caresses, one hand tracing the V-neck of her dress and the other grazing the hem of her underwear. Her skin is warm and soft beneath my touch, and sheclutches at my forearm, neither stopping me nor encouraging me—just existing on the edge of pleasure.
“Does it bother you?” Her eyes dart to the center of the room and sweep around the edges. “That others can see if they want? That anyone can watch us and know what you’re doing to me?”
My laugh is dark, almost a growl.
I hook her leg over my knee, spreading her wider, even though the table blocks her lower half from view. Placing my chin over her shoulder, I stare down at her sprawled and exposed body in my lap, and satisfaction thrums through me.
“It pleases me to show you off to others.” My hands explore but never touch where she’s covered by her dress or lingerie. “It’s a thrill to flaunt what’s mine, to let others see what they can never have.” I slip a finger under the thin strap of her bra framing her breast and slide it up to her neck, where I trace her red collar. “They can watch all they want, look for as long as they desire, but only I am allowed to touch.”
Her head spins towards mine. “So you’ve done this before?”
I stop my movements and lean away. “No,” I reassure her, maintaining eye contact.
“Don’t lie to me,” she says, her voice determined.
“I’m not lying to you, Little Rogue. I told you I’m not a saint. I’ve played a little, but I’ve never touched or held a female the way I’m touching and holding you now.”
She glares at me, her nostrils flaring and her chest heaving. Jealousy seeps from her pores, and her wolf flashes in her eyes.
“Tell me everything.” Her fingers dig into the skin of my forearm. “Tell me everything you’ve ever done.”
I grit my teeth and bite back my gut response to her insolence. If this wasn’t all an act, I’d be taking her into one of the private rooms to remind her who is in charge. But we are pretending—I think—and the air needs to be cleared in order for our act to continue and be successful. We have to trust each other.
