Page 52 of A Lethal Game of Trust
But she hung up. I shook my head as I handed it back to Leonie. Her phone dinged with two notifications from my sister. She confirmed she’d done as she promised and then turned to press herself against me.
“So…” she started, a dark glimmer in her eye. “Things have changed.”
I pulled her even closer, my hands on her ass. Damn, how had I not spanked her earlier? I gripped her cheeks, trying to fight the need to lift her and wrap her legs around me.
“Let’s get out of here.”
And, with Issy elsewhere, she let me hold her hand as I led us out.
17
You Need Me
Leonie
I’m going to make love to you.
Tipsy, I kept on smiling to myself in the taxi, laughing at his words.
Dom and I sat in the back. He’d said he wanted to sit in the middle so he could give directions. It was laughable. The only direction he found was his fingers to my clit.
My arms kept feeling light, wanting to reach out and wind around his neck, pull his face down and slam my mouth to his. Like I’d wanted to all night. Outside the toilets, at the bar with that guy, getting ready. I’d longed to throw myself at him. Or my mascara. Or my chair.
But we hadn’t kissed in the club, no matter how much he touched me. He’d given me one tiny peck when we had sex earlier. When we’d kissed in the car, I’d initiated it, begged him. Last night, again, his kiss had been a way to show his anger.
Maybe he wasn’t a kisser. Maybe he didn’t want to kiss me.
Every man I’d ever been with — one-night stands, long monogamous relationships — would start our little rendezvous with a kiss and some groping.
But I was quickly learning that Dom was not like them.
And I really, really wanted to kiss him.
“You’re holding back,” he breathed in my ear. His touch under my dress was languid, slow, soft. As if we had all the time in the world. “What do you need?”
Kissing was intimate. It wasn’t like earlier when he’d bent me over, shoved my face into the sofa and pounded into me.
“You,” I said and draped my leg over his.
There was humour in his voice as he said, “You need me.”
Whenever he spoke, his lips trailed my skin so I couldn’t see his smiles, but I could hear them.
I lowered my head to whisper in his ear, “I need you as soon as we’re in my flat.”
His finger added the slightest bit more pressure. “I’d have you here if you wouldn’t slap me for it. Tell me where you want me. What surface? I can bend you over—”
“You want me to dirty talk you?” I asked with a tiny, tipsy giggle.
“Yes,” he said, sitting up to look at me. His drunk, excited eyes had me biting my bottom lip. “God, yes. I need to hear all the filth you want me to do to you.”
“Hmm,” I thought aloud and traced my finger along his jawline, his throat, running in small patterns. He smelled so good, just like he did as a teenager. The scent was nostalgic and aroused me even more. He must still use the same aftershave. “I did see some things in the back of your wardrobe I might want to play with.”
“Go on,” he encouraged, his hands roaming my sides, upmy waist. I missed his touch under my thong.
“I want you to tie me up,” I said and, somehow, didn’t cringe at my words. Liquid courage. “My fantasy is you doing whatever you want to me.”
He groaned deep in his throat. “I’d like to see you at my mercy in nothing but ropes.”
