Page 590 of Hell Hath No Fury
“Not yet,” he repeats.
“Then what do I call you?”
“If you need to speak you may call me sir.”
“Okay,” I say, already squirming in his lap, needing him and his hands. His fingers tighten on my arms in warning and I amend, “Yes, sir.” Saying it here, in this setting doesn’t feel as silly as I imagined it would. It feels…right.
“Did you like having them watch you?” he asks, his touch light now, his fingers dancing along my wrists. When I can’t find the words to answer, one of his big palms comes to cup my neck, applying pressure there.
For a moment, I fight against being restrained, even in such a small way. My head instinctively jerks to the side, trying to break free of his hold, but he’s implacable, and I don’t move him an inch. His other arm winds around my waist to hold mefirmly in his lap. I can’t escape him, can’t escape his demands, his questions, or the truth.
“Yes. Yes, sir. I liked it.”
His lips ghost up the side of my neck and his hand returns beneath my skirt. “Good girl,” he murmurs.
The couple from the dance floor appears, no doubt at a signal from the commanding man behind me. They sit on the plush bench to our right and continue their conversation, like I don’t have a man’s hands mapping my body right in front of them.
“If you get uncomfortable or want to stop, what do you say?” he asks.
The words flit around my mouth, but I can’t seem to draw them out of the growing fog in my thoughts.
He drapes my thighs over his legs, spreading them in suggestion for the couple across the booth and causing my breathing to become shallow. He moves his mouth back to my ear. “What do you say?”
“R-red,” I whisper back, my mouth dry.
He rewards me by putting his hands back underneath my dress. My head tips back against his shoulder as he goes right back to where he’d been on the dance floor, his fingers under my panties, except this time he adds a hand on my breast, cupping and squeezing its weight, tweaking my nipple over my dress.
I glance at the crowd milling about the rest of the floor and find the couple in our booth isn’t our only audience. There are several upturned faces—not all—but a good few turned toward our display.
“Uh—”
I start to say, but he leaves my breast to put a suggestive hand over my mouth. “Remember what I said? I’ll take care of you. Just enjoy it. You shouldn’t feel bad for wanting the things you want. Just like I don’t. You’re a beautiful woman. You deserve to be wanted. You deserve their admiration.”
“What do you deserve?” I say, then hastily add, “Sir.”
“A beautiful woman that no one else can have but me. A woman who chose me out of a roomful of men.”
His fingers are quick and efficient, undeniably talented, but I’m as interested in his words as I am in his actions. “I don’t even know what you look like,” I say through shuddering breaths. “I don’t know anything about you.”
“The only thing that matters right now is how you feel. Now be quiet. No talking until you come. We don’t want to punish you on your first night here, do we?”
I open my mouth to respond and then slam it shut. The inability to talk, to worry, only leaves room for feeling. Having people watching on all sides is like being in front of a dozen different mirrors. My reactions to every carnal touch and nip and stroke is reflected on their faces, with their bright eyes and rosy cheeks.
Moans are coming from the couple in our booth now as they fondle each other. They aren’t watching so much now as madly making out. I did that, I think. I made them mindless with need. My limbs tighten around his knees as my response spins wildly out of control.
“That’s it, girl,” he says in my ear. “They’re all watching you. Wanting you. You see how much you turn them on?”
His finger slips inside me as his thumb strokes the bundle of nerves at the top of my sex. He adds another finger, stretching me wide. He’s gonna take me over. Wreck me completely.
Even as I fly apart, fall to pieces, I wonder how I’m ever going to be able to come back from this.
Then, I wonder if I even want to.
* * *
My thoughts and dreams are filled with everything that happened last night as I prepare for my date with Dr. Mikhail Alexandrov. Even though I’ve performed on a nightly basis for years, I’ve never done anything on the level of what I did with the stranger at the The Sanctum. My cheeks haven’t stopped burning since I returned home.
“I can’t believe he cancelled on you,” Mom says as she watches me put the finishing touches on my makeup.
