Page 66 of Wilt

“More where that came from if you do your job, Rose.”

“Nikolai—” She stops, and whatever she’s going to say ends there. “Hair?”

“Up.”

I watch as she pins it, hands deft. Once I’ve deemed her presentable, I hold out my arm and together, we leave the room. I’m fucking hard, which is a pain in the ass, but I also don’t care who notices. The fact that she keeps glancing at my junk is both perfection and an added turn on I don’t need.

As we sweep out the door, her hand curls around my arm, and I lead her to the chauffeured car. Normally, I prefer to drive myself, but a splashy entrance is worth it sometimes. We’re going to Sweet Williams, dead center in neutral territory, but I know her father’s out there, watching every step.

That’s the point—make the fucker watch, make him suffer, and maybe he’ll make a mistake. If he doesn’t, it just sweetens the pot.

I slide a hand up her thigh, under the slit, and her legs part for me on their own. I don’t slide up further, but Christ, her responding sigh is music to my ears. I work to concentrate not on her, but on the evening. I don’t want to ruin my suit.

“Same deal?” she asks quietly as we pull up and my driver comes to open the door.

I take my hand from her thigh and pick up her hand, kissing it gently. “Bigger, better, but yes.”

Her breath hitches a little at the touch of my lips as I kiss her again in the same place. I signal to my driver not to touch her, and I lean in, mouth on her ear. “Wait.” I insist on escorting her out myself.

The place is packed when we enter, dozens of couples gathered under a colossal crystal chandelier, which suits me just fine. We’re being watched, but Rose is a fucking master at keeping to the charade. It’s like she’s born to do this, laughing and looking at me like I’m her world, almost purring when I tug gently on her chain.

We’re shown a table near the tall windows, far enough from the dance floor for privacy but at the very center of the room so that anyone walking in would catch eyes with us first.

Perfect.

As the night goes on, I ply her with wine and spirits, and when we eat, I feed her and she slides across the tall booth seats, sitting close and pulling my hand to her thigh. I slide it beneath her skirt and skim those bare, warm, slick lips.

“Rose, I should punish you for that.” I finger those lips, pushing in, just a little.

She gasps, her eyelids fluttering as she pushes forward a little and I retreat with my touch. Just a little. “Why?”

I laugh. “Because you’re a fucking bratty little minx, Rose. You disobey.”

“You wanted a show.”

“You want to get off.”

“I…” She looks down and I slip a finger beneath her chin, lifting her face.

“Luckily, I like touching you. If you’re good, I’ll make you come so fucking hard, you’ll scream the place down.”

She stares at me. “Promise?”

Her earnest honesty is so pure and beguiling, I laugh and I pull my fingers free, making her suck them clean. My heart skips at how easily she obliges. “We’ll see. Dance?”

If I was a kind man, I’d find her eager nod heartbreaking. But I’m not, so I just kiss her sweetly and lead her up to the dance floor.

Wrapping my arm around her waist, I press her perfect little body against mine. The music is thumping through the speakers, but since this is a classy club, the DJ keeps the rhythm slow and seductive instead of fast and gritty, like the underground places Rush likes to indulge in. It doesn’t matter though—I’m barely paying attention to anything else besides the woman swaying with me.

“Enjoying yourself, Rose?” I ask and twist the chain around my finger.

Her pulse beats hard and fast against my lips when I press my lips against her neck. “Always. Thank you.”

“You’re a good dancer,” I murmur. “And you smell so fucking sweet.”

“Nikolai… you… you feel good.”

Oh, fuck. With every sweet and courteous word, she swoons into me. She’s an intoxicating drug. We look like we’re on a hot, intimate date to anyone watching, a couple falling in love.

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