Page 67 of Wilt

After a bit, we part to use the restroom, and when she returns, I pull her to me and I spin us so she’s against the wall. It’s a dark little spot where we aren’t likely to be seen, and I kiss her slow and deep as I push my hand through that slit. I finger her just as slow and deep, and as she slips a little over the edge, into the beginnings of an orgasm, I stop.

I hold her and kiss her again and again, until I lift my head and whisper, “This isn’t the place.”

She looks at me confused. “I… I thought you didn’t care.”

I laugh. “Fuck me, Rose. Normally, I don’t, but I promised you a night and we have some more dancing to do. It’s not all orgasms, you know.”

“No. Sometimes, it’s you not letting me come.”

I bite her earlobe at her impertinence. “Don’t be like that, sweet Rose. You look perfect, the envy of every woman. Every man here wants to be me. So come dance. You deserve to be the star.”

She’s only partly mollified, but she smiles all the same. I wrap my arm about her, and she looks up, curling herself around me as we dance. I’m getting really fucking familiar with the term blue balls.

I know I shouldn’t have taken that invitation and touched her at the table. I shouldn’t have fingered her outside the bathroom. I should have made her wear panties, doused her in heavy perfume, but the scent of her skin is its own brand of intoxication, and we dance again, then sit for dessert and the conversation is pleasant and mindless and I can’t help myself. I’m apparently some kind of punishment junkie because after dessert, I hold her tight as we dance and she plasters herself against me.

I have to remember that this is a game. Part of the plan. All of it. It’s not real.

Maybe it’s the atmosphere or the glamour of “What ifs” and “Maybe one day” but I’m entranced by her.

I may be getting trapped in my own web.

“Nikolai,” she whispers, sliding her cheek against my chest a moment. “I know this is an act, but I like it.”

I try to think of something to say, but I have no words. Instead, I kiss her. It’s cowardly, a thank you for making this evening so fucking easy, and I know she can feel my erection against her stomach. She’s been rubbing against it, like it’s all she can think about.

For the first fucking time in my life, I’m having trouble controlling myself. That great iron control of mine rusts into dust with her. She’s a drug I can’t cut myself off from. I’ve been hard ever since I helped her dress.

No, that’s a lie—I was hard the moment I stepped into her room.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Chapter23

Rosalind

Idance around my bedroom, half giggling at the ridiculous voice I put on in my head as I imagine myself curtseying to an invisible partner. In my head, it’s Nikolai. Nikolai, who was heart-stoppingly hot, killer-level gorgeous, dangerous and debonair tonight.

I close my eyes, and his voice runs through me. I shiver as I remember what he sounded like when he asked what wine I’d like, when we poured over the menu and he told me to order something for us both… told, because Nikolai is Nikolai. The sweetness, his wit, the way his eyes were dark and warm and intimate on me were all there, for me.

There was a world there, a new one, and it was a different kind of dangerous. My heart raced, my pulse leapt and danced, and it felt a lot like tumbling down into something exhilarating, like no one else existed besides him and I.

I laughed and touched because it was my job and I wanted to please him. I remember all of it—how he said all those sweet things, how he teased. How he waited outside the bathroom and kissed me, pushed his fingers into me and—

Okay, so I’m a little buzzed. Okay, a lot buzzed, maybe a little drunk, but it’s a drunk that lowers barriers, not one that takes away my control.

What I’m doing is wrong, though, even if it feels right.

It doesn’t matter that he took me against my will, that I’m his prisoner. He turns me on, so much I can’t see straight. That softer Nikolai, the date Nikolai, the hint of the man he might have been if he’d chosen a different line of work, a different life; he’s seductive beyond reason.

It was an act, but he’s in there, somewhere. Right? Nikolai’s showed no interest in play acting beyond upping the ante in public. He wantsmeto act, not him.

“Careful, Rosalind,” I whisper. “You’re being insane.”

I am. My brand of insanity doesn’t stop me wanting him, though. I’ve never been this turned on, this aroused like this, before in my life—I’m actually going crazy. I can’t think straight.

I spin once more, then I stop and stare in the mirror. This dress is the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever worn. It’s like it was made for me. My cheeks are pink from a flush that ripples beneath the surface of my skin. I know he had it made for me.

“If you go to him and seduce him, maybe he’ll let you go.”

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