Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“Then why do you do it?” I ask, brushing her knuckles with my thumb.
She shrugs. “It’s all about leverage. I need the references if I apply to law school. I need the experience on my resume. Otherwise I’m just another girl with a psych degree and nothing to show for it.”
I shake my head, eyes serious. “You’re not ‘just another’ anything.”
Eliza sips her wine, eyes downcast. “You don’t know that.”
I lean in, so close our noses almost touch. “I do, sweetheart. I’ve seen a lot in the world, and you’re someone special. Exquisite. Delicate, yet strong. Sweet, yet with a backbone of steel. You’re amazing, Eliza.”
There’s a moment, then, where neither of us moves, and the air between us is thick with feeling. The tension isn’t new—hell, it’s always been there, but this time it’s different. It’s not just about the physical because I connect mentally with Eliza too. We understand each other, and the intimacy between us has grown.
At that moment, Serge appears with food: steak for me, duck for her, potatoes for both. He pours more wine, cracks a dirty joke in French, and vanishes again.
Eliza slices her duck, spearing a perfect bite, and smiles. “How’s your steak, Commander?”
I chew, swallow. “Perfect. How’s your bird?”
She licks her mouth, making her lips glossy, and smiles coquettishly again. “Delicious.”
She’s doing it on purpose, the little minx. Every time she raises her glass, she makes sure her fingers brush mine. Every time she leans in to whisper something, a big breast grazes my arm. By the time dessert arrives—a triple chocolate mousse—it’s a miracle I haven’t just thrown cash on the table and hustled her in the coatroom.
Eliza dips her spoon in the mousse, then holds it up, glossy and sweet, right in front of my mouth.
“Taste?” she purrs.
I close my lips around the spoon, suck the chocolate off, and lick it clean. Two can play at this game. Her eyes go wide. For a second, the whole world narrows to her breath, her flushed cheeks, the brightness of her eyes as she watches my mouth.
I take the spoon, load it again, and feed her this time, holding it steady as she parts her lips and takes it in. She drags her tongue along the edge, slow and sensual.
“Good?” I ask.
She nods. “Better than good.”
A few feet away, someone laughs too loud. Silverware clatters. The restaurant is alive, but our alcove is its own reality, pulsing and tense.
I put my hand on her knee, squeeze, and leave it there. Eliza covers it with her own, sliding my fingers higher, up her thigh, under the hem of her dress.
I pause, eyes darkening. “You sure about this?”
The beautiful blonde’s eyes are pure mischief. “What’s the point of hiding in a private area if you don’t use it?”
I stare at her.
“But that’s the thing, sweetheart. It’s not really private. There’s no door. There’s just a stand of potted plants, and you know the waitstaff could barge in on us at any moment.”
Eliza smiles sweetly, licking those glossy pink lips again.
“The waitstaff knows to stay away. I’m sure your friend trained them well.”
That’s all the assurance I need to hear. I palm her thigh, work my way up, and holy fuck, but she’s not wearing panties. When did this happen? I could swear she had panties when we were at the museum, but somehow, Eliza slipped them off, the little minx. Heat roars in my head. My hand hovers for a second, then I slide two fingers along her slick, moist heat.
“Mmmm,” the busty blonde moans, closing her eyes. “That feels good, Daddy.”
I lean to whisper into her ear.
“When’d you lose your panties, sweetheart? I swear, I have to keep a closer eye on you just to make sure you’re not making mischief.”
Eliza just giggles, her big breasts bouncing.
“Mischief is my middle name, Daddy.”
“Is it now?” I growl. “Well, maybe Mischief likes this.” Then, I slide my fingers into her slick, velvet heat. She’s utterly drenched, those slick pussy walls clenching hard when I circle her clit with my thumb.
The young girl looks up, her pupils dilated with need.
“Don’t stop, Daddy.”
So I don’t.
I work her slowly, careful not to make a scene, but she’s hot and needy—hips rolling against my palm, breath coming fast. I keep my other hand on the table, steady, as if nothing is happening while smiling benevolently. But under the surface, my fingers fuck that tiny wet twat, slow and deep.
“Jack,” she whispers, breath shuddering. “Oh god.”
I glance around. Serge is nowhere in sight; the nearest table is hidden behind a huge palm frond.
“Quiet,” I say. “Or you’ll get us caught.”
Eliza bites her lip, trying not to moan.
I finger her until her whole body goes tight, thighs clamping around my hand. She comes, sharp and silent, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a perfect pink O.