Part 23 (2/2)
”What are you, then?”
”I'm your G.o.dd.a.m.ned destiny.”
He lowers his mouth to mine. All the breath escapes my lungs. But instead of the hot, hard kiss I'd been expecting-antic.i.p.ating-his lips are gentle, caressing, a tease rather than an onslaught.
And yet the effect on me is devastating-my blood goes into full boil, heat pooling in my lower body. By the time Dean lifts his head and eases away from me, I'm dizzy with longing.
”Another drink?” The bartender's voice slices through my haze as he plunks a bowl of salted nuts in front of us.
”Not for me.” Dean glances at me, his expression simmering with heat. ”Miss Winter?”'
”No.” I pull in a breath. ”No, thank you.”
The bartender nods and walks to the other end of the bar to a.s.sist another customer. Dean puts his hand on my thigh beneath the counter and finds the opening of my coat. His fingers brush against my leg, his touch sending heat shooting across my skin.
”So why the raincoat?” he asks, gliding his fingers discreetly up and down my leg. ”Is that part of the risk-taking?”
”I... I just came from the theater,” I reply, making an effort not to squirm on the barstool. ”I'm still in costume.”
”What kind of costume?”
”One I can't show a stranger.”
”Too s.e.xy?” He moves his hand up my thigh far enough to reach the edge of my stocking.
My breath shortens. Dean slips his fingers into my stocking. His eyes darken with growing heat.
”Too... s.l.u.tty,” I murmur.
”Tell me,” he orders, easing off the barstool to stand beside me, blocking me from view of the rest of the room.
”It's a black lace baby doll with purple ruffles,” I whisper, tensing a little when his hand glides toward my inner thigh. ”It's... well, it's a little tight around my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, but I kind of like that because it feels really good on my nipples. And I'm wearing a flimsy little G-string, and thigh-high stockings.”
”Hmm.” A faint growl rumbles in his chest. ”What role were you playing?”
”The wife of a medieval history professor who acts out all her husband's dirty fantasies. It's called The Secret Life of Professor West. You should come see it sometime.”
”Maybe I will.” Amus.e.m.e.nt sparks beneath the heat in Dean's eyes as he slips his hand between my thighs, urging them slightly apart.
A gasp catches in my throat. I curl my hand around his wrist, glancing nervously past his shoulder to see if anyone notices exactly what we're doing over here.
”You shouldn't do that, sir,” I say.
”I'll stop if you unb.u.t.ton your coat and show me your b.r.e.a.s.t.s.”
Oh my G.o.d. Desire bolts through me, centering in my core. I swallow, tightening my grip on his wrist.
”I don't think I can do that.”
”Not all the way. Just a little.”
He nudges his groin against my thigh. He's already half-hard. I almost moan aloud, suppressing the urge to slide my hand down the front of his gorgeous suit and cup his growing erection in my hand.
I glance around again to make sure no one else is paying attention to us, then I quickly unfasten a few b.u.t.tons of the coat to reveal the V of my cleavage. s.h.i.+elding me with his body, Dean gazes at my b.r.e.a.s.t.s with hot appreciation before pressing his mouth close to my ear.
”Are your nipples hard?” he asks, his voice echoing deep inside my blood.
”Yes,” I breathe, s.h.i.+fting and trying not to press my legs together.
”And are you wet?” He slides his hand over my thigh.
”G.o.d, De... sir.”
”Are you?”
”Yes. Oh.” I writhe a little on the barstool, my c.l.i.t pulsing with every beat of my heart. ”Wet and... hungry, sir.”
Dean smiles. I half expect him to ease the raincoat open farther and start fingering me, but instead he lowers his mouth close to my ear again.
”You're a bad girl, Olivia Winter,” he whispers, his breath stirring the tendrils of my hair. ”And you're the hottest, s.e.xiest woman I've ever seen in my life. I'd f.u.c.k you right here on the bar if it wouldn't get us arrested.”
A shudder rocks through me. I flick my tongue out to lick my dry lips. My nipples are so hard they're starting to chafe against the mesh fabric of my bodice.
”Well,” I murmur, ”is there somewhere else we could go?”
”I'm in the luxury suite.” Dean puts his big, warm hand on the nape of my neck. ”But I'll only take you there if you agree to do whatever I say. And I should warn you I'm very demanding.”
Demanding.
A bubble of excited antic.i.p.ation rises in me.
”I'll do whatever you say, sir.”
”Good.” He moves closer, his eyes brewing with l.u.s.t. ”Now kiss me.”
Before I can take a breath, his mouth comes down on mine again-this time with possessive force. A thousand fireworks explode inside me, my whole being filling with warmth and love. I lift my hands to the sides of his face as he urges my lips apart and delves his tongue into my mouth. Ah, bliss...
He tastes like scotch and s.e.x. The noise of the bar recedes, the lights fading as the world compresses to the movement of our lips together-a warm, lovely kiss edged with the promise of hot pa.s.sion.
When Dean lifts his head, we're both breathing heavily, and a faint dizziness washes over me. He brushes his thumb across my lips and puts his hand under my elbow.
I slide off the barstool, shuddering as the pulse between my legs intensifies. Dean straightens the folds of my raincoat and tightens the belt.
I slip my hand into his as we cross the room, and I'm distinctly aware of the glances tossed in our direction. I suppress a giggle at the thought of what these people would think if they knew our true story.
But this is our true story. Everything we do is part of our story.
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