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But now I want to take my fucking time. Unlike Valentina I don’t really care when we arrive at this event. I don’t plan to stay long, anyway. Just long enough to give Sev his money and make sure everybody sees Deirdre at my side.
Slowly, I release my grip on her hair. I don’t think she needs me to hold her there anymore, and I’m right. She’s completely bound by tension, just from that slight touch at her ear. She’s definitely beyond sensitive there. Which is damn good information to have. I gently take her plump earlobe between my left thumb and forefinger and guide the earring hook to the small hole there. I press it slowly in, penetrating the silky flesh, while Deirdre remains perfectly still except for her ragged breathing. Bent this close to her face, I wish I’d told Valentina to go a little easier on the makeup. I can’t see her freckles now, and that bothers me.
I let go of the earring, watching the long line of diamonds dangle and bump the side of her throat. Then, I ease my fingertips under her chin, tipping her head to the other side to do the same on the other ear. Her eyes flare open, and she stares at me, gaze sparking, as I reach for the other earring.
“Like to watch when men put things inside you?” I ask, feeling her gaze on me as I slide the second earring into place.
“Wouldn’t know,” she hisses. “I’ve never let a man put something inside me.”
I freeze, and so does she. Her eyes widen, her lips clamping together as if she didn’t mean to say that. Now that the earring is in, I release it. My fingers skim down her throat, and she swallows.
“You’re a virgin?”
My fingers keep sliding down her neck, tracing her collarbones, then brushing a knuckle between her breasts.
I can barely see the red blush beneath all her makeup, but I know it’s there, because it creeps up her neck, too. I slowly rub my knuckle up and down the valley between her breasts. I can’t stop staring at how much she reacts to me. How flushed her fair skin gets, just from this slightest touch.
“I don’t see why that matters!” she stammers.
I don’t know why it matters, either. I’ve never cared about virginity as a concept before. A lot of men in our world do, want their mafia brides untouched, but I couldn’t care less. If anything, getting saddled with a virgin who doesn’t know what she’s doing seems like an easy way to guarantee a boring night in the sack.
But now…
Now, I find I do care. Care that nobody else has been inside Deirdre. If I wanted to, I could be the first man, the last man, the only man who’s ever fucked her. A possessive satisfaction rises up inside me, telling me that she’s mine in all ways now, even if she fights it.
“I don’t even know why I said that,” she groans. “Well, at least it proves that I’ll be useless to you in that department if you ever decide you want me for something other than violin. Since I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“You’d have an idea of what you were doing if someone taught you.”
She breathes in sharply at my words. She’s about to say something else, but I silence her with a feather-light but unmistakeably intentional brush of my thumb over her hardened nipple.
And then I do it again.
“What are you doing?” she whispers thickly.
I don’t answer her with words, instead drawing an achingly slow, firm circle around the outer edge of her nipple. Teasing, not coming close to the sensitive bud of it again. Her breath is coming in short little pants. Fuck, I want to take her breast roughly in my hand, knead it, draw up the skirt of her dress and pin her to the wall.
I don’t. Jaw tight, I keep circling, slowly, so fucking slowly, until I think Deirdre is going to come apart at the seams. She’s too proud to ask me to do it, but I can see she needs it.
“Do you want me to touch you there again?” I murmur against her ear. She shudders at the cascade of my breath over her skin.
“Fuck you. Let me go,” is all she says, but it’s practically a whine. She may not be begging me with words, but she is with her body. Her back is arching towards me, seeking my touch.
“I think you do,” I say. “Right now, I bet all you can think about is what this leather will feel like sliding across your bare skin.”
She jerks beneath my touch, and I know I’m right.
It would be so easy, too. To slide the silk of the dress over, maybe even rip it like I did last night. Rub the puckering berries of her nipples between my gloved fingers. Take one and then the other in my mouth so I could feel her properly, no fabric between us. My cock pounds at the thought, my tongue lashing the backs of my teeth.
I want her to beg me to do it.
Even though I know she won’t.
With an impatient growl, I give her what she needs but won’t ever ask for. I press my palms to the sides of her breasts, moving my thumbs across her nipples in demanding strokes. She lets out a soft moan, then clamps her mouth shut, as if pissed off by the escape of the sound. Like that moan is a betrayal.
She doesn’t want to feel what she’s feeling. To react to me the way she’s reacting. All I’m doing is playing with her pretty little nipples, and she’s getting all twitchy and wiggly, her hips bucking forward before she stops the movement, fighting for control.
She’s not just sensitive around her ears. She could come like this, is probably already fucking close. The thought inflames me, makes me forget every rule, everything I’ve told myself about why I’ve brought her here.
