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"And something a little more than that. Just making my position clear." His fingertips slid inside her and she almost choked on the surge of response that shot between her legs as he caressed her clit. His gleaming eyes said he might decide to do something unthinkable right here.
She should be responding to this testosterone bath with a snarky remark, a retort suitable for an independent woman who wouldn't tolerate a man's blatant branding, but oh God, how did he do that with those long, fabulous fingers?
She should be horribly selfconscious in front of Madison and Logan, but a desperate glance across the table showed her that Logan had shifted Madison on his lap and they were currently having a low, intimate conversation. Her friend's arm was around her husband's neck, while his large hand cupped and kneaded her breast, shaping and elongating the nipple beneath the satin bodice as she kept her gaze fastened on his face.
The table between them was small, and Logan curled his fingers around Madison's other wrist, drawing her hand back to the table. Des nodded to it, the two men in some kind of eerie accord. "Take her hand, Julie. And hold on tight."
Logan's hand slid out of view. Julie recognized Madison's jerk of response as he found his way between his wife's legs and began to play with her as Des was doing to Julie. Madison's fingers convulsed on hers. In a wash of heated lust, Julie realized what they intended. She'd never really had a girl-girl experience. She wasn't wired that way, much preferring men for her fantasies and real life sexual encounters, but this single act of holding her friend's fine-boned hand, feeling her polished nails dig into Julie's palm as her response built, spurred Julie's own.
As for her Dom, he had a laser gaze trained on her face, brown eyes glittering, mouth and jaw set. He was making an undeniable point, moving from Dom to Master in the space of a few sentences that had flipped a switch, a transition thrilling as it was unsettling.
She heard Madison moan Logan's name against his neck as he gathered her close. Julie gripped her hand as Des sent her flying up a ramp and let her go into full orgasm. Logan brought Madison to the same pinnacle as Madison clutched Julie's fingers hard enough to bruise bone. Julie wondered if either man watched that connecting point between their two women, the fingers tangling, biting, jerking, holding on as their bodies flooded with release.
They came down almost at the same time, the same gradual grade. They hadn't let go of one another. They were stroking one another's fingers, unsteady caresses. At last, Madison gave her a squeeze and slipped free as Logan murmured to her. He held out a hand to Des. "I think we're going to head for home. I'm ready to have her all to myself." His gaze shifted to Julie, who had her head on Des's shoulder, her limbs too heavy to lift on her own. "Julie, I assume you don't need a ride home?"
There was amusement in his eyes, but Julie also registered the heat. Madison's night was only just beginning. Since Des had brought her to several orgasms, but not yet allowed himself release, she might need to rest up on the way home herself.
"I'm sure I can catch a cab," she offered, then giggled, pulling Des's hair as he bit her neck, none-too-gently.
"Thank you," she said as she looked up at Logan and Madison again. They paused, hearing the suddenly serious note in her voice. "Just...thank you."
Madison reached across the table and gripped her hand, for a different reason this time. She didn't say anything, but Julie knew she understood. She didn't know if she'd find with Des what Madison had found with Logan, but Julie knew she was closer to it than she'd ever been. As terrifying as that was, she was sticking to one single resolve. She wasn't going to doubt herself tonight.
"I'll get back to you on the cow orgy thing," she said, and left them laughing.
She wondered if the Steak 'n Shake idea had been intended to help her refuel and recuperate. If so, it was a good plan. Julie ordered a cookies and cream shake and fries while Des had half a grilled chicken sandwich. He gave her a part of the sandwich and she traded a couple fries and a few sips of the shake with him. They people-watched and listened to the piped-in music, trying to guess song titles. She asked him about some of the people she'd seen at the party. No surprise, he knew most of them and their backstories, and she was smug when she found she'd guessed right on most of the top and bottom orientations.
They'd agreed they'd go back to her place at the theater since she had volunteers coming in tomorrow morning to paint the ceiling. Anticipating what she and Des might do there, she was glad she'd finally replaced the cot with a real double bed. It was just a cheap thing she'd picked up at a second hand shop, but she'd decorated it with a strand of colorful butterfly lights and put throw pillows on it. She was under no illusions as to why she'd made the interior design improvement w
hen she'd had plenty other things to keep her busy this past week, but she was glad she had.
On the way there, the foolish man made her sing. He had her name her 80s song favorites and belt out as much of the lyrics as she could remember, until she was laughing too hard to continue. When she demanded reciprocity, he attempted songs like Prince's "Purple Rain." The man had a mesmerizing speaking voice...and was as tone deaf as a moose.
Trying to help him hit the right notes only led to more mirth and a mock aggrieved look on his face. As he shut off the truck at the theater parking lot, he attacked her, tickling her knees and sides as she shrieked and thrashed. She scrambled out of the truck and to the theater side door. He pinned her there, thankfully to kiss instead of tickle her, playfulness turning into something else entirely.
Fishing out her keys, she thwarted his attempts to take them and play keep away. Then he caught her around the waist, hiked her up his body and carried her over the threshold, still kissing her. They hit the wall with a resounding thud, for which he gravely apologized. She assured him her skull fracture would heal in time.
After kissing her senseless through several long, dreamy eternities, he let her down and stepped back from her, gaze sliding over the dress and everything it barely covered with possessive thoroughness.
"Jessica Rabbit," he said. "That's who you remind me of in that outfit."
"'I'm not bad. I'm just drawn that way.'" She purred the line in a sultry voice, and made a dash for the back rooms. "Have to go to the bathroom. Make yourself comfortable in my room."
He'd let her escape, but as she took care of the call of nature, she could hear him moving around her room. Then things got quiet, drawing her curiosity.
Slipping out of the bathroom and moving to her doorway, she found he'd lit several clusters of the candles she kept there for mood lighting. She didn't see him, though. She moved into the room, looking around. "Des."
The shadows in her peripheral vision moved. Before she could turn, he had her in a firm hold. His shirt was off again and he'd removed the sporran, thank God. Though he still wore the kilt, she could feel his need pressing against her beneath it.
"You left your dressing room door unlocked, Miss Rabbit," he said. "With all those photographers and fans, it wasn't a smart move."
It was easy to ride the instant surge of arousal into the role, playing the fantasy she wanted to be for him. That he'd made her feel like she could be.
"Will you hurt me?" she purred with a little jaunty twitch of her hips. He gave her flank a light slap, setting off a starburst of tingling.
"Not if you behave and do what I tell you to do."
"I'm not good at behaving." To prove it, she rotated her ass against his groin with a lap dancer's skill.
