Cars were definitely not designed for women. Nothing kills the illusion of effortless glamour faster than an awkward slide across leather seats, fabric hitching in all the wrong places. Even with his steadying hand, I barely manage to maintain my dignity.
He runs his hand lightly up my arm, appraising the defined muscles with admiration. “The cameras will eat up all this strength. You’ve put in the work, and it shows.”
I shift self-consciously. “It’s not too manly?”
Dante catches my eye with a knowing look. “Where’d you get that nonsense? Strength isn’t gendered.” His words calm me as he helps me adjust my outfit, smoothing out the wrinkles. “You’re going to look flawless for your big entrance.”
“Thank you.” I blush.
“Your home is beautiful, by the way,” he says. ““I’d love to see more of it sometime. Get the full tour?”
“I rarely have people over.” It’s my sanctuary, one I don’t want burdened with memories of people who don’t stick around.
“Keeping your secrets close. I respect that,” he says, hand sliding over my thigh, bunching my pink maxi skirt. “Speaking of secrets…that photo of you in the sundress. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”
The back of his hand moves up my neck, and I gasp at the contact.
Ramsey adjusts the rearview mirror, catching Dante’s eye. In one solid motion, Dante slams the partition button, and the barrier slowly blocks Ramsey’s view.
“Finally alone.” He shifts his body toward me. “I’ve missed you,” he confesses. He’s too close. Not nearly close enough. Eight days shouldn’t feel like an eternity.
“I missed you too.”
He grips my thigh with his other hand, his eyes searching mine—not predatory, but questioning.
“May I kiss you?” He cups my jaw in his hand.
“Yes.” I exhale, his mouth sweetly capturing mine, and I forget where I am.
I revel in the kind of silence that only exists when his fingers thread through my hair.I can’t control everything, but it’s powerful to know that Dante will do whatever I ask him to do.
No questions. No judgment.
Who knew dominating men would be such a turn on?
“Fuck, Reese.” My hips press toward him as he pulls me into his kiss, and I nip at his lower lip. “You know I love the pain,” he growls into my mouth, wetness already pooling in my panties. “But so do you.”
The kiss deepens, transforms. No longer gentle, but hungry.
I am neither the good girl nor the rebel.
I am simply myself, longing for Dante Hastings to never take his hands off of me.
I’m more turned on than I thought possible. Maybe he had the right idea about celibacy, because without his touch I’ve become feral.
The party is a vague memory in the recesses of my mind. My eyes flutter, and I yank him closer, aching for him.
That is until I hear, “Ahem,” and a throat clears in front of us. Ramsey. The partition is down, and my bodyguard stares at me like,I can’t believe you. The limo has stopped moving.
“Tried to tell you a few times, Miss Sinclair, but we are here,” he says.
I gulp, cheeks flaring red. Ramsey has never seen me nearly inhale a man, let alone one who’s minutes away from devouring me in return. “Give us a minute, please.”
The partition slides up slowly, Ramsey shooting daggers at Dante.
I clasp my hand over my mouth, suppressing a fit of laughter. “I need to give him a big bonus this year.”
Dante and I slowly, reluctantly peel apart, both of us panting heavily.
