“Oh. . .” I moan, stunned at how rapidly my second orgasm is building.
I lose the ability to hold up my own weight when another toe-curling climax rockets through my body. The only reason I don’t tumble to the floor is because Isaac has my thighs pinned to the door, stopping my concern. The ease of his hold makes it appear as if I am as light as a feather.
After every shudder in my body has been exhausted, Isaac stands from his crouched position. My arousal glistens on his face as he narrows in to kiss me hard on my mouth. I can taste myself on his mouth when his tongue slides along my lips. He groans a sexy-as-sin growl that has my knees buckling when my tongue laps up my climax from his sinful mouth. He kisses me until I'm utterly breathless and close to combusting a third time in under ten minutes.
When Isaac drags his mouth from my neck to my breasts, I throw my head back and call out. Spotting a blinking red contraption in the corner of the room, I snap my eyes shut, trying in vain to ignore that our every move is being monitored and possibly recorded.
It is an impossible task.
Forever diligent, Isaac senses my hesitance. After pulling away from our embrace, his confused, lust-filled eyes dart between mine.
“I want this,” I assure without hesitation when I notice the forlorn look on his face. “I just don’t want it recorded,” I nudge my head to the camera.
Isaac curses but the concerned expression on his face relaxes when he notices the camera in the room.Did he seriously think I was rejecting him?He is the most riveting man I’ve ever met. I’d never reject him. My body isn’t capable of saying no to him.
If it isn't bad enough I just participated in raunchy foreplay in a manager's office of a bustling nightclub, having it recorded makes my embarrassment ten times worse. My stomach swirls just from the thought someone may be watching us right now.
“Can you get Hugo to turn the camera off?” My voice is husky from the erotic screams torn from my throat but also pleading.
My body is thrumming from the two toe-curling orgasms that just shredded through me, but I don’t want our night to end just yet.
Isaac’s mouth carves into a yummy smirk. “I could.” His tongue darts out to lick his lips.
When his eyes darken, I know he can taste me on his mouth.
“But I want to fuck you in a bed.”
His rough tone vibrates through my soaked sex, impelling a throaty moan to spill from my lips.
“Because once I’m done with you, you’ll no longer have the ability to walk straight.”
I gulp, knowing without a doubt what he says is fact, not fiction. He barely touched me, and my orgasm was teetering on the brink, dying to break free.
Winking at the lust creeping across my cheeks, Isaac yanks his cell phone out of his pocket. “Hugo, I need you to wipe the images off the camera in the manager’s office at 57 for the last hour.”
His mouth seductively crimps. “Thanks, Hugo.”
Disconnecting his call, he places his cell phone into his pocket, along with my shredded white lace panties.
Not speaking, he disappears into the bathroom, only to return five seconds later with a washcloth. My clit throbs when he places the washcloth between my legs to clean me in a nurturing manner. The rough and abrupt Isaac from when we first arrived at the club is no longer in existence, replaced with an attentive and gentle lover.
With an impish grin on his face, he ties my dress back into place. I eye him curiously, studying him in silence for further information.
“Hugo turned the cameras off the instant he knew you were coming to the club with me,” Isaac tells me, his smirk enlarging to a full-toothed grin. “At times it is like he knows me better than I know myself.”
My lips curve into a grateful smile.The elusive Mr. Hugo is growing on me.
Once I'm respectably dressed, sans underwear, Isaac clasps my hand within his and walks us out of the manager’s office. Blaring music booms into my eardrums the instant we step out the door. The smell of sweat and sex lingers in my nostrils from the mass of bodies dancing under the warm, strobing lights.
Ignoring the shocked stares of the patrons in his club, Isaac weaves us through the densely populated dance floor. When the crowd sees Isaac coming, they part, giving us an unobstructed path to the front door of the club.
The cold night air is refreshing to my sweat-slicked face and neck when we merge onto the sidewalk. My thighs are still quivering, and I’m exhausted, but my excitement on what is about to come enhances my eagerness.
Isaac’s grip on my hand tightens so much I wince in pain when a heavy, profound voice says, “The prodigal son returns.”
“Get in the car, Isabelle.” Isaac releases my hand and spinning on his heels.
Ignoring his demand, I pivot around and come face to face with the non-stoic face of Col Petretti, suspected mob boss and the number twelve man on the FBI wish list.
