“I never said you’d get any sleep.” When disappointment relays through her eyes long before relief, I take a step closer to her. “Well, not for at least a few days.”
Her lips twitch, but not a word falls from her mouth. It’s for the best. I can see the interest in her eyes, much less smell it on her sweat-slicked skin.
The flickering flame in her eyes combusts when I ask, “Still trying to deny what your body wants?”
I step closer again, eager to lap up the scent of her heated skin. When she fails to announce an objection to my closeness, I brush my thumb over her top lip. I’m removing smears of the cocktail she downed, but I also couldn’t hold back the urge to touch her for a second longer. She is truly exquisite, an artwork worthy of the longest gawk.
My cock hardens when the slightest dip of my thumb between Isabelle’s parted lips is met with a husky moan. Her lips are painted red, and they’re begging to be ravished.
My pupils dilate with desire when she sucks off the remnants of her cocktail from my thumb. Her sucks show the control she has over her mouth. She awards my thumb with the perfect amount of pressure, exposing she’ll be fantastic at giving head.
When she leans into me, silently begging for me to take our exchange further, the glossiness of her eyes has me pulling back. “How many drinks have you had tonight, Isabelle?”
She shrugs like my question can’t end things between us thisinstant. I don’t fuck drunk women. I also don’t take them back to my apartment to sleep off their stupor.
“How many drinks have you had?” I ask again, sterner this time around.
Her eyes roll skywards. “A few.” With a huff, she adds, “Who are you, my dad?”
I begin to wonder when her sass has me wanting to bend her over my knee and spank her ass.
“Are you drunk?”
My hands itch to redden her backside when a sultry grin stretches across her face. “Maybe a little.”
When she pries apart her index finger and thumb by an inch to indicate how drunk she feels, a growl rumbles in my chest.
“How are you getting home?”
My astuteness is pushed to its absolute limits when she snaps out, “I wasn’t planning to go home alone, but you just ruined my chances of finding a suitable companion for the night.”
Her tone reveals she’s trying to be funny, but I’m far from amused.“I don’t play games, Isabelle, so if you’re attempting to make me jealous, you’re wasting your time.”
Since she doesn’t know me well enough to be aware this is already a game, Isabelle skirts by me with a huff. I should let her go, but maintaining control is all I know, and I’ve been far from in charge since she stumbled to my feet. However, for the life of me, I can’t. There’s more at play here than morals, and I won’t stop hunting for the truth until it smacks me in the face.
It dawns on me that I reached the right conclusion when Isabelle’s storm for the door is thwarted by her losing her footing. With her heels higher than I’ve seen any woman wear previously, she stumbles like a newborn foal, her collision only avoided from me curling one arm around her waist while the other grips her opposite side.
“You smell so good,” she mumbles under her breath as her nostrils flare.
I could share the same sentiment. However, I won’t. Her closeness already has my qualm slipping, so I don’t want to consider how perverse the decline will be when I take her back to my apartment to sleep off her intoxication. I only have one bed, and I’m not the type of man who sleeps on the floor.
When I press my lips to Isabelle’s ear, the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. It makes my voice extra throaty when I mutter, “Go tell your friends you’re leaving. I’ll wait for you out front.”
She looks torn while replying, “I can’t leave with you.”
“It wasn’t a suggestion, Isabelle. Go tell your friends you’re leaving and meet me out front.”
Needing to leave before I complete the task with my fists, I move for the door. The handle is lowered halfway when I recall how stubborn Isabelle is. It sees me adding a threat to my previously faultless reign. “If you’re not outside in five minutes, I’ll come find you.”
Confident not even her woozy head could have her mistaking the determination in my tone, I enter the hallway and make a beeline for the exit.
A controlling man would stay and scrutinize every move Isabelle makes, so you can picture the strain on my face when I spend the next five minutes on the opposite side of a mirrored door. I’m confident she won’t stand me up, but I’ve said that previously.
Five minutes after leaving her in the manager’s office with a hanging jaw and wide eyes, Isabelle exits the nightclub I placed an offer on while waiting. Her eyes are as glazed now as they were when she stared up at me, wordlessly begging for me to fuck her on the desk, but caution is also seen. It should have me pressing on the brakes. Instead, I accept the umbrella Hugo is holding out for me before guiding Isabelle into the back seat of my SUV.
“Where to?” Hugo asks after slotting into the driver’s seat like he was born to be a chauffeur.
I throw caution to the wind by requesting him to take us to my apartment building. I’m usually more vigilant with the people I permit in my life. Exerting restraint is what has made my business endeavors so successful the past seven years. Thinking rationally is all I know, but there’s something about Isabelle that has me foregoing all cognitive thoughts. She once again has me acting as if I’m a college boy enjoying the thrill of the chase.
