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He fucked me with his relentless fingers, working in a steady rhythm until I felt my eyes rolling up in my head, the whole world going fuzzy as my climax took me in heavy, melting waves.

He kept his fingers deep inside of me, pulling back from our kiss to watch my face.

My eyes opened, and it was a struggle, but I made myself meet his gaze as I came down from my sensuous high. My sex was still rippling around his fingers.

It was quite gratifying to see his hard face go a little slack with desire.

“Good girl,” he murmured in a hoarse voice. “Sometime very soon I’m going to taste you. I’m going to bury my face in your pussy and memorize every last little dip of you with my tongue.”

He caught himself, features hardening again almost instantly into their normal cold, stoic mask.

It didn’t matter. I’d seen it. He wasn’t as immune to me as he’d pretended to be all night. The realization made me bold.

He started tugging his fingers out of me. The delicious drag of them made me squirm as I said, “Is that all?” It felt like I was blushing from head to toe, but I was proud of myself for getting the words out.

He studied my face, his nostrils flaring. “You know what? I don’t think so. We’re not taking it that far tonight. The last time we fucked it didn’t turn out too well, if you’ll recall. It was obligatory, thanks to my controlling father. I think I’ll train you better before we try that again.”

I blushed harder, but for different reasons. Was that the reason I hadn’t seen him for a month? Was I flattering myself to assume that he even needed to have a reason not to see me?

I made myself meet his eyes and speak clearly. “It was my first time. And I’d never had that much to drink. I wasn’t sick because of that.”

He almost had his fingers out of me, but at that he pumped them back in to the hilt. “Well, that’s a relief.”

I gasped, ready to go all over again. “Please,” I whimpered.

He took my mouth briefly, his fingers dragging free of me. He spoke against my lips, but his words did not match the softness of his touch. “Show’s over. It’s time to go. Put yourself together. Straighten your dress. Once your legs are steady, go to the bathroom and fix your hair and makeup. And for God’s sake,” he continued harshly, “try to wipe that fuck me look off your face.”

I pulled away from him with deliberate slowness. It was an effort not to flat out recoil.

There was a knot of sick tension in my stomach as I did as he’d instructed, putting my dress to rights, grabbing my bag, and walking with as much dignity as I could muster to the restroom.

My mind was spinning with the way he went hot and cold on me with every step I took away from him, his last words echoing in my mind. Talk about mood swings.

I took my time in the powder room, smoothing out my hair, touching up my makeup.

I wondered what went through his head. I wondered if I really wanted to know. He probably just found me foolish and irritating. It was a chore for him to even pretend to go on a date with me. And the one time we’d had sex . . .well, that hadn’t endeared me to him much.

I exited the restroom with an optimistic mind toward turning it all around. There wasn’t much I could do about his affections or lack thereof, but the attraction between us was so real and visceral that it had its own pulse. We could at least make that one thing between us live up to the potential that was obvious to even no-experience practically still a virgin me.

Or at the very least, we could work toward making it an upgrade from our wedding night.

I was determined that this time when he left me, it would be with better memories than watching me rushing to the toilet and throwing my guts up right after he finished.

When I returned to the table, he was scowling at his phone.

“Something wrong?” I asked, sliding back into the booth beside him.

He instantly put his phone away, features smoothing into neutrality. “No. Are you ready to go?”

I nodded, rising again.

He didn’t touch me as we moved through the crowded back dining room to the more crowded lounge. Even when we made the short trip from the front door to the backseat of a limo, there was no contact at all.

I thought that was odd. If this was all for show, why was he being so visibly distant in such a public place?

I studied him as the car started moving and realized that, going by his demeanor and expression, he was deeply upset about something. I wanted to ask him again if something was wrong, but made myself refrain. He’d made it very clear that he didn’t care for those kinds of questions from me.

I glanced toward the front of the long cabin. The partition was up. I didn’t even know who was driving. Was it his regular driver? Did he have a regular driver? I assumed he did, since I’d been assigned one, but it was only a guess. I knew next to nothing about his day to day life.