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“With my mouth around yours, you’d grip the thick bulge of my pants, stroking my hard cock. I’d drag my lips across your body, kissing around your navel, down to your pelvis,” I growl.
I hear her exhale. She likes this…
I continue. “You have an exquisite body. You know how hot you are. You practically scream sex, but I’m the one who gets you tonight. Only me. I want to wrap my lips around your dripping, aching cunt. I want to suck on your clit until you tremble. I want to penetrate your lips, until you’re left shaking, sweating, with tears in your eyes.”
“God…” she whispers, unable to react.
“I’m wondering, have you talked to anyone like me?” I ask.
“No,” she chokes. “I, uh…”
“I want to bury myself inside you. I want to thrust and watch you take every inch.”
“I have to go,” she says in a hurry.
I watch her pace around the lobby.
Her hand falls from her necklace, down to her breasts. She walks to a corner where no one is. I watch her as she pushes her palm between her legs, glancing around to see if anyone is looking.
“Wait,” I tell her. “Don’t hang up. Not yet.”
“Okay,” she says.
Madison
“I should go,” I whisper.
The energy right now is palpable. We both know what we want. But he is a stranger. A stranger who claims he’s done business with my father. Either he’s in the local crime syndicate, or he’s a high-profile client.
Both mean trouble.
“I want to watch you play with yourself,” he says.
“No,” I tell him, appalled he could even suggest I do something so lewd.
“Come on,” he whispers. “Do it for me.”
I glance over my shoulder. “Where are you?” I ask.
Everyone has cleared out of the fundraising event. It’s just us.
“I’m watching you,” he says.
I can picture his wicked smile and wolf-like eyes. It makes my heart go crazy. I actually feel kind of… scared. I guess that’s the right word. Only, there’s a creeping excitement underneath all of this. But I’m not sure if I’m ready to admit it.
My throat tightens. Chest closing in. Oh, no. What’s happening? “Show yourself, you creep,” I mutter.
“Look up,” he says.
I do, and there he is. He’s leaning against the banister, smiling. He waves, showing off his gold watch. He’s clearly wealthy.
“Are you some kind of syndicate guy?” I ask him.
“Syndicate?” he asks.
I clear my throat. “You know… mafia?”
It’s an odd question to say aloud, but considering who my father was, it’s not so weird to ask.
