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Her make-up was exquisite. Perfect. Utterly beautiful.
I wanted to wreck it.
I wanted to mar it, because the second we walked through those fucking doors, there’d be men there who’d see her. Who’d want her. Who’d want something that everything inside me screamed was mine.
My thumb twitched as I reached her lips. Bright red and glossy with it, they parted at the digit’s approach, and I let my gaze drift from the gleaming, pouting morsel and up to her eyes.
Nostrils flaring when I saw the challenge in hers, I growled under my breath and did as my instincts insisted.
I let my thumb slide through that gloss, dragging it aside and onto her cheek, smearing perfection. Sullying it.
"Feel better?" she rasped, no anger, more like amusement lacing her tone at my antics, as her hands came around my hips, lowering to my ass as she pressed harder, making sure that both of us were well aware I had a boner.
Much as she’d done, I threw that back at her: "Does it feel like I feel better?"
She shook her head, her eyes darkening as she rolled her hips.
"You’ll get burned," I warned her.
"Maybe I want to. Maybe that’s exactly what I need."
I stared at the smeared lipstick, at the mess I’d made, then I leaned forward and pushed my cheek against her clean one. "There’ll come a time when you’ll push me too far and too fast."
"I hope so. Where would be the fun in taking things slow?"
I had to smile, but before I pulled back, feeling the deceleration of the elevator, I darted forward, nipped her earlobe hard enough to make her squeal, then murmured, "Do not reapply the lipstick when you head to the restroom." I saw her mutinous expression and warned, "Pick your battles, little one."
A shaky sigh escaped her, and I knew why. It had nothing to do with my dictate, and everything to do with the term of endearment. It hadn’t slipped out by mistake. It just felt right. Seemed she agreed because it turned her to goo in my arms.
She reached up and touched my cheek. "Aidan?"
"Yes?"
"I know it’s crazy, but I want you."
"I want you too."
I wanted to tell her that, sometimes, in this life, just because we wanted something, didn’t mean we could have it, but as I stared into her eyes, drowned in them, I knew I couldn’t do that.
The doors opened with a soft ping. The sound was oddly gentle, as it merged with the bustling noises from the restaurant.
As I stared down at her, I heard incoming footsteps, and when someone called out, "Sir?" I rested a hand on Savannah’s waist, squeezed there, then without turning my head, rasped, "Get me a damp cloth."
A confused silence followed my demand, and I whipped my head around to stare at the maître d’, then saw his frown clear up when he recognized who I was. Before I had to say another fucking word, he darted away, scurrying to do as I asked.
Left alone again, I looked into her eyes and murmured, "The only appropriate time for lipstick is when you’re sucking my dick." My words triggered a visceral response in her. The back of her head tipped against the elevator wall so I had the perfect view of her pupils dilating as I continued, "No more lipstick."
Though I didn’t expect her to immediately comply, she gave me a shaky nod. "No more lipstick."
With my good leg, I stepped even closer, pressing my thigh harder between hers. When she facilitated the move, then ground down against me, I gritted my teeth at her heat.
"No more fighting," I rumbled with a warning as she rocked her hips. "No more sulking."
She licked her lips. "You want to look after my wellbeing? I want to look after yours."
I grunted, then I hissed when she reached between us and cupped my dick. "On the way back up, I’ll reapply that lipstick," she promised, but her gaze darted over my shoulder, which told me the maître d’ had returned. Of course, I knew that already. I could scent his fucking nervousness in the air.
Twisting around once more, I reached back to grab the damp cloth, then told him, "I’ll be along in a moment."
