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Eyes flared wide, he quickly bobbed his head, then retreated, leaving us alone.
"Let me?" I asked softly, gesturing at the cloth.
She blinked but nodded, so I lifted it and pressed it to her mouth. Her skin blanched under pressure, but stayed an oily, rosy pink thanks to the lip paint.
I persevered though, being careful with each move I made, and all the while, she watched me. All the while, her pussy stayed close to my thigh and I felt her heat drenching me.
"Thank God that we’re both wearing black," she rasped, proving that our minds were aligned.
I smirked at her. "You’ll always have to wear black around me, little one, unless you don’t mind looking…crumpled." At least, that was if I did my job right.
"Always?"
I almost shook my head at her, but there was anguish in the choked out word. So, though it made no sense, I still caught her eye and nodded. "Always."
This was insanity but I’d never felt saner in my life.
She gulped, then rasped, "Always." This time, her tone was more certain.
I had no idea what I was going to do with this woman, had no idea if she’d survive my father or Christmas dinner, but there was only one way to test her: a trial by fire.
"I thought you were going to make me walk out there with my lipstick smeared," she rasped as I gave her a few final touches with the cloth.
"I’ll never humiliate you in public," I rumbled. "That’s not how I work."
"Just in private, hmm?" Her eyes were sparkling as she said it, though, which made me wonder if that was her kink. To each their own. I could adapt.
"If that’s what you need."
"What do you need?" she crooned.
"You’ll find out soon enough."
I dropped the cloth once I was satisfied with how cleaned up she was. Her mouth was oddly pale now I’d wiped off the paint as well as some of her make-up, and I was grateful I hadn’t exposed any bruises as that would have turned me homicidal, but she didn’t seem to care.
Savannah would, I realized, always bewilder me. Another woman would have reacted with horror at my assholish possessiveness, but she just appeared amused, especially after I tempered it with an endearment.
Because I wanted to reward her patience with me, I reached around her waist and pulled her away from the elevator wall. Then I grabbed her ass, and asked, "You ever been fucked here?"
"That your favorite place, hmm?" she asked, grinding into me again.
"Answer the question," I demanded.
Her throat bobbed. "No."
"Why not?" She was no inexperienced ingénue.
"Because the guys I’ve been with barely knew what my clit was. You think I was about to trust them with my ass? That place’ll bleed, and not in a good way. In a ‘we need to go to the ER’ kind of way."
Any other woman said that, I’d have laughed.
With her, I pushed her into the wall, dropped my forehead to hers, and rumbled, "No talk of other men."
Her breath skipped as she moaned, "But you asked!"
"I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s illogical. No fucking talk of this pussy that belongs to me being handled by another fucker. You got me?"
"Christ, that shouldn’t be as hot as it is," she admitted on a whimper, before she reached up and joined our mouths.
