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Twenty-Four
Savannah
Swoon.
Could I just say that again? And again?
Every time he mentioned the words, ‘little one,’ I felt an internal shudder, like my pussy was clutching emptiness when it really needed his dick.
Never in my life would I think I’d get off from riding a man’s thigh. No other direct sexual stimulation than a kiss—like a naughty teenager who only dared to hit second base—but lawd, I should have known Aidan would be different.
Maybe that’s what had always made me think of him.
Maybe he was a walking promise of sin and salvation all wrapped up together in a bundle of hot hunk that I would never be able to compete with.
I was still drooling from him smearing my lipstick, and considering that took me a good twenty minutes to perfect, I should have been pissed but because it was a move born of possessiveness, I was more than okay with him being an asshole. Especially as the only place he wanted lipstick was around his dick, apparently, and I was more than happy to oblige.
*shudder*
Each step we made toward the maître d’s station was hard won thanks to how sensitive I was, but when the guy looked at me, I felt no shame, and neither did he look at me knowingly. If anything, he peered at me as if I were insane, his gaze darting between the pair of us, which told me he knew exactly who Aidan was.
And didn’t that just make me melt some more?
He was too scared of Aidan to even judge me for getting off in the elevator.
Ugh, that was too hot.
Knowing that I’d need my wits about me, I tried not to cream my panties some more when a hush fell over the restaurant as we walked in together.
The place was trying too hard with its black on black esthetic, coppery touches of color in the overhanging lights—those exposed copper bulbs that added both warmth and an odd glare to a space—all surrounding what was clearly a custom-built baby grand piano that was a dark scarlet. Tables circled the piano that was being played by someone who was clearly in love with her job because she didn’t even miss a beat though the rest of the bar did.
I’d been raised with a famous daddy. I’d grown accustomed to turning heads, even if it was just to murmur about the shit some tabloid had published about my family, and of late, whispers had always stirred wherever I was because of what had happened with Wintersen, but this was different.
This was like a court responding to a king.
And his queen.
Oh, fuck.
I wanted that.
I wanted to be that. More than I could have ever recognized.
The hush stirred and shifted, whispers flying at Aidan’s possessive arm around my waist, as the proprietorial clamping of his fingers to my hip was registered. I knew we’d stand out, both of us wearing suits the way we were, and I’d never felt more like a lady boss.
Fucking untouchable.
We seemed to float toward the back end of the bar where there was clearly a VIP area.
Jen was sitting there already, watching us with big eyes. She looked hot in a kind of metallic blouse that draped over her torso, revealing toned arms and a slender frame while exposing just how big her tits were.
From that alone, I knew she was going to try to seduce her ex again if Aidan’s presence didn’t resolve anything.
"Hubba hubba," she mouthed at me, and I smirked as I owned my moment, that delicious, sweet high that was me feeling like I was finally taking my fucking place in this world.
My confidence, already high, soared to impossible levels. While my mouth was bare, my make-up probably patchy from his clean-up job, and my gait a little unsteady thanks to the orgasm he’d just gifted me, I’d never felt higher.
That was because of him.
