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“Because I’ll make sure that she doesn’t. The woman has a lot of dirty laundry; the kind her father pays to keep under wraps. I’ll make it clear that if she wants to keep that stuff private, she’d better not expose the story about your ex.”
“Do you think she’ll heed that warning?”
“Yeah, I do. I also think there’s a good chance that she isn’t really interested in going to the tabloids with anything about you; that she just hoped this would get my attention and make me finally contact her. Hence why I’ll have my publicist make the call on my behalf.”
Huh. I hadn’t considered that that might have been her motive. But then, her mind seemed to operate in a super weird way. “I can’t understand why she thought that cheating on you would prompt you to propose.”
“I don’t think she did. Not really. I think her aim was to piss me off. Camila acts out the way a child might. Causes scenes or lashes out to get attention without fully considering the consequences.”
“How did you cope with that crap for months on end?”
“I didn’t. She was careful not to pull that shit around me. The whole time we were together, she was on her best behavior. All sweetness and light. It wasn’t until I made it clear that I wouldn’t everbe putting a ring on her finger that the spoilt kid in her surfaced, looking to lash out. A guaranteed way for a woman to piss me off is to fuck around on me—I don’t tolerate that.”
“I demand loyalty in relationships as well.” I sipped more of my drink. “I can overlook a lot, but not betrayal.”
He gave a slow nod, and I knew we were perfectly in sync at that moment. It ended quickly, since our food arrived.
I hadn’t been sure if we’d be able to enjoy our evening after the things we’d just discussed, but Kaiser … it was like nothing really fazed him, or simply didn’t get to him enough to faze him. Right then, that rubbed off on me. And so over the next two hours we ate, talked, drank, and managed to stick to light topics of conversation.
I got the occasional teensy smile out of him, which hit me like a shot of bourbon every time. What made it more fun wasthat it was so very clear he didn’twantto find me amusing. He wanted to be able to only grunt, sigh, or roll his eyes; to not let anything I said or did touch him too much. Emotional solitude was his comfort zone, and I kept playing with it. Yet, he didn’t get mad or tell me to shut up.
He did, however, slam a heated look at me a few moments after our dishware was taken away and say, “Under the table. I want you to suck me off right here.”
Well.
I licked my lips as butterflies took flight in my stomach. Our table was in the far corner of the lounge, cast in shadow. But although we had privacy, the other patrons would at least guess what was happening if they looked close enough, despite the fact none sat at nearby tables. And yet, my blood heated rather than cooled.
He must have sensed it, because his eyelids drooped low. “Yeah, you’ll get off on this, won’t you?”
I would. Definitely. But then, I got off on pretty much anything I did with Kaiser.
He pressed something beneath the surface of the table, making it lift a few inches—a built-in mechanism that I suspected was to accommodate any couples who might think to have this kind of fun right here.
I took a quick scan of the lounge, noted that nobody was looking our way, and fluidly dropped to my knees while dipping to slide beneath the table. Thankfully, it was clean under here.
Watching his legs spread, I knelt between the space he provided. I could see his cock pressing against his fly, already rock hard. I tackled his fly and fished his dick out of his boxers. It was warm and pulsed in my grip.
Hands splayed either side of my head. “Open wide.” He lowered my head over his cock, and I angled his dick just right so my mouth would sink down on him.
The deep groan he let out sent a wave of power surging through my blood. I might be the one on their knees, but I wasn’t in a position of weakness here. Far from it.
“Now suck,” he gritted out in that whiskey-and-smoke voice.
I didn’t have enough room to go hell for leather, but I gave the length and width of his shaft a good workout. I took him deep, steadily bopping up and down, keeping my lips wrapped tight around him.
I couldn’t peek at his face, my position controlled by the hands firmly gripping my head. Although he didn’t take over, his hold was so dominant that I didn’t feel fully in charge. And I found that I didn’t care.
The pads of his fingers dug into my scalp every time I rasped my tongue over the broad head or dragged it along the throbbing vein. I got lost in the moment, relishing his every groan, grunt, and rumbly whisper of praise.
Carnal hunger drummed through me, and my thigh muscles clenched in time with each beat. I was damp. Needy. Far too hot.
Every sense felt heightened. Every inch of my skin felt tight. Every nerve in my body felt electrified.
He hissed when I used my tongue to flick the sweet spot beneath the crown. “Enough,” he bit out, lifting my head so his cock bopped free. His hands disappeared, and he jutted his hips up slightly for a brief moment. I heard a wrapper crinkle, and then he passed me a condom. “Put it on.”
Gladly. With unsteady fingers, I rolled it onto his cock. There was a low whirr as the table moved backwards, giving me plenty of space.
His eyes, so dark and hot with need, slammed on mine. “Get up here.”
