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“After you explain why we aren’t leaving.”
His arms tighten their hold on my hip and lower back. “Because we aren’t the general population, sweetheart. I bought out the After Dark show tonight so it’s just you and me.”
“Are you serious?” Tears spring to my eyes. The gesture is more than sweet and totally unnecessary. “You don’t need to spend money to impress me, but the thought you put into this is appreciated. Thank you.”
“None needed, sweetheart.” He sets me down, sliding me over his rigid length and then offers me his hand. Ignores the small whimper I let out. “Ready to have your mind blown by my chivalry?”
I laugh at that, wiping the one tear that escapes. “You and chivalry don’t belong in the same sentence.”
“So little faith,” he admonishes with a tsk from the back of his throat while placing my hand at the crook of his elbow. When I turn my attention to the entrance again, there’s a man now around Malcolm’s age waiting for us with a smile and tray with two champagne flutes.
“Welcome to the Adler After Dark experience, Mr. and Mrs. Asher.” Extending the drinks toward us, he waits until we each take a glass before speaking again. “We’re so thrilled to have you with us tonight.”
“Thank you,” is all Malcolm says. No correction on the names or the title, which isn’t mine. Instead, the man looks a bit smug about it. While I, on the other hand, don’t know what to say because the way his last name and my first sound together isn’t unappealing. It’s too soon to think about it, but not off-putting. “Everything set up…?”
“My name is Dean, sir, and yes. We are ready to proceed as you please.”
“Perfect. I appreciate that.”
“It’s our pleasure.” Once inside the Rainbow Lobby, he takes us toward the center and stops at the crossroads that lead to two separate exhibits. Dean turns to face us in front of two signs, each pointing in a separate direction. “Do you wish to dine with the moon first or peruse the stars?”
I’m nervous.
Excited.
Out of my mind for what I’m going to do but can’t stop myself. Control this need that’s been burning—being fed by his attention all day. A never-ending game of foreplay.
It’s been a constant bout of attention and lingering touches. Playful one moment and then sinful the next. Roguish smiles thrown my way, and then ice-cold glares toward anyone that tried to get close. If the guide at Adler’s Planet Nine Show or the waiter’s eyes strayed my way for too long, I was pulled closer.
He’s possessive, and I like it. More than.
It’s ludicrous that he gets jealous because I can’t stay away. No one registers when we’re together, and even when not, my mind is always on him.
Why does everything with him feel so right? Makes sense?
Even now, as he walks around the bed to turn down the sheets, I can’t help but find the action sexy. Perfect. Full of those little gestures that people overlook but to me are everything.
“Are you going to stand there all day watching me? Or is this a new habit we are forming?” Malcolm asks suddenly, a hint of amusement in his tone. I notice how much he does that with me—laugh, he lets go of that rigidness that scares the hell out of people; with me, there’s none of that. “Not that I mind.”
The muscles in his bare back flex as he tosses aside another decorative pillow, while his low-slung basketball shorts give me a small peek at the deep V of his hips. I can also see how much he likes my attention. The outline of his cock is unmistakable, and my mouth waters just a tiny bit.
I wonder how he tastes. Will I be able to handle him?
And while the fear of pain is still there, that he won’t fit, I want him.
“I’m just admiring the view.” Malcolm Asher is built like a baseball player: tall, strong, with well-defined muscles. His tattoos stand proud against his fair skin with a hint of a tan, colorful details with dark edges that tell a story. Gives a warning.
Every single one I have seen has a matching theme that is quite clear; I see all. The eyes in their bright blue, an almost identical shade to mine, are a reminder that he has people everywhere, just watching. The owl on his chest stands for intelligence—Malcolm is wise and attentive to details; he doesn’t make mistakes. Dangerous.
“Want to do so from a better vantage point? Or are you scared I’ll bite?” Smug bastard.
“Please do.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, but it’s the truth. If my reply surprises him, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just looks back at me from over his shoulder with a smirk. It’s almost as if he can read my thoughts.
All day—since I met him—I’ve been more vocal with my thoughts. What I like and don’t want. There’s a certain level of ease that’s been missing since Mom died.
With him, I have no fear. No repulsion or wanting to get away.
It’s the opposite. I want more.
