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Confused, she demanded, “Does it matter?”
“I don’t like the way he was staring at your legs.”
“How sure are you it was my legs? For all we know, it could be my shoes.”
“Oh.” Ramiro gave her an apologetic kiss and sat down beside her.
“You okay?” Carmen put away the magazine and turned to him. She played with a lock of his hair.
“I can think of a much better place where I’d rather be,” Ramiro then dropped his hand on her lap for emphasis. She blushed as it slipped between her thighs, his fingers brushing her curls. They groaned together. “Damn you, Carmen. You really had to pick tonight of all nights not to wear underwear. I have another show after this.”
“You know I don’t wear underwear,” she gasped, torn between yanking his marauding fingers away and letting herself be touched by them. Her eyes widened as she squeaked when he suddenly pinched her clit. “God.”
“You said, sometimes you don’t.”
As he spoke, he slipped to his knees before her. Carmen shook her head, looking anxiously at the door. Ramiro kissed her on the knee as he draped her legs over his shoulders.
“You’ll deny me a taste?”
“Someone might come in,” she whispered as he peeled her skirt back, rubbing his lips and cheeks on her inner thighs. She trembled, fingers digging in the leather seat. “Ramiro.”
