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Skylar gasped when he stretched his arm further along the back of her barstool, bringing her closer . . . and then casually cupped the side of her breast. She immediately pulled back but not enough to dislodge his hand.
He grinned wickedly. “So you like the rules, then?” He left his hand right where it was. “Then you know if you don’t want my hands on you, you need only say one word, the same safe word you used the night of the Masquerade Party.”
He waited. She didn’t move away from him again, and she didn’t say anything, either.
“No? Do I need to remind you what it was?”
Skylar calmly shook her head. “I remember the Greek goddess of love. Whoever came up with that safe word for the Masquerade Party has quite a sense of humor. Surely it wasn’t you?”
“Sadly, no.” Then because she was deliberately not saying the safe word, he massaged her breast fully, testing the weight of it, repeatedly squeezing it until she closed her eyes and a whimper escaped her.
Immediately, she opened her eyes and looked around, her white teeth worrying her lush lower lip. When she finally looked at him and opened her mouth to speak, he was prepared to release her. Instead, she grinned naughtily as she reached for her martini glass. “I prefer a harder squeeze on my breasts, by the way. Maybe even a slap or two.”
At her shocking words, his had stopped moving.
She quirked a brow at him.
“I have a counter proposal for you,” she said, her voice composed. However, her hand shook slightly as she took a sip of her martini that left a burgundy lipstick stain on the edge of her glass.
His dick swelled in his slacks at the thought of her leaving a similar lipstick print on the base of his shaft.
“A counter-proposal?” he asked, raising a curious eyebrow.
Skylar’s gaze darted down to his hand, still cupping her breast but not moving. Then she returned his gaze. “I think you’re full of shit, Julian Bauer.”
He couldn’t help but smile at that show of defiance. “Am I?”
Skylar nodded. “Everything you told me about journalistic integrity, about the story, about the desire to understand me and wanting answers to your questions,” she said, leaning forward the tiniest bit as she spoke, an action that brought the front of her breast more firmly against his fingers, her hard nipple poking his palm. “All that is utter bullshit.”
His throat tightened. What was she saying? That she thought he was pursuing her because of some emotional connection? “Is it?”
Skylar again nodded, eyes flashing because she knew she had him in her snare. “I know what youreallywant from me,” she whispered, each word crystal clear even in the loud bar. “I know exactly what you want, Julian.”
“Are you sure?”
Skylar deliberately pushed her tit deeper into his palm, and unable to resist, he firmly rubbed his thumb against her nipple. He circled that sensitive bud, then flicked it roughly, making her gasp. She closed her eyes again and then again opened them quickly.
Now she looked irritated. Not at him but at herself. “I’m sure,” she said.
“So what do I want?” he asked, leaning in closer so she could feel his breath against her neck. He was held captive in her honey-gold eyes, sharp and intelligent and daring.
She put her hand on his knee. Then, she slid her hand upward. Slowly, sensually, she stroked up his thigh until her hand boldly caressed his crotch.
“Fuck,” he groaned. He hadn’t been this trigger-happy since he was a teenager. He was always in control when a woman started a seduction. Not with Skylar. She fucking had him ready to lose it, all with a single touch.
A part of him was drifting above the room, looking down as if a curious observer, wondering how the fuck Skylar had commanded control of this evening so quickly. When she’d called, saying she was sick of her boss, sick of the sexism, sick of being taken for granted, and wanted to meet somewhere private, he’d been thrilled. Excited. Aroused. Meeting at the bar had been one way to keep her on her toes.
She’d gone and turned the tables on him.
And he fucking loved it.
She ghosted her lips against his ear. He bit back a groan and felt her smile when his cock hardened at her touch. “You want another chance,” she whispered, her breath hot against his ear.
Skylar leaned back casually on her barstool but left her hand on his growing erection. Around them, bar patrons sipped their beers and cocktails, discussed politics and TV shows, elbowed past one another for the bar and the bathroom and the taxi line, turned to search for friends and coworkers and empty seats, and Skylar Fucking McKenzie stroked his cock over his pants in plain sight of every single one of them. And she did so without even flinching.
“Another chance for what?” he all but groaned.
“You want another chance to make me come.”
