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Holding his weight on one arm, he pulls my underwear aside and glides his cock up and down between my folds. My body tenses as a flood of sparks coil around my pulsing clit.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he rasps, gray eyes shot black with arousal.
The way he’s looking at me… it sets my skin alight and the warmth in my belly starts to spread. It snakes its way all the way up my spine, flushing my cheeks. With spindly fingers of pure heat, it crawls to that one spot between my thighs and settles there with a needy ache.
“Oh, God.” My hands are trembling when I place them on his shoulders, using them as an anchor as I lift my face to his.
His lips are cool in contrast to the hot breath that makes mine tingle with anticipation. He drags his tongue across my lower lip and tugs it between his teeth until I moan out loud. He’s still laughing softly when he takes my mouth with a kiss that makes my head spin. Deep and hungry, as though it’s the very thing giving him life in that moment. I want to tell him I feel it too, but I can’t because my head is spinning and the whole world has shifted out under me, and oh… God…
He thrusts into me hard, exquisitely stretching me open to take his full length. A strangled moan escapes me and he swallows it, kissing me harder as he pushes his cock even deeper. I clamp down, my nails digging into the tight, muscular flesh of his shoulders. But he doesn’t seem to notice. He pulls out slightly and drives into me again. And again.
~
“There she is!” Bridget’s face lit up when we spotted each other.
“That’s my party, thanks,” I said to the hostess.
She left me with a stiff smile that was so obviously paid for it hurt and went back to her post to welcome other dinner guests.
Snaking my way through the swanky tables, I tried to use the few seconds I had to pull my shit together. Enough with Mr. Vegas already. This night was about my friend making amends with her dad.
His back was toward me, so I couldn’t tell much about him except that he was big and old. Typical dad hair streaked with gray, broad shoulders in what looked like an expensive suit. But in the expensive lighting of Arden’s, I guess it would make everything look the same.
As I drew closer, Bridget’s smile widened, and I tried to match it, even though I wasn’t feeling particularly upbeat. Mostly because I didn’t get her desperation for a healthy father-daughter bond. People—people meaning me—got along just fine without it. But she was my best friend, and I would lay down my life for her if she asked, so…
“Fashionably late, as always,” Bridget said as I came up to the table, giving me hug. “Emphasis on fashionably.”
Her eyes swept enviously over my dress paired with my new killer Jimmy Choo heels.
I sniggered and waved her off. “What, this old thing?”
We got a kick out of the lame cliché, and she pulled me close to her side. “Mila,” she started, her tone taking on an air of esteem, “I’d like you to meet my dad, Connor.”
I was still laughing when her dad stood up to be a gentleman or whatever, and I took the last moment to remind myself to be nice. To put aside my own daddy issues and give my best friend in the whole world the support she needed.
“So, you’re Mila…” He stretched out his hand.
But I didn’t take it.
My smile was frozen to my face like one of those creepy ventriloquist dummies as I stared at the man in front of me. And if I didn’t know better, I could’ve sworn there was a glint of amusement in the storm-gray eyes that stared back at me.
