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“I know you can, but I’m going to do it this time. If you want to keep fighting me though, I can certainly spank that pretty little pussy as bright red as your ass,” I countered. I pointedly cupped my hand against her pussy to deepen the warning, not missing the shiver of desire that cascaded across her face at my firm threat.
My Ada had something she was hiding, and I was the man to bring it out.
Her clit throbbed just the slightest bit beneath my fingers as her calculating gaze assessed me, trying to discern if it was worth the risk of pushing me when she was already so thoroughly well-used. Her intake of breath was shaky. I didn’t need to tell her that I would follow through on my warning. She already knew that well enough.
“I’ll allow it this time,” she offered begrudgingly, and I chuckled with aroused amusement.
“Good girl,” I praised, pulling my hand away. There was the slightest hint of disappointment that crossed over her face, and I took note of that, too.
My Ada was a puzzle, but I would figure her out in the end.
Much to my delight, she didn’t offer any more fight as I pulled her dress over her head. As best I could, I straightened it on her body and redid the thin black leather belt around her waist. I gently brushed my hands along her curves, enjoying the way she leaned into my touch as I carefully spun her around. By some miracle, the zipper still worked. I leaned down and took each foot tenderly in my hands. Her toenails were painted a deep scarlet red and tipped with black.
Leaning down, I kissed the top of her foot before I slid her heel back on. I did the same to the other side, only this time I met her eyes as my lips pressed against her bare flesh. I wanted to worship every inch of her to the end of my days.
I stood up and brushed her hair back over her shoulders. Her makeup was only slightly mussed, but it gave her a sensual aura that I couldn’t help but admire for as long as I dared. Her eyes sparkled with delight at my soft gaze, and I smiled.
“Do you need my help to get dressed or can you handle that on your own?”
Her rebelliousness was delicious.
“You’re sounding more and more like you need another dose of my belt,” I warned, but I didn’t mean it. I wasn’t going to do anything to temper her. I very much enjoyed her defiant sass, and from the playful glint in her eyes, she knew it, too.
She smirked and didn’t reply. I reached out and grasped her ass through the fabric of her dress, delighting that I could still feel the warmth from my belt through the thick material. She lifted her chin and I let go, letting her win this time.
“I’ll manage,” I replied with a wink.
“I’m so proud,” she murmured, and I was treated to the musical sound of her laughter. I reached down and grabbed my underwear first, not wanting to break the moment so I could hear every breathtaking note.
It was truly spectacular.
I dressed quickly, noting that the button and zipper to my slacks were ruined, but I pulled my belt a notch tighter in an effort to keep them up. Ada had popped off most of the buttons from my shirt, but I was able to manage with the few that were left. When I noticed that she was shivering a little bit, I swung my suit top over her shoulders. She opened her mouth to protest, and I just shook my head. The blush on her cheeks was well worth the hard look, but then she let her guard down and smiled just a little bit.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
I picked up my phone and texted my limo driver before I pulled on my shoes and socks. I walked behind the bar and poured us both a single shot of whiskey. I passed her the glass, and she downed it in one gulp, leveling her daring gaze with mine.
I did the same.
I offered her my arm and she took it. Then I walked her out of the pub, enjoying the knowledge that she was bare for me underneath that dress, wearing only my thick seed between her thighs and nothing else.
I opened the limo door for her, and she slid inside. I climbed in beside her and shut the door. She moved to sit on the other side of the seat, but I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against me.
She fit perfectly there.
The drive to my penthouse was quiet. When we were moments away from pulling up in front of it, my phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and looked at the number, not recognizing it offhand. It was a Chicago number, but it wasn’t programmed into my phone. Typically, I let these kinds of calls go to voicemail. Something in my gut told me to answer, though, so I did.
“This is Shane,” I said quietly.
“Thank God. I didn’t know if this number would work,” a man said on the other line.
“Who is this?”
“Maxim Morozov,” he answered simply, and I stilled immediately.
“How did you come by this number?”
“I have many connections in the States, Mr. Kavanagh. It is not important now, however.”
