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When I was climbing into that Uber, I started to worry that maybe my outfit was too… showy. Now I see my choices have nothing on some of the things I’ve seen the few women wearing. Don’t get me wrong, they look amazing. Sexy as hell. But it makes my mid-thigh skater skirt seem like a nun’s habit.
The skirt was a lucky find, since it was in my exact size. Same with the thick-knit dark gray sweater. The scoop neckline isn’t super low, but it does help draw attention to my cleavage and away from my not-so-snatched waist.
The crowning glory of my outfit––the detail that makes me feel sexy, something I’m not used to feeling––are the thigh-high black stockings.
I’ve seen them in movies, and on models in magazines, but I never thought they were something that a girl like me could wear. I figured they’d be too tight and cause a weird roll in the middle of my thigh, but these ones are soft and stretchy, and there’s something along the inside of the top that makes them stick in place. Plus the thick bands act as a buffer between my legs, so I’m not suffering from having my thighs rubbing together with every step.
A body bumps into me and my eyes fly open.
“Sorry!” the dude shouts above the music, then keeps moving past me, on a mission to get somewhere.
I shuffle back a step in my not-new black ankle boots, putting my back just an arm’s length away from the back wall.
I’m thinking maybe I should just take another step so I’m leaning against the wall when a hand presses gently on my side.
Assuming the person is just trying to alert me that they’re attempting to pass behind me, I try to step forward. Except the pressure slides across my ribs to the front of my body, until the hand splays across my belly, holding me in place.
Panic surges inside me, and I’m reaching down to shove the hand away, when a body presses against my back. And a fiery masculine scent I’m all too familiar with swirls around me.
Nero.
Warm breath fans across my cheek as he lowers his mouth to my ear. “You’ve been a bad girl, Payton.”
Heat pools in my core at the feel of him. At the sound of him.
Then I remember I’m angry with him.
“Go away,” I hiss, keeping my eyes forward.
“No.” His lips brush against my ear, sending a shiver across my scalp.
“No?” I try to snap at him, but my traitorous body sinks back into his warmth.
“No, Baby. You wanted to talk. So, now, we’ll talk.”
“It’s a little loud,” I say, facing forward.
“What was that?”
I sigh since he’s proving my point. “I said”—I turn my head to look back at him—“it’s––”
His lips seal over mine.
CHAPTER38
Payton
The shockof his kiss causes me to try and pull away, but his other hand spans across my neck and chin, holding me in place.
And, because I’m weak, I let myself melt into his heat.
Just for a moment, I soak in the feeling of his warm lips pressed against mine.
But just for a moment, because I can’t let myself forget how he treated me today, so I strain away, my hands shoving at the grip he has on my face.
“What are you doing?” I ask when his hand drops away, even though his firm grip around my waist keeps my body against his.
“I’m reminding you who you belong to.”
