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“Did you get wet knowing I might touch you at any moment?”
“Maybe.”
I doubt I’m going to get a better answer out of her, so I let it go, moving my hand from her thigh to between her legs, running my fingers over her bare folds until she lets out a breathy moan, squirming in her seat. Etta is stubborn and bratty, and I’m dominant, but I’m not exactly into the ‘call me sir, and do as I say or I’ll deny you orgasms indefinitely’ thing. I’m not going to cut off my nose to spite my face—I want her to come, often and as hard as possible.
“You should invite me inside.”
She hesitates for only a second, probably weighing the likelihood of someone coming home with wanting more room to get properly fucked. My dick swells painfully at the thought, straining against my jeans.
“Okay,” she says, breathless. “But move your car around to behind the garage.”
She leads the way into the house through a garage large enough to hold ten cars, though there are only two in there at the moment. I follow close behind her, and wrap my arms around her waist as we step into a dark kitchen. I take a step toward her and reach out, my palm finding the side of her face. Her lips part for a moment as I lean in, intending to finally, really kiss her for the first time.
Etta turns her head. “Wait. Just…don’t kiss me.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Why?”
“I just don’t think we should forget what this is?” she says in a rush.
I step back. “What is it?”
“Not a relationship. This is a partnership, like a business.”
I scoff. “Not any business I’ve ever heard of.”
“I thought you liked to read?” She snaps back. “Until the last hundred years most marriages were about business. That’s all I want.”
My lip curls. She’s trying too hard to maintain the distance between us—protesting too much. “And kissing will ruin that for you?”
“Yes,” she says haughtily. “I understand you can’t be with anyone else and that we both have…needs, I guess.” Her blush is intoxicating. “But that’s all this is, and I don’t want to forget it.”
Satisfaction settles over me. She might think this request is pushing me further away, but she’s wrong. She’s only proving to me what I realized on Saturday—what’s been becoming more and more apparent every moment I spend with her since: My feelings for her aren’t one sided.
She might not be fully aware of it yet—might not be ready to hear the words out loud—but this is more than her extremely delayed teenage rebellion, or a convenient way to end a feud. There’s something here, beyond lust, beyond the forbidden, and beyond the fulfillment of a childhood crush. She might think that’s all this is, and I’m happy to let her think that for as long as she needs to. Eventually she’ll realize it too. I’m sure of it. “Whatever you say, good girl, but that just means I’m going to have to kiss you everywhere else to make up for it.”
She shivers, her eyes flaring with lust. The corner of her mouth tips up, but yet her tone is indifferent when she replies. “I guess I can agree to that.”
Brat. We’ll see how indifferent she is in a few minutes.
Etta bites her lip, and places her hands on my shoulders before trailing them down my chest until she reaches the top button of my shirt. She looks up at me through her lashes as she fiddles with the button, running the tip of her finger over the edge of the lapel. It’s not a sexual gesture in any sense, but for some reason I’m harder than ever. There’s just something about her being casual that makes me want to disregard the promise I literally just made her and press my lips to hers. Yet, I can’t ignore a direct request. Even if I’m fairly sure she wants it too. I’ll wait for her to initiate a kiss when she can’t wait anymore.
I pick her up and sit her on the granite countertop, then step between her bare thighs, her skirt pooling around her hips.
“Wait,” she laughs, as I bury my face in her neck. “We need to go upstairs.”
I nip at her ear. “There’s no one here.”
“But someone could come home.”
I lean back, giving her a look that tells her exactly how little I care. “So?”
“So, I’m not so sure I’m into that.”
I roll my eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that Etta’s into the danger of getting caught. She both cares too much what everyone thinks about her, and likes the idea of being bad. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here at all. “You have exactly thirty-seconds to decide where you want to go, good girl, cause I’m done talking about all your new conditions.”
Rather than answering, she says: “Yeah?” she asks, jutting her lip out. “What are you going to do about it?”
My mouth falls open slightly. Fuck, just when I think I know what she’s going to do, Etta does the exact opposite. She has to know what she’s doing to me. Has to know how infuriating and sexy she is when she talks back.
