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They walked silently, feet padding over the hotel snakeskin patterned carpet, Franco’s hand resting on the back of her neck. He wasn’t always a dominating figure when it came to their sex life, but she enjoyed feeling him directing her movements.
She tightened her thighs together as they arrived at his room. They stopped, with Violet pressing her back against the door, Franco’s hand sliding from her neck to the supple patch of skin on her throat. He did not grip it, though. He merely traced his fingertips from her windpipe down to the protrusion of her collarbone.
She had a couple buttons of her blouse undone, which revealed the sneaky blush of the lace of her turquoise-colored bra. She hoped he had noticed throughout the day, any second the wind blew, making the buttons tremble.
He touched the space between her breasts just before the plunge of her cleavage began. He rested two fingers there, remaining maddeningly still as he glided his smug smirk back up to her.
Violet swallowed, unsure how she was going to be able to conclude the conversation without ordering him to rip her blouse apart.
“Under one condition,” she said.
Franco’s fingers froze, his fixation on her. Could he feel her heart rattling in her chest, the tuneless frenzy of exhilaration he was personally responsible for?
He licked his lips before the words crawled up her thighs and settled in her groin.
“Go on.”
“I’m getting tired of this whole showering-alone thing,” she said, voice husky as she began to undo one button, then two. “It really doesn’t make sense anymore with us, does it?”
Franco had the self-control of a dog waiting for its owner’s command to chomp down on a sizzling steak. She had almost unbuttoned her top entirely, her plump breasts popping out from her shirt into the open air, giving her a sultry wave of confidence when he spoke up.
“I think you’re right,” he murmured, fingers lowering down her tight cleavage. “It’s just not practical.”
Violet was beginning to lose herself, feeling his fingers tuck between her large crevice, then nestle at the center of the only bit of fabric left sitting between them and utter insatiable, glorious chaos.
Franco then hooked his fingers into the front loop of the bra binding, tugging at the sweet little silky bow that held her goddess-like size together. She jerked forward from the door, gasping, her breasts bumping up against him briefly as he towered over her.
He was grinning, then used his other hand to stroke along the sides of her face. Violet shivered when a finger traced her lips, and she opened it obediently for him.
His pupils dilated into the color of ink when she wrapped her lips around his finger, sucked on it, then popped it out like a lollipop. Violet couldn’t believe what she had done or that she had been able to surprise him like that.
She was irrevocably attracted to the look of astonishment painting his fetching face.
“Let me go get ready then,” she said. “Meet you in the lobby?”
Her voice was smokey and sexy, and it filled her with brimming lust. Franco stood there, one finger still looped into the front of her bra, another before her lips, damp from her juices. Violet removed his hand from her bra, then quickly buttoned up her blouse with a sly smirk.
God, he was addicting. Her tiger was already whining for him.
“Yes, I’ll be waiting,” he murmured.
Without looking back and still buttoning up the rest of her blouse, Violet spun around and headed for the elevator. She felt balmy, like she had emerged from a tropical climate. But she was the climate, the powerful, zesty tigress that knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it.
She felt like the smile was never going to leave her face.
FOURTEEN
FRANCO
Franco knew that Violet would eventually figure out his true feelings about what had happened. He was good about keeping a straight face for her when it came to discussing things with his pit crew, but none of them were his fated mate. Her eyes bore into him when he wasn’t looking at her, a stealthy living lie detector.
He felt he had reassured her sufficiently for the time being, and her little tease in front of his hotel room certainly smoothed over the edges. But once the haze of desire faded, she would read the concern in him like a damn book.
Franco went into his hotel room to get ready for the meet and greet, ripping off his clothing and satisfied to see their little interaction had given him a full hard-on. He marveled at it. The woman was bewitching beyond belief. He let it die down, though, musing about the private time they would have later once the party was over.
His own wave of desire began to fade, and the real problem thudded into his head like a mallet … the car, the fucking car had been tampered with.
Franco’s racing car was his precious, divine chariot. It had, of course, evolved and changed over the years from various minor problems and crashes to altering sponsors and updates in engine and steering enhancement.
