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As Artie continues to speak, my eyes land on a gorgeous woman with wavy, flowing hair in a stunning dress. My mouth is dry as Thelma locks eyes with me from across the space. The corners of her bright pink lips curve upward into a smirk, and she lifts one hand into an unmistakable “after you” gesture toward the house.
“It would appear you’re being summoned.” Artie’s amused tone breaks through my consciousness. Shit. I forgot he was here.
“It would appear so. If you would excuse me.”
“By all means.” Artie laughs, moving away to charm a group of older women, sipping their champagne and admiring the table decorations near us.
Striding across the marquee pavilion, my eyes follow Thelma as she moves inside. As I step into the dining room, Pete passes me, pressing a tumbler of whiskey into my hand.
“The waiters will know to serve you this.”
“Thanks. I’m looking for Thelma.”
“She walked through to the entryway before.”
“Thanks.” Taking my whiskey, I leave Pete outside, taking a sip of my drink as I search for Thelma. Damn, that’s smooth.
When I hit the entryway, where a few guests are still trickling in, I see the hem of Thelma’s dress on the stairs and follow her up the heavy, sweeping wooden staircase. It opens onto a landing, with hallways leading off both ways. Thelma grins from the end of the righthand one, melting into a room.
Intrigued, I follow her into an old-fashioned office. The windows look down over the roof of the marquee pavilion below, and the walls are lined with heavy wooden bookcases stocked with imposing hardcover tomes.
There is a large, polished wooden desk in the center, which Thelma leans against, propped with one hand, the other resting against her thigh.
Letting the door swing shut behind me, I lick my lips, my eyes slowly dropping to take in Thelma's gloriousness in this dress. It’s dark green with narrow straps over her shoulders, a low neckline, and fitted around her waist and thighs. At her knees, it flares out, pooling on the ground.
She looks stunning, with bright pink lips and her silky strawberry blonde hair tumbling over one shoulder, brushing the bottom of her breasts. I saw her back when she was walking in. I know it’s almost wholly exposed. Her entire look is mouthwatering.
“What are you doing here?”
My eyes snap back up to meet her whiskey-colored ones, and I take a slow, deliberate sip of my drink. She sounds amused, not annoyed, so I’ll take it as a good sign.
“Artie and Holly asked me to donate a package for the auction.”
Thelma blinks, a slow, bright smile lighting up her face. “Oh. Thank you.”
Tucking one hand in my pocket, I sip my drink again. “It’s a good cause.”
She nods, absently stroking the satiny material of her dress at her thigh, drawing my gaze again.
“You look fucking incredible.”
Thelma giggles, gesturing at her face. “Thanks. My eyes are up here.”
Shaking my head, I unashamedly drink in her body. “I can look at your eyes any time I want. I can only look at you in that dress right now.”
“You can do more than look.”
My eyes snap back up to her face, and I inhale sharply at the seductive, hooded look. Jesus. That’s how she looks when I’m fucking her at the gym.
Carefully crossing the room to her, I lean in, inhaling her sweet, musky scent as I set down the whiskey tumbler on the large desk, far enough not to cause any trouble, and slide my hands around her waist, gliding over the smooth fabric of her dress.
“As much as I’d love to fuck you, I think this dress makes it out of the question,” I breathe into her ear, rewarded by a breathy moan.
A quick fuck was always out of the question. I don’t have a condom on me, and I doubt Thelma has one tucked away in her tight, gorgeous dress. Ah, well, it’s a nice dream.
My lips find hers, tasting and teasing as my tongue dances along the seam of her mouth, delving inside when she moans, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. She clings to me as I rest a hand on the desk, pressing my body against her lithe contours, kissing her thoroughly on the expensive wooden desk.
Finally, when my dick straining against my zipper and getting zero attention becomes too painful to ignore, I reluctantly lift my head. Thelma’s lipstick is the tiniest bit smeared, her cheeks flushed and her eyes hooded.
