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Bordeaux breaks from my skin and presses his mouth to my ear. “Do you trust me?” he asks, and a pit forms in my stomach. God, I want to trust him. But the truth of the matter is, I barely know this man. I feel like he’s both a stranger and someone I’ve known for years. My mind wrestles with how that could be.
“I want to…” I tell him. At least I’m honest.
He pulls me off his lap and sits me down next to him, buckling my seatbelt so we’re sitting side by side. I turn to look at him, but his eyes are facing forward, almost as if he’s sizing up his security team. Without looking at me, his hand finds its way to my knee. His palm lingers against my skin for fractions of a moment before his fingers graze up my thigh, dipping under my dress and fervently finding my panties.
“Bordeaux,” I look at him, grabbing at his arm, “you’ve got to be kidding me,” I whisper, but with enough force that he turns to me.
With his free hand, he cups my chin. “I’m not kidding you. Lean back and relax.” He turns his attention toward the front of the SUV again, but his eyes latch back on mine as if he thinks better of it. “Oh,” he whispers, his voice low and gruff, devious, “try to stay quiet.”
With nothing but those four words, his fingers are inside of me. I wriggle in my seat uncontrollably until my body realizes what’s happening, and then I can keep myself at bay.
Bordeaux Daniels is fingering me in the back of his security car. And there are two men merely feet away from us. And I somehow have to resist the urge to lose all control.
Yeah. Okay.
He starts to pick up his pace, finding a fucking devastatingly perfect rhythm. A small smirk rests on his face while he continues looking straight ahead, appearing to be nonchalant, riding home, when really, he’s inside of me and about to give me another mind-blowing orgasm.
His thumb circles my clit as he hooks two fingers inside me and it’s all I can do to not cry out in complete and utter bliss. This man’s touch is goddamn gold. My universe blurs as my center heats. I move my hips, just barely, not enough to be noticed if one of them were to glance back, but I can’t help it. I’m useless against his touch. I’d give up anything to never lose this feeling.
“Five minutes out, boss,” one of the guys calls and Bordeaux picks up the pace as I tilt my head back against the seat, closing my eyes, begging myself to keep quiet. I bite my lip and concentrate, but it’s so damn hard.
God. There’s never been a man who could make me come completely undone just by his touch, not ever. I’ve always had to put work in, touching myself as I was being fucked, but with Bordeaux… He knows exactly how to please a woman, and the fact that he’s here, pleasing me, is mind-blowing.
I look over at Bordeaux and my eyes trail down to his crotch. I smile when I see how hard he is and realize how difficult this is for him, too. He’s torturing us but in the best possible way.
Suddenly, the familiar rush of intoxication comes and I’m riding out the waves of my orgasm as he brings his fingers to a slow. I look over to see him smiling from ear to ear. His dark hair is still in perfect place and his sleeves are rolled up to showcase his gorgeous black ink. Finally, Bordeaux turns to me as he slides his palm out from under my dress. I’m still panting, trying to do so as incognito as possible as this man taunts me.
He smiles, his tongue peeking through his teeth and it is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
* * *
Sunlight streams through a window that neither of us bothered to close last night, too tangled up in each other to give a damn about who saw us. We’re literally up in the sky, so I know there was no chance of fans watching us do the things we did, but I can’t say the same about neighboring penthouse owners in the building across the avenue.
I turn toward Bordeaux; his eyes are closed, and he looks like a fucking god while sleeping—though, I probably look like a homeless woman with my mouth open and drool pooling out. I smile at him and turn back toward the open window, glad I woke up first. He has one arm draped around my middle, the other wrapped up under my pillow and head, like I might disappear if he doesn’t keep both arms around me.
I snuggle into him, pushing my back against him and sinking into the bed. I slip my arm around his and stare out the window at a beautiful blue sky. Comfort washes over me. Comfort and something else I can’t quite place my finger on, but it feels a hell of a lot like security. I gulp, my insides twisting at the thought of being this comfortable with Bordeaux, and so soon. I almost feel like this is all too good to be true. The feeling from last night on the rooftop comes back, like this is nothing but a fever dream.
I clench my eyes shut and try to force the thought that this could all be over any second out of my mind.
Thirty-Four
Bordeaux
Sehnsucht (n.) an intense yearning
for something far-off and indefinable.
___________
I’m leaving Chicago in less than an hour, and the only thing I feel is regret.
Regret that I’m in this position.
Regret that I’m working for Hellfire.
Regret that I met Isla only to leave her.
I’ve lost track of how many times we’ve had sex in the last twenty-four hours. If I were a betting man, I’d put my money on at least ten. I’ve had her in damn near every position and on almost every fucking surface in my penthouse. Being inside Isla is a fucking wet dream, literally. Every single inch of my body is on fire for this woman, and it’s not just when I’m inside her, either. It’s every second of every damn day. I can’t even put the way she makes me feel into words because it’s nothing I’ve ever felt in this lifetime.
