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I’m used to women undressing me with their eyes, but the way Isabella’s friend stares at me, her gaze soaking up the entire breadth of me, infuriates me.
Honestly, I want to just take a night off from fucking drama.
A server shows up a few seconds later, and I handle the drink orders. This is my wife’s night to have fun, and I’m her arm candy.
“So, how’s married life, Isabella?” Ginna says with a thick New York accent, and tops it with a cluck of her tongue, showing how fucking spoiled she is.
“It’s great,” my wife answers and snuggles against me.
Playing along, I take her hand and kiss it, displaying the rock I put on her finger. Bragging, sure. I don’t fuck around.
Isabella leans forward and whispers, “We can’t keep our hands off each other.”
Samantha offers a genuine smile and doesn’t look at me, while Ginna narrows her eyes right on me. Okay, this is going to be a problem. I hope this Ginna isn’t the kind of friend that will be hanging out in my house and in my pool, eye-fucking me behind her friend’s back. I won’t tolerate it.
It perplexes me why she’d need to do that. She’s beautiful but in a fake kind of way.
Our drinks come, and the women fall into mindless back-and-forth chatter about school. I tune it out, and when I check again, I see nearly an hour has gone by.
The music changes, and Samantha stands up. “I love this song. Can I dance with your wife?”
“You don’t have to ask him,” Isabella scoffs and takes her hand. “Ginna, come on.”
I give her a death stare that suggests she’s not staying here with me. My chest relaxes when off the three of them go. I signal Riordan down at the bar to keep an eye on them from his vantage point.
I lean back and sip my whiskey. As far as clubs go, Riordan sure can pick ‘em. I’ll give him that. Right away, I know the place is safe. A shit-ton of cameras line the walls, and I see at least four panels with smoky two-way mirrors on the floor above me. Security teams are watching with their own eyes, as well. Sure, every fucker up here, on both sides of me, is wearing an expensive suit, but even the average Joes below are well dressed. No dirtbags.
The music, however, beats a little irritatingly loud. That’s to be expected. Before I know it, my wife bounces back to our table and sticks her ass in my face on purpose to get to her seat.
“It’s crowded down there,” Isabella says, sipping the champagne I ordered for the table.
Samantha thanks me. Ginna doesn’t. She swipes her flute and sips it like she’s the fucking queen. I tamp down my anger. This is Isabella’s night, and I won’t ruin it by being a dick.
Samantha holds her stomach and announces, “I need to use the ladies’ room.”
This I know is a multi-person event, and I pray Ginna goes with her so I can be alone with my wife for two seconds. Only, Isabella crawls over me with her purse in hand.
“I’ll go, too.” She kisses me, distracting me with her tits. The dress is very low cut, and she’s not wearing a bra. Something I’d never let her leave the house wearing alone. But she’s with me.
I stand up and see a well-lit hallway to the right and deem it safe. This whole section is VIP, and no one’s looked at us twice. I can see us coming back here. Fuck, to feel anonymous like this is fantastic. Something I didn’t expect.
“No funny business, brat,” I whisper and squeeze her ass.
“Nah, I’m giving you a night off from worrying.” She pats my abs, and her fingers slide down my dress shirt. Next, she’s gripping my belt.
“One more hour, and we’re out of here.”
“You’re no fun,” she pouts adorably.
“You’re very wrong.” I kiss her on the temple, and over her shoulder, I catch Ginna smirking at me.
She stands, and I breathe a sigh of relief, thinking she’s going to join them, even if it means she plans to talk shit about me. But when Samantha and my wife leave, Ginna plops down on my lap, her legs spread wide.
What. The. Fuck?
“Wrong seat,” I warn, ready to throw her off. Sudden moves, though, especially against a woman, could land me in trouble.
“Are you sure?” She grinds her pussy against my hard-on. “I think you like this.”
