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I pop a couple in my mouth. “You look great tonight. I hate to admit it, but I’m impressed.”
“What do I normally look like?”
I think for a moment. “Sexy, but I like to pretend you’re not.”
He chuckled.
I ran my hand down his firm chest. He was forty, but he was in excellent shape: strong jawline, thick dark hair, honey-green eyes, and full lips. I could see why women threw themselves at him. My hand fell onto his lap, and his body stiffened.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Don’t you want me?”
He glanced at me with a troubled expression before turning his gaze to the road. “I do, but it’s complicated.”
I felt him harden beneath my hand, and I stroked his thick cock through the fabric of his pants.
“It doesn’t have to be complicated.”
His hands gripped the steering wheel. “You’re drunk.”
“Not anymore.” I slid my hand up and down his thigh. “I know what I want.”
He huffed through his nostrils and kept his eyes on the road. “We can’t. I’m driving.”
I felt moisture pool between my legs, and I wriggled in the seat. “Fine,” I said playfully. “I’ll keep my hands to myself … for now.”
Sebastian’s penthouse was in a pristine, post-modern building with clean lines and smooth glass panels. It was the sort of minimalism that projected quiet confidence to passing cars and visitors.
The people who lived here didn’t feel the need to flaunt their wealth because there was no risk of their wealth ever running out. An attendant grabbed Sebastian’s keys from him and parked his car in an open space in the parking garage.
Sebastian linked his arm with mine. “Okay, pick a point up ahead to focus on. That’ll stop you from stumbling. Whatever you do, don’t upchuck in the bushes. They’re imported.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course, your apartment has imported bushes.”
We entered through the stark glass doors into a chic lobby decorated with minimalist paintings and stiff, white leather lounge chairs.
“This lobby looks like a spaceship,” I noted.
Sebastian rolled his eyes. “It’s called mid-century modern; look it up.”
“I know what mid-century modern is. I took three art history survey courses in college.”
Once we reached the elevator, I turned to him. “I’m a Cavanaugh. I know how to conduct myself.”
“Your behavior tonight says otherwise.”
“So, I had one wild night!” The elevator door opened soundlessly. “That’s nothing compared to your nights of debauchery.”
“That’s a big word for such a young woman.”
“I might be young, but I’m well read. I graduated Suma Cum Laude from Brown.”
He scanned his thumb and keyed in a code. The elevator jerked upward.
“Did you know that my mom didn’t even want me to go to college? She thought, and this is coming from a woman whose face cream has real gold filaments in it, that it would be a waste of money. And then, when I was a sophomore, she was stunned that I even wanted to declare a major. She told me to look into getting an MRS. Degree instead. Do you know how annoying that is? To have all your dreams canceled out by other people’s hope that you’ll settle down, shut up, and get married—maybe pop out a couple of kids?”
“I am familiar with the idea of my family putting pressure on me to get married, yes,” Sebastian deadpanned.
