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“You in a rush?” The unholy sexy hunk flashes me a wide grin.
My pussy is way too needy for a long explanation.
With one hand, I pull the lapel of his tuxedo jacket and with the other, I slip my wet panties inside his pocket.
I give it a few taps for good measure.
His eyes widen.
Beckett pulls the lapel of his jacket and inspects his gift.
The splash of red lace stands out against the black.
His face screams disbelief. Then, his features morph into something dangerous. His ocean-blue eyes, now the color of dark rough seas, meet mine.
“You dirty girl. I didn’t even have to ask,” he says. “Looks like I’m rubbing off on you after all… and soon… I’ll be rubbing you off.”
I have to contain the glee of excitement bubbling through me.
He leans closer until his lips touch my earlobe. “And that’s just the warm-up. I want my mouth on your pussy until my face smells like you.”
The words send a thrill up my spine. He grabs my hand and pulls me after him.
Yes!
Chapter 36
Beckett
What I read in Arianne’s eyes unhinged me. The expression on her face—a tempting combination of boldness and vulnerability—when she placed her wet panties inside my pocket was so fucking potent, my cock jerked to attention. No way was I going to waste another second at that stupid gala when I could be balls deep inside her. I didn’t even attempt to find Gage, Tomas, and Anders in the crowd. I high-tailed it out of there with the lady in red who had the audacity of throwing my salacious promise right back in my face.
The short ride back to the inn is torture.
Arianne doesn’t speak.
Neither do I.
All I can do is hold her hand in mine, willing myself to control the volcano building up at the pit of my stomach.
Upon arriving at the inn, I jump out, round the front of the car, watching her all the while through the windshield—to the chauffeur’s bewilderment—and open the passenger door to let her out, leaving her no choice but to trip after me in her high heels as I race inside.
My overwhelming desire is so all-encompassing, good manners fly out the window. I barely acknowledge Astrid and Günter as I rush us back to our rooms. I pull out my key card, scan it, and push her inside. I close the door behind me and whirl her around, placing her back against the door. I move closer, right into her space. I tip her chin up, my eyes narrow thoughtfully on her face.
“Where did you disappear to?” I ask. “And don’t even think of lying to me.”
She tells me all about the risqué British couple and how she became a participant to their kink.
I’m incredulous.
I never would’ve pegged her as a voyeur.
Just when I think I’ve figured her out, she pulls a fast one on me.
“You’ve done the impossible—you struck me speechless,” I tell her.
“I know. I should be ashamed.” Her eyes are downcast.
“Remember when we met Larkin you asked me questions about the private club?”
