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“Huh?” My voice is so close to a moan it’s embarrassing.
“I mean, if Greg was snowed in, how come you did make it?” My father clarifies for my benefit, while James flicks his finger again, and I can see his smirk growing wider out of the corner of my eye. Shit. Even if I had a good excuse, I wouldn’t be able to string two words together right now.
My anger flares up enough to recover some of my resolve. I cross my right leg tightly over my left one, making it impossible for James to reach me while I try to have this distinctly awkward conversation with my father. My stepbrother’s victory grin quickly disappears from his face, his palm once again resting open, high on my thigh, as the tip of his fingers sink into my skin in warning. His eyes are murderous, as if I’d taken his most precious possession from him. But I didn’t budge. I couldn’t, right?
“I see what you mean, Dad. You’re right. Where were you coming from Rosy?” His glare is like shards of steel, cutting and sharp, slashing through me with his blackmailing undertone, his hand tugging hard on my leg. I can see his game from a mile away, and for some reason the only thing that’s bothering me right now is why it isn’t bothering me at all.
“I’m not quite sure that’s any of your business,” I reply, squeezing my legs tighter together. The pressure isn’t relieving me of the arousal he managed to build. Dammit, if anything, it was much worse, and his dominating stare alone was enough to have me pulsing.
“Rosy…” My father warns in a low tone.
I glare back at James. I don’t want to lie to my father, but I’m not quite keen on the idea of ruining their anniversary either. I’m drawing a blank, I have no idea how to dodge this, and by the grin plastered on his face, James is enjoying seeing me squirm.
In a split-second decision, I uncross my legs again, spreading them just a little, James’ lips tilting upward at the same pace I give in to his little game.
“Oh, right. You mentioned that old bat with the mansion east of here died.” He tries salvaging his own mess while his fingers resume their previous spot, the tip of his middle finger lazily circling my clit. “Any hidden treasures you can bring back to the gallery?” All I see on his face is pleasure, I’m not sure I am keeping mine from mirroring his.
“Nothing worth shuffling through.” I try closing my legs again, earning myself a painful pinch on my clit, my voice rising at the end of the sentence as a result. The pain quickly subsides, giving way to a flood of pleasure like I’ve never felt before, my legs fall open wider for him. James doesn’t miss his opportunity, and shifting his body forward, he plunges a finger deep inside me.
This is so incredibly wrong, on so many levels, but fuck does he feel good. I sink my teeth deep into my bottom lip, trying to muffle my pleasure with pain. I’m allowing myself to feel, instead of reversing to my default overly cautious self. That’s what this stupid idea of looking for sex today was about. Knowing and feeling that breaking up with Greg was a good, smart decision. I couldn’t let James go on with this if I still had feelings for him. It was clear as day right now that I didn’t, our fire had died long ago. With just a light touch, James had managed to ignite me in a way I think Greg never had. Fuck, if I’m honest, I’d admit he did it without even touching me. Just like he promised he would.
All this is about feeling and following my gut for the first damn time since I can remember.
Besides, I’ve always seen James surrounded by beautiful women, taking his pick as he pleased. Shit, there's one across the table eyeing him right now, but his eyes are set steadily on me. He chose me. Somehow, the look on his face makes me feel empowered. He’s slowly thrusting in and out of me, his plump bottom lip tucked between his teeth, his chest in an overdrive of deep breaths. I grab his hand, this time not interested in stopping him, rather coaching him to go harder, to graze me where I so desperately need him too.
My head is hanging forward, I’m pretending to look at my phone, but in reality, I’m close to becoming undone all around James’ finger in front of everyone sitting at this goddamn table.
Just as I start to feel my pussy clenching, James pulls out and dips his finger deep in the sauce flooding the bottom of his plate, coating it, before sucking it clean with visible satisfaction.
I watch him in a mix of frustration, deep lust, and awe as he carefully licks his finger clean until consuming every last damn drop of me.
“Hmm… So moist. This just might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” The fucking bastard! I swallow nothing but air as I hear his words, he is hell bound on humiliating me, leaving no safe ground for me to hold on to.
I’m pissed. He pushed me to the brink of pleasure, only to deny me after. And there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.
I spend the rest of dinner feigning deafness, fighting hard not to react to his enticing words. He is still riling me up, I can’t deny deep down he is affecting me.
“Cake and coffee are served in the other room,” the headwaiter announces. Before he finishes his announcement, I’m on my feet, storming away from the table. I need to get my head straight. This is wrong. No. This is fucked up! And worse than having my stepbrother fingering me at the table, is that I’m frustrated he stopped.
I’m taking long strides. I’d run if these heels wouldn’t kill me. I just can’t get to the bathroom fast enough. I feel like a total fool. As always, he was just messing with me, proving that he is right, and I am wrong.
If he wanted to humiliate me, he could have chosen something that wouldn’t crush me this much. Today of all days. Self-righteous, arrogant asshole!
Finally, after dodging guests and staff, never lifting my eyes from the ground, I get to the bathroom, and swing the door shut behind me, but the click never comes. I look back and see James’ hand curled around its edge, walking in, locking it behind him.
“Get.The hell. Out!” My voice doesn’t mask the rage and frustration I’m feeling in the pit of my gut.
James hooks his hand on the nape of my neck, pulls me to him and spins us around, slamming my back on the door.
“Don’t run from me, Valentine.” It’s a warning and a tease all laced up in a defying glance that can melt me right on the spot. I hold my ground and his stare. I’m done with conceding tonight. “Did you come to finish what I started?”
“No.”
His grip tightens as he brings his face impossibly closer to mine, his whole body now pressed up against me.I feel him. I feel all of him. He’s just as affected as I am.
“Liar. I know how hot and bothered you are. I came to fix that,” he whispers in my ear. An explosion of flutters spreads from my head to the tips of my toes. I’m palming the door, in desperate need to fist onto something, to hold on, to squeeze.
His other hand has traveled up my dress, grabbing my bare ass cheek. Nothing sweet or soft about it. On the contrary, there’s a latent, pent-up need that’s raw and primal. Something I’m not sure I’ve ever been on the receiving end of. Still, I fight back. He left me hanging and vulnerable in the worst of scenarios, I’m not caving now.
