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He exhales as he peers around the room. “Sweetheart, all you’ve done is make me wish for more.”
* * *
We don’t spend much time in the club after he fucks me at the table. Gavin’s entire demeanor changes after that. He glowers at everyone, accusing them of something I can only guess at. They saw us. That’s all they’re guilty of.
But wasn’t that the point of his fantasy? Or was it the stages he imagined, and me performing on them, only he forgot others would be there too?
“Are you angry?” I ask when he adjusts his tie for the hundredth time, like it’s strangling him or something.
He turns that glower on me and I fight the urge to shrink into the booth. “You came.”
“Yes.”
“While you looked at them.” He flicks a glance toward his patrons, some of who are still watching us.
“Why does it matter where I was looking?”
His jaw works as he lowers his gaze from my face to my torn dress. “We should go.”
“But—” I’m not allowed to finish my protest.
Snatching my wrist, he pulls me out of the booth and begins to drag me through the tables, toward the exit.
“What’s wrong?” Clearly he’s upset. “Gavin, I can’t walk that fast in these heels.”
“Then next time you should consider wearing flats,” he says pointedly when we approach his private elevator. “Kurt,” he greets the man there.
“Leaving so soon, sir?”
Gavin doesn’t reply, simply stares straight ahead until the doors slide open and he pushes me inside. I lean against the wall and cross my arms over my chest. His eyes instantly pick up on the motion and lock there, heated. I glance down to find my bosom pushed upward and accentuated by the bits of lace he tore in his effort to get to my skin.
“Your stylist chose this, not me,” I remind him.
“I’m sure he gave you options.”
Huffing, I shake my head and smirk, “Options? If I’d had that, I would never have chosen something so slutty. Even if it was for a sex club.”
“All right, what would you have chosen then? A T-shirt and tight ass jeans?” He steps closer, that predatory gleam in him increasing. “That would have been fucking worse.”
He scares me, but my pride gets the better of me and I don’t back down. “Worse? My pussy is practically hanging out of this dress. No wonder you couldn’t control yourself.”
“Had you worn your jeans, Miss Burrows, we wouldn’t have made it to the booth. I would have fucked you on the floor, right in the middle of all those tables.” He points in the direction and I automatically look, though all I see are the elevator doors. “Don’t you know how crazy you make me in those? I never had to see your pussy to imagine it. And now that I’ve felt it,” —suddenly his hand is between my legs, cupping me, feeling the moist heat through the material of my panties— “and tasted it,” —he slips the slight fabric aside and thrusts a finger through my folds to gather some of the wetness that lingers from our sex. My eyes lock onto him as he brings it to his mouth and licks the juices off— “it’s impossible to stop.”
Before I can react, he spins me and has me pressed against the wall, my hands pinned above my head with one of his. With the other, he searches for the small holes on the lace covering my breasts as he grinds his incessant hard-on between the mounds of my ass. When he finds a tiny rupture, he pulls at it, forcing it to tear apart.
“What are you doing? Gavin!” I scream, but he does it again and again, until the entire front of my dress is in pieces.
I’m panting, my breaths labored. But when he bends his head to bite the crook of my neck at the same time as he tugs the satin lining still clinging to my chest and exposes my nipples, I almost stop breathing altogether.
“I don’t care who chooses your outfit, I never want you to wear anything that restricts my access to these again. Is that clear?” He grazes his palms over the soft peaks and I gasp. “I asked you a question, Andie.”
“Yes,” I moan, because right now, I’d agree to anything. Whatever he wants as long as he touches me like this. As long as he drives me mad.
“Good girl.” He undoes the zipper of his pants and his cock springs free.
He enters me from behind and we’re both instantly sucked into a frenzy. My brain switches off all thoughts not essential to this moment and I give in to the sounds of his body slapping against mine, the feeling of him stretching me, hitting that part so deep inside that makes me short-circuit.
I’m so far gone, that I barely register the elevator doors opening at the penthouse and closing again. And when it begins to descend, I don’t have a mind to wonder where it’s going or who’s called it down.
