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The man he was talking to shifted, and I got my first glimpse at him. Filipe Moragreiga was in his late fifties, dressed in a traditional tux complete with a white jacket with tails. His steel-grey hair and black leather mask provided a stark contrast to the white of his shirt and jacket. But I wasn’t interested in any of that. It was his glasses that held my attention. They were perched on his nose, resting over his mask. Moragreiga flicked through a series of palm cards, seemingly scanning the details on each of them.
As chief operations officer for the Grande Banque Unie, Moragreiga was a regular on Europe’s social calendar, and his dates were always a favourite topic. I didn’t much care who he had with him. I was more concerned with what he was wearing. Moragreiga attended all the important parties, races, and business transactions on behalf of the bank, and every time he was shown with glasses, he was wearing the same pair. Boxy, heavy black frames that were indistinguishable from the pair Ezra was currently holding.
“That’s Moragreiga in the white tux,” Flynn confirmed in our earpieces. “Glasses are a match too. Do your thing.”
We converged on the couple, Tristan and I coming in from behind while Ezra strolled around from the opposite direction.
When we were only a few feet away, I set our plan in motion. “Baby, we should dance.”
Moragreiga took off his glasses, holding them by the frames as he looked over at us, the volume of my voice catching his attention.
I put on a pout when Tristan shook his head and said, “Not yet, my love. I need a few more drinks before that.”
I twirled around and danced backward, shimmying my hips and tugging Tristan toward Moragreiga and his date. “Then let’s get some more champagne.”
“What—careful, kitten,” he warned just before I slammed into Moragreiga, almost sending both of us tumbling to the floor.
“Steady.” He grasped my arms and righted me before reaching out to our target. “I’m terribly sorry, sir. My date is… enthusiastic.”
Tristan distracted Moragreiga’s date, murmuring softly to her, while I stepped in.
“Oh my. I’m so sorry,” I gushed. Just like I knew the man always had Europe’s most beautiful young women hanging off his arm, I also knew that he spoke five languages and would understand me when I spoke.
Taking Moragreiga’s hands in mine, I gathered them close, pressing his hands against my boobs. “Monsieur, I apologize. I wanted to dance.”
His gaze barely flicked over my face before travelling down and stalling, glued to my tits. I’d chosen this gown over the others I’d tried on because of just how much it revealed—the perfect carrot for our resident playboy banker. The shoestring straps looked like the slightest tug would tear them, and the bodice was secured only by the smallest amount of Hollywood tape. If I moved the wrong way, my entire tit would break free. The dress was backless too, cut so low that I knew it would be the perfect tease for him.
“It’s not a problem, mademoiselle,” he answered with a posh Spanish accent. “You love to dance?”
“I do. But my date doesn’t want to.” I pouted, pressing my boobs harder against his hands.
“I would be glad to accompany you.” He lifted my knuckles to his lips and stared as goosebumps broke out over my skin.
My nipples pebbled and I inhaled on a gasp. Moragreiga’s eyes darkened, and his tongue darted out to lick a trail along his lips, but it wasn’t him or his touch I was reacting to. My visceral response was to Tristan. Standing to my side, blocking Moragreiga’s date’s view, he’d run those gentle fingertips teasingly down my spine, stopping just at the top of my cleft, only inches from the holes I couldn’t wait to be filled.
Moragreiga tugged me closer, and I let him pull me off balance, falling against his chest. He slid his finger inside the front of my dress, brushing my nipple before slipping his card into my hand. “My personal cell is on that card. Use it.”
I fluttered my eyelashes and sank my teeth into my bottom lip, staring into his eyes. “I’d like that very much.”
“Monsieur, mademoiselle, is everything all right?” Ezra asked. He stared at Moragreiga, his eyes hard.
But the other man didn’t flinch, letting me go and taking his spilled palm cards from Ezra.
“Yes, yes.” Moragreiga waved off Ezra’s concern, pocketing the cards and slipping the glasses Ezra had passed to him into his jacket pocket.
“I will see you on the dance floor, monsieur.” I dipped my head in deference to him. Before I stepped back, I leaned in and added, “And perhaps afterward for something a little… sexier.”
I flashed him a smirk, the whole time biting back the urge to slap him silly. He’d just come onto me in front of his date. I wanted to scrub my skin clean of the feel of his greasy mitts on me. I fantasized about getting naked in front of people, of being fucked in a crowded room where men would line up and use me, getting me off until I couldn’t stand anymore, but he would definitely not be on the invite list.
I’d seen Ry glaring at Moragreiga when we were talking. He’d been hovering nearby, just like Ezra. I met his gaze, and he swept in, lowering the tray for me to take a champagne flute.
“Thank you,” I murmured, our gazes locking and sending heat whispering through my body.
“Did he hurt you?” he ground out. The possessiveness in his gaze, the flicker of anger and desire that were simmering below his seemingly calm façade, were visceral.
And I really wanted him to unleash.
My cunt clenched, my juices coating my lips as he set me alight with the want in his eyes.
