Текст книги "Mischief in Miami "

Автор книги: Nicole Williams

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I WAS LOUNGING on the balcony of my hotel room when one of my three cell phones rang. It was the G-designated one. She never just called to shoot the shit, so either something was very wrong or very right.

I answered the call and hoped for the best. “Bonjour, Madame G.”

“Closed the Silva case yet?” was her warm greeting.

I smiled. If something was wrong, G would have gotten straight to it. She wouldn’t have been making—at least, according to G—small talk.

“Almost,” I replied.

“Almost as in sometime this week, or almost as in sometime this month?” G’s voice could have been considered feminine if she didn’t deliver each word as if it was a threat.

“Almost as in tomorrow night if I was confident Mrs. Silva could handle knowing I’d managed to seduce her husband in less than a few days. Out of respect for her, and because this guy is really a tool who deserves every bit of discomfort from the blue balls he’ll get waiting for me, I’m going to wait a few more days to wrap things up.” I sighed when I looked around at everything else I’d be wrapping up. Miami just a few minutes before sunset was like something from a dream. “Although I wouldn’t mind it if you found me another case to work out here.”

“Speaking of new cases . . . guess who I got a call from this morning?”

My heart went into my throat. “Young, unhappy wife of an Eight, possibly a Nine, from Miami?”

“You’re right except for the Miami part. She’s from Seattle. She was just down in Miami for the weekend.”

“And . . .?” It would be a big job, and I wanted it.

“And if she decides to contract the Eves, you may end up with the job,” she replied. “You know as well as I do that if I find another Eve’s physical assets to be a better fit, you won’t get the Errand.”

I rolled my eyes only because G wasn’t in front of me. If I ever tried that in front of her, I’d be the one found dead in a back alley a week later. “Come on, G. You know as well as I do I can transform myself into whatever version of a wet dream Mr. Eight or Nine needs. I want that Errand.”

“Then let’s hope Mr. MoneyBags likes a tall, slim, busty build because stylists and surgeons can morph you to a certain degree, but no one except for the Maker could turn you into a short, athletically-built Asian. Sorry, love.” G didn’t sound irritated, she rarely showed emotion, but I knew I’d be pressing my luck if I pushed again.

All I could do was hope the big Eight or Nine forthcoming was an aficionado to my brand of woman. Plenty of men were, but that didn’t mean every man was. That didn’t mean he would be.

“Anything else?” I asked, knowing there wasn’t. G was all business, all the time. In fact, I didn’t know a single personal thing about her, including her real name.

“Nothing else for now.”

“Good night, G. I’ll text you when it’s done.”

G chuckled a few notes. “And I’d say good luck if I thought you needed it.”

After I hung up, I laid back down on the lounger to try to soak up the last few rays of sun. Not even a full minute later, a knock sounded on the door inside my room. No one knew I was there and I hadn’t ordered room service, so I was tempted to grab the little Lady Smith I kept hidden in the nightstand for emergencies. After a quick look through the peephole, I saw I didn’t need to answer with guns blazing.

I could have slid into a cover-up, but it was South Beach. People would have gone to work in their swimsuits if it was allowed. I swung the door open and tried not to smile when the bellman’s mouth about dropped to the floor. I was only twenty-five, but I was only intimate with men ten, twenty, and sometimes even thirty years older than me. It was nice to be reminded I could turn the head of a guy my own age.

“Can I help you?” I asked after a few seconds.

The bellman shook his head a couple of times and picked his jaw up off the floor. “This was left for you at the front desk.” He held out an envelope.

I gave it a curious look. G wouldn’t leave me mail at the front desk and Mrs. Silva better not be, so who in the world would have left that for me? “Who left it?”

The bellman shrugged. “I don’t know. My manager just asked me to run it up here.”

I could stand there staring all day, or I could rip it open and unveil the mystery. Grabbing my wallet off of the desk, I tipped the bellman, thanked him, and closed the door.

I tore that sucker open quickly. The sooner I figured out who had sent it, the sooner I could figure out what the hell to do about it. Of all the things I imagined could be contained in that envelope—blackmail, photos, a microchip—the last thing I’d expected was a couple of tickets to Nice, France, complete with a note scratched down on the back of a business card.

In case the mood to swim topless strikes you again. I wouldn’t want to miss it.

The business card said Daniel Silva, Owner and Manager of The Pleasure Room, complete with his business and cell phone numbers.

The first thing that hit me was that he’d been ballsy enough to send me his business card. I didn’t doubt a simple “Daniel Silva” typed into a search engine would result in a life history, including a mention of a Mrs. Silva. So why had he done it? Because he didn’t think I’d Google him? Because he wanted me to have his phone number? No, I guessed he wanted to impress me. A business card said what he couldn’t without sounding like a pretentious asshole. He was the owner of one of the nation’s most notorious nightclubs. He had money, status, and power.

If Mr. Silva knew I already knew exactly how much was in his bank account, along with the balance in his offshore accounts, I doubted he’d send me tickets to the south of France.

The second thing that hit me was that, somehow, he’d figured out where I was staying. That was disturbing on a bunch of levels. He’d either had me followed, followed me himself, or had someone looking into me. I didn’t like the idea of being looked into, especially when I was the one who was supposed to be doing the “looking into.”

It wasn’t the first over-the-top gift I’d had thrown at me, but it was the first time the Target had tracked me down and had it delivered to my room. Well, neither would do.

Ten minutes later, I’d changed, packed, and was at the front desk checking out.

“Is there anything else we can do for you, Miss Stevens?” the receptionist asked.

“Yeah.” I handed her the envelope I’d addressed before leaving my room. It contained two tickets to Nice, along with my own note that read: In case the mood to try monogamy strikes you, here’s my number. “Do you think a bellman would be up to hand delivering this if I gave him a nice tip?”

She inspected me purposefully before taking the letter. “I think the bellman would be up to hand delivering this if you asked one of them real nice and nothing else. But if you want to leave a tip, I’ll make sure the bellman gets both.”

“For the bellman,”—I slid a hundred dollar bill across the counter, and then one more—“and for you.”

She was about to open her mouth when I cut her off. “I appreciate your help and hospitality.” I headed out the doors before she could object, but I’m pretty sure I heard a few mumbled words of thanks.

I still wanted to be on the beach, but I wanted to put some distance between the last hotel and my new one. After circling Ocean Drive a couple of times, I settled on a quieter hotel that wasn’t right in the middle of it all. It wasn’t quite as luxurious as the last hotel, but the suite was bigger. Once I’d unpacked, I wandered into the bathroom to take a bath.

I avoided the full length mirror on the wall as well as the one over the sink. I knew that for most women, mirrors were either their best friends or their worst enemies, but for me, they were more like ghosts. I was conscious of them, but I did my best to ignore them.

I’d been soaking for all of five minutes before one of my phones chimed. I groaned, but I fumbled through my handbag until I found the ringing phone.

Shit. That was fast.

I took a moment to compose myself before answering. “Hello.”

“I’m struck with monogamy.”

Of course he was. Most men are struck with anything if you give them enough motivation.

“And why do I find that hard to believe?”

“Because you’re you and I’m me,” Daniel said. “That’s why.”

That was the first true thing I’d heard him say.

“I take it you’re calling because you received my envelope.”

“Those were first-class tickets, you know? A woman’s a fool to turn those down.”

“Or maybe you’re the fool for giving them to a woman you barely know,” I replied.

He didn’t have an immediate response. “Maybe, but I feel a little foolish when I’m around you.”

Good. Then I was doing my job.

“You act a little foolish when you’re around me,” I replied. Then, because the sooner I closed out the Silva file, the sooner I could be finished with the Mr. Silva, I turned the faucet on with my toe so water started trickling into the tub.

“Do you need any help?” he asked, his voice low and confident.

Cocky bastard.

“None that requires your assistance,” I nearly snapped back.

“So what am I supposed to do now that I know, wherever you are right now, you’re naked and probably soaping that beautiful body of yours?”

Add brazen to the cocky bastard lineup.

“Oh, I don’t know. Why don’t you go find one of those four girls I’ve seen you with over the past few days? I’m sure they’ve got something that could help you out.”

Daniel chuckled. “They’ve got something that could help me out, but not the thing to help me out.”

“If you hadn’t tracked me down at my hotel to deliver airline tickets to Nice, I’d ask you who you think’s got the thing to help you, but that would make me seem dumb or naive.”

“Which you are neither,” he answered.

“Flattery gets you nowhere with me.”

“And honesty won’t either.”

Hmm.Another kernel of truth from the mouth of Daniel Silva. “I’m afraid you’re right.” I turned the water back off.

“Which is why I must have the opportunity to see if I’m wrong. Just in case. We owe it to ourselves.”

“We owe what to ourselves?” I asked. I’d heard the answer to that question so many times, I could mouth it word for word before the Target even replied.

“To find out if the chemistry that sparks to life when I just look at you transfers into everything else.”

Translation: I want to fuck you sideways, backward, frontward, and maybe even while you’re running because I’m an impulsive little boy stuck in a man’s body who never had anyone tell him no when he was growing up.

“What are you asking, Daniel?” I said with a sigh. “Because I’m not going to the French Riviera with you. I’m not really your south of France type of girl.”

“Every girl is your south of France type of girl.”

“Not this one. I think you’ll find me different from every other girl you’ve ever known.” He had no idea just how different. The wives knew about us Eves, but the husbands never did. Other than getting caught on camera with a siren they just couldn’t say no to, the only thing they realized at the end of it all was that half of their fortune was leaving with their wife.

“So does different-from-every-other-girl Sienna want to have dinner with me tomorrow?” He still sounded pretty damn sure of himself, but not as much as he had in our earlier conversations. I had him back on his toes, following after that carrot I’d dangled just in front of his face. I could ease off of the hard-to-get act.

“If by dinner you mean food and a good bottle of wine and nothing more, then okay,” I said.

Another silence on the other end, but it was quickly over. “Tomorrow night. Eight o’clock. I’ll send a driver to pick you up.”

“Since someone went all secret agent on me, I moved. You don’t know where I am.” I smiled. I loved it when I could stay not one, but two steps ahead of the Target.

“Sienna, I know exactly where you are. I know exactly when you checked in,” he replied in a low voice. It wasn’t creepy, just . . . menacing. Dominant. “I even know what room you’re in.”

Just then, someone knocked on the door. I flinched, but I thankfully didn’t make any audible noise.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Daniel said before ending the call.

Another knock sounded before I’d crawled out of the tub and into a bathrobe. If that was Daniel on the other side of the door, I wouldn’t be happy. I would be supremely pissed.

However, if that smug face of his was waiting for me, I couldn’t do what a normal boy pursuing girl relationship allowed. I couldn’t slap his cheek or yell at him to go get bent, because our relationship wasn’t “normal.” This wasn’t a surreptitious man meets woman, woes woman, pisses woman off kind of thing. This was a job. I was an actor on a stage giving the performance of my life.

Still, I sighed with relief when I checked the peephole. Only a bellman. He’d better not have an envelope with a couple of first-class tickets to Tahiti in his hand or else I’d send them back, too.

“Good evening, ma’am,” the elderly bellman greeted as he held out a large silver box.

Daniel was persistent. Most of them were. It made my job easier.

“Thank you.” I took the package and set it on the sofa table before rushing back to the bathroom to pull a tip from my wallet. I was going through tip money faster than normal on that trip, thanks to Daniel and his extravagant gifts.

“Anything else I can get you this evening, ma’am?” the bellman asked, nodding his head as I handed him the tip.

“Yeah,” I said. “If any more gifts, envelopes, or packages arrive for me, please just don’t accept them. It saves me from having to send them back.”

“Can do, ma’am,” the bellman said with a chuckle as he headed for the elevator. “Man troubles?”

I lifted my eyebrows. “Always.”

IT WAS A dress. A nice one. The price tag had been removed, but I didn’t need it to know that Daniel had spent five figures. It was red, curve-hugging, and cleavage-showing. Mrs. Silva really did know her husband. It was a gorgeous gown, something I could have picked out, but as I got ready the next night for our dinner date, it stayed in the box.

If I wore that dress, it would be a mini-surrender. It would be a victory, and I couldn’t give him that victory yet. I had to keep him motivated, and if I caved even a bit, he would believe the ball was back in his court.

Which it wasn’t.

With men like Daniel, I had to keep them in such a crazed state that when the time came, I could dictate the time and location of our “consummation,” and they wouldn’t only be there, they’d be there bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Keeping the Target motivated, crazed, and eager to please was the very crux of the Eve business. Spontaneous sex or giving-yourself-to-the-moment didn’t get husbands caught cheating on film.

A few minutes before eight, I punched a message into my phone: That whole if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again doesn’t work with me. As I hit send, I imagined Daniel’s expression when he read it and allowed myself a smile.

I’d just slid into my heels and was heading for the door when his reply came: That’s where your opinion and mine differ.

Cocky, cocky, cocky bastard. If he wasn’t an Errand, I would never, in this life or the next, let him near me.

However, it was an Errand, so I needed to shelve all of my personal thoughts and feelings on him. An Eve didn’t successfully close an Errand unless she checked personal at the door when she was working. And she didn’t stay in the business for long if she didn’t repress personal a good portion of the time when she wasn’t on the job.

Once I’d made my way through the foyer, I found a black Bentley waiting for me outside. A driver waited with the back door open.

“I suppose you’re waiting for me?” I said as I approached.

“I was told I’d be picking up a beautiful woman in a red dress,” the driver replied, “but I’m sure Mr. Silva won’t complain if I’ve got the wrong woman.”

I gave him a smile as I slid inside of the car. “I’m sure he wouldn’t.”

Before the driver closed the door, he paused. “So, which one are you? The right or the wrong woman?”

I looked him in the eyes and answered, “Both.”

“Sounds like Mr. Silva’s a lucky man,” he added with a laugh before closing the door.

In fact, Mr. Silva’s luck was about to run out.

Not even ten minutes later, we pulled up to a familiar place. The line winding around the side wasn’t as long as it had been on Friday night, but still, The Pleasure Room was busy.

I couldn’t believe the son of a bitch had brought me there for a dinner date. He’d probably screwed a girl over every accommodating surface. I wasn’t happy.

But tonight wasn’t about being happy. It was about driving him mad so when I gave him the time and place of his forthcoming demise, he’d shake his head and wag his tail. Tonight wasn’t about keeping him at arm’s length anymore—tonight was about bringing him closer.

By the time the driver came around to open the door, I’d recomposed my face, adjusted my dress, and was ready to saunter into that place as though I might have wanted to be somewhere else, but not with anybody else.

The driver inclined his head at one of the giants hovering in front of the Pleasure Room’s entrance. “Dimitri over there will take you to Mr. Silva.”

“Thank you for the ride,” I said.

“Glad I found the right-wrong woman,” was his reply before climbing back into the driver’s seat.

Dimitri had the rope open for me as I approached and gave me a professional nod of acknowledgement. From the way he’d barely looked at me, I guessed Daniel had threatened to cut off his dick if Dimitri made a pass at me.

He said, just as professionally, “Right this way.”

“Lucky me,” I said with a fake smile as I followed.

The Pleasure Room was just as busy as it had been this past weekend. Most of the bodies were congregated around the stage. One dancer in particular caught my attention. She was similar in appearance to myself, except her face looked foreign. Eastern European? Russian? Every girl up on that stage was gorgeous, but the way she moved, the way she danced made her the only one anyone noticed. She wasn’t just a dancer; she was a performer. A quick scan of the crowd revealed I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t seem to look away. In the most heterosexual way, I was enamored by her.

She would have made one hell of an Eve.

“Who is that?” I hollered at Dimitri, who was parting the sea of people in front of us.

“Natasha,” he said over his shoulder. He glanced up at the stage right as she started playing with the snap of her garter. He smiled while the rest of the crowd cheered their heads off. “She’s something else, right?”

“She sure is,” I agreed. That woman didn’t just have everyone eating out of her hand. If she’d ordered them to jump off of a cliff, I didn’t doubt a good number of them would. She was that hypnotic.

After we wove our way through the crowd, Dimitri shoved open a door to a staircase.

“No elevator?” I said, being difficult with him because I couldn’t with Daniel.

“Not where we’re going,” Dimitri answered, motioning me up the staircase.

I almost wished I had let Mrs. Silva know tonight was the night and to have her Contact ready to go. I was getting dangerously close to being done in on Daniel’s particular brand of bull shit.

My heels clacked up a few flights of the metal staircase. I glanced back to see if Dimitri was following, and sure enough, he was. As a testament to what a devoted employee Dimitri was, his eyes weren’t locked on my ass as it swayed up the stairs. It was a good thing Dimitri wasn’t the Errand, or I’d have had my work cut out for me.

Finally, the stairs ran out, and Dimitri stepped in front of me to shove open a heavy metal door. Where in the hell was I being taken? Romance had flown out the window a few flights ago. Once Dimitri moved to the side, I saw where I was: the roof. Several strings of white paper lanterns hung above us, and toward the edge of the roof sat a small table adorned with candles and flowers. The view was unparalleled. Nothing but the ocean as far as the eye could see, colored by the pinks and oranges of the sunset. The whole scene was romantic in a way I hadn’t expected.

And then a body stepped into my line of sight.

Romance wasn’t the job. Doing whatever it took to succeed was the job.

“Sir,” Dimitri said formally, bowing his head.

“Thank you, Dimitri,” Daniel said, “You can leave us alone. And if you hear a lot of shrieking and screaming later on, you can ignore it.”

I made myself smile at him. I made myself flush with excitement. I made myself shut off my instincts and remember my training. In those moments, when I had to shut almost all of myself off, I always felt more machine than human.

After Dimitri had closed the door, I approached Daniel slowly. He was dressed to impress, and the man could certainly fill out a tuxedo. If he could keep his mouth shut, I might have found him attractive, but keeping his mouth shut, kind of like keeping his dick behind his zipper, wasn’t his forte.

“I’m not sure whether to be incredibly angry or incredibly turned on that you’re not wearing the dress I got you.” His dark eyes gleamed as I moved closer. I hadn’t chosen to wear the one he’d gotten me, but the black, beaded dress barely long enough to cover the bottom of my butt-cheeks wasn’t a poor substitute. The twisted smile on his face confirmed that.

I knew what I needed to do. I knew I was at the point in the job where I stopped keeping him at arm’s length and drew him in, but I found what I needed to do more difficult right then.

Difficult or not, I would do it. I didn’t have a choice.

I continued forward until I was right in front of him. From the change in his expression, my proximity surprised him. Exactly what I needed. Play hard to get, keep them on their toes, then you’ve got them. It was a formula that worked for every man, everywhere.

Before he had a chance to say anything, I wrapped both arms around his neck, combed my fingers through his hair, and pressed my body against his. The moment still hadn’t caught up with him, but it never took them long to catch up. When I crushed my mouth to his, he actually groaned. His arms wound around me until his hands grabbed any part of my hip or butt he could get a hold of.

I always removed myself from my body during physical encounters. It was the only way to preserve whatever sense of self I still had. It felt as if I was watching what was taking place, not actually experiencing it. Somehow, that made it easier.

When my tongue played with the opening of his mouth, his arms tightened around me, and he let out a low growl. I felt his length grow against my body, and that was my cue to back off. Tonight wasn’t the night. Tonight was, appropriate given the location, the tease. It was a reminder of just how badly he wanted me. If a serious hard-on wasn’t a reminder of what my body did to his, I would be unemployed in the morning.

Sucking his lower lip into my mouth—any kind of sucking drove most men up the wall—I slowly pulled back, releasing his lip and lowering my arms.

He was breathing heavily, his pupils were dilated, and from his expression, I didn’t doubt he was seriously considering tossing everything off of the table before throwing me onto it.

“What in the hell was that?” Daniel asked as I moved toward the chairs at the table.

“That was a Hey, how are you doing? without using words,” I answered, adjusting my dress where he’d rumpled it. I shot him a coy smile before sitting. “You like?”

Daniel lifted his eyebrows. “I like.” He smoothed his hands down his tux, his breathing back to normal, before taking the seat across from me. “Is it too early in the date to ask when I get to experience the Hey, how are you doing? fuck?”

Charming to a flaw. Not.

“I’ll save you the suspense and tell you now that you are not getting any kind of laid, screwed, or fucked tonight,” I said, leaning forward in my seat. “Now that that’s out of the way, can we have dinner?”

“You’re going to kiss me like that without so much as a Hello first, and then proceed to tell me we’re not going to end up horizontal between the sheets tonight?” He sounded almost amused.

I lifted my eyebrows in answer.

“Cruel.”

The door I’d just come through opened again, and a white-coated waiter approached.

“You really went all out tonight,” I said. “Were you hoping to impress me or something?”

Daniel smiled into the night. “Or something,” he said, “but since you’ve made it quite clear I’m not getting any tonight, I suppose I’ll have to settle for impressing you.” He leaned across the table. The candlelight cast stark shadows and highlights over his angular face. “So? Are you impressed?”

Two steps forward. One back. That was the theme of the tease. “I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know later.”

Daniel exhaled, then glanced up at the silent waiter. “Bring Sienna a bottle of the Petrus.”

“Actually, I’ll take the Chateau Margaux,” I said. “And I’ll have a glass.”

Daniel gave me a sheepish smirk. “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“Oldest trick in the book. And the most tired one as well.”

“Thank you for the education,” Daniel said before addressing the waiter. “I’ll take a double scotch on the rocks.”

Double scotch on the rocks. I could have called that from the moment I saw Daniel. If any man fit the double-scotch-on-the-rocks profile, he did. A man’s drink of choice said a lot about him. It wasn’t always accurate to the letter, but it gave an overall assessment. Double scotch on the rocks meant a man knew what he wanted, was used to getting it, and liked the finer things in life. He didn’t hear the word no often, and when he did, he almost always turned it into a yes. I’d had my fair share of double-scotch-on-the-rocks Targets.

After the waiter left, I felt Daniel’s eyes on me in that way again. In that predatory, stalking cat kind of way. If I hadn’t been trained to the nines, that look would have made me squirm in my chair.

“So. The Pleasure Room,” I said. “What got you into the pleasure business?”

Daniel shook his head once. “No. I don’t want to talk about my backstory. Or yours.”

Not a big surprise, but he was the first Target I’d had who put it out there like that.

“Why? Got your fair share of secrets and skeletons in the closet?” Of course he did. I already knew every last one of them.

“No one’s gotten anywhere in life by dwelling on their past,” he answered. “I certainly didn’t get where I am by wallowing in the highs and lows of mine.”

“So what? Do you want me to talk about my future? My goals? Dreams? Ambitions?” I said with a hint of sarcasm.

“No.” Daniel gave his head another shake. “The future is for my investors and advisors. I want to talk about right now.” His eyes slid down my neck, taking their time on my breasts, before making the return journey. “I want to know what you want and how you want it.”

I sucked in a breath. “And why do you want to know that?”

One side of Daniel’s mouth curved up. “So I can give it to you.”

He didn’t even attempt to disguise his meaning.

The door whooshed open again as the waiter returned. Daniel’s gaze didn’t shift when the waiter placed our drinks in front of us. They didn’t waver until long after the waiter had exited again. I didn’t doubt that that kind of intensity had broken through plenty of women’s defenses, but it wouldn’t break through mine. Nothing he could send my way would break down my defenses.

“To the present,” he said at last, lifting his glass toward me.

I raised my glass and tilted my head. “To getting what you want.”

“How you want it,” he added, before clinking his glass to mine.

We both took a long sip of our drinks. I knew how marvelous the wine was, I’d had it plenty of times before when I’d felt quite certain it alone could make me orgasm, but I barely tasted it. My mind needed to stay sharp, my body just as sharp. I couldn’t let the wine mess with me.

“Why are you here right now?” he asked suddenly.

I swept my eyes around. “The view’s hard to beat. And you look good in a tux.”

“I know I’m not your first older man,” he said, taking another sip of his scotch. He was right about that. “Unless you’ve been playing with the trust-fund Hampton boys, no girl your age knows what Chateau Marguex is unless she’s been with her fair share of older, wealthy men.”

I lifted a shoulder. “Those rich little Hampton boys only drink appletinis anyway.”

“Why are you drawn to the older man then?” Daniel asked. as the waiter made his appearance again, setting a couple of wedge salads in front of us.

I met his stare. “Experience. And if they’re single and older, that means they’re not looking for commitment—which holds no interest for me—and they have fewer inhibitions.”

“Fewer inhibitions in the bedroom?”

I shook my head before taking another sip of wine. “Fewer inhibitions in every room.”

Daniel wet his lips as his expression darkened with desire. Rising from his seat, he approached me. His eyes never left mine until he rounded my chair. “Fewer inhibitions on rooftops, too,” he said just outside my ear as his hands dropped to my shoulders. Daniel’s hands were large, and even in that intimate touch, I knew he wanted me to feel the strength in them. He wanted me to feel his physical superiority. He wanted me to feel just enough helpless.

That might have worked if I hadn’t put the whole series of events into motion in the first place. He was only there, touching me, because I’d orchestrated it.

His hands roamed down, thumbs skimming my collar bones, before they slid under my dress. I kept my breathing regular, I didn’t shift in my seat, and I tilted my head back so he could see my feigned expression of pleasure.

“I knew they were real,” he said, his voice rough. With his hands completely jammed inside of my dress, he took both of my breasts in full handfuls before squeezing in a way that wasn’t exactly gentle.

I removed myself a little bit more from my body and forced a soft moan to fall from my lips.

“I can’t remember the last time I had my hands on a real set of tits.” His thumb and finger captured my nipples and rolled them so forcefully I almost faltered with my expression of ecstasy. Daniel liked it rough. I could tailor my final seduction the next night accordingly. “Oh, the fun I’m going to have with you tonight,” he groaned.