nineteen.2 （Bonus） #3
Middle-aged, navy suit, the kind of smile that pretended to be charming while calculating what he could get away with. I watched his body angle closer, his elbow on the bar, his mouth tilting toward her. She held her ground, but when his hand brushed her wrist, something in me burned.
I was there before I'd thought it through.
"Excuse me."
The man startled, half turning, but I didn't look at him. My eyes were only on her. "Everything alright?" I asked, soft enough that only she could hear.
Her voice was even softer. "I'm fine."
She wasn't. My hand found the small of her back anyway, steadying, claiming. My eyes slid to him, the smile still on my mouth though it didn't reach my eyes.
"Is he bothering you?"
"No," she said quickly, but I could feel the tension humming through her.
The man cleared his throat, retreat already written in the flush on his face. "I didn't realize-"
"I think you should rejoin your table," I said evenly.
He did. Quickly.
I bent toward her again, lowering my voice. "You sure you're okay?"
She nodded, but I could see the tightness in her shoulders. I let my hand linger at her back another beat. "Come with me."
The side corridor was mercifully empty. I pushed open the tall door and let her step out first. The night air slid cool against my face, a sharp contrast to the heat of the ballroom. She moved straight to the railing, gripping the iron like she needed to hold onto something solid.
I gave her a moment before I asked, "Better?"
She turned her head, eyes catching mine in the spill of city light. "Yeah. A little."
I stepped beside her, close enough that our arms brushed. My knuckles grazed her wrist, then caught her hand. She tensed, just for a second, then let me take it.
"You think you'll make things complicated?" I asked when she admitted she was worried.
Her silence was answer enough.
"If anything," I said, thumb sweeping slow across her palm, "you're the only part of this that doesn't feel complicated."
When I lifted her hand to my mouth, kissing the back of it, I meant it. I didn't care who might be watching from the windows above. Let them.
"I kept looking for you," I confessed, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "Every time someone started talking, I tried to find you again."
She told me I should go back inside before someone noticed. She was right. I didn't move.
Instead, I leaned down and kissed her-slow, deliberate. Like I had all the time in the world to undo every ounce of her nerves. With her pressed to the railing and the city sprawling behind her, it felt like the only honest moment of the night.
When we finally stepped back into the ballroom, I let my hand fall away-habit, survival-but walked close enough that my sleeve brushed hers.
"I'll have Monte bring the car around," I told her.
"You're not leaving yet?"
"Not yet. I have to say some goodbyes."
Her mouth pressed tight. I brushed my knuckles lightly over her wrist, the smallest touch I could risk. "I won't be long."
She nodded, slipping back into the crowd. Watching her disappear felt like a door closing.
When I finally stepped outside later, the cameras lit me up like fire. Questions flew, the same polished bait as always. I smiled, waved, let them get what they needed.
The car was quiet when Monte pulled us away from the curb. The noise of the flashes, the press, the endless questions-gone in an instant.
For a minute, I didn't look at her. Couldn't.
My body was still humming from being on stage, from keeping my mouth pressed into the shape of answers I didn't care about.
I braced one hand on my knee, the other loose between us, like I wasn't thinking about dragging her into my lap.
My tie had slipped and my hair was a little undone, but it didn't matter.
What mattered was sitting next to me in that red dress.
When I finally turned, the streetlights painted her skin gold. She looked out the window like she was holding herself together stitch by stitch.
"You okay?" My voice came out low, rougher than I meant.
She nodded. Too quick. Too small.
My eyes dipped to her mouth-soft, parted, the kind of mouth a man thinks about long after he should've stopped. Then lower, to the way the silk pulled tight across her thighs. I felt my blood thrum hotter. When I looked back at her face, my control had already cracked.
"You were the only thing I could think about," I admitted, softer than I meant, like a secret I couldn't keep anymore. "The entire time."
Her breath hitched.
I let my palm glide over her knee, slow, teasing higher. Just a fraction, but enough to feel her pulse shift under her skin. Every time I looked across that room and caught you watching me... all I wanted was to walk off that stage, take your hand, and leave it all behind.
Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but the words caught.
The pads of my fingers traced higher.
"Monte's right there," she whispered. A warning. A plea.
I leaned in, let my thumb draw circles at the top of her thigh, silk warm under my hand. "He's been driving me since college," I murmured, dark and steady. "He's seen worse."
She shivered, and that reaction nearly undid me. I wanted to push higher, slide my hand under the dress, feel how ready she was for me. I wanted to see her try to keep quiet with Monte ten feet away. The thought alone made me hard enough to ache.
"Doesn't make it better..." she whispered, but the heat in her eyes said otherwise.
I smiled faintly, cruel with how much I wanted her. "No? Feels better to me."
Her breath came shallow, quick. She turned toward the window like she was trying to hide the effect, but I felt it-the way her thighs shifted open just slightly under my hand.
I pulled back, forced myself to ease my hand down to her knee before I lost it completely. My restraint was a frayed thread. If I pushed further, I'd take her right there in the car, and Monte didn't deserve that front row seat.
The rest of the ride passed in silence so charged it felt like a live wire between us.
When Monte slowed into the private entrance, I was out before he could move. "It's okay, Monte. I've got it."
I opened her door myself, offered my hand. Her fingers slipped into mine-trembling, hot-and I didn't let go.
Inside the marble lobby, I laced our hands together openly. Didn't care who saw.
The elevator doors slid shut and the hush wrapped around us.
She shifted once, and the sound of her dress brushing against my trousers made my cock twitch, hot and urgent.
She looked at me in the reflection, and I forced myself to stare straight ahead.
If I looked at her now, I'd fuck her before the doors even opened.
When they finally did, I walked straight into the penthouse without checking if she followed. I knew she would.
The city lights poured in through the glass, cold and glittering, while I set my keys down with deliberate care-my last thin attempt at composure.
I turned. Saw her waiting in the doorway, watching me like she wasn't sure what came next.
That was all it took.
Three strides and I had my hand at the back of her neck, pulling her mouth to mine. No polish, no speeches. Just hunger.
The kiss tore the breath from my chest. Her tongue met mine, desperate, and my hands were fisting in her hair, on her waist, anywhere I could touch. When she pulled at my jacket, I smiled against her mouth, dark and sharp, because I'd wanted this all night, wanted her to ruin me.
Without breaking the kiss, I backed her toward the bedroom. The hush of our breathing, the scrape of my jacket sliding off my shoulders, the weight of the city lights spilling in behind us-none of it mattered except her.
I wasn't pretending anymore.