Chapter 23 #2
Etta was practically on top of her as she whispered, “What if I told you that I really, really want to do it?”
“Why?”
She chuckled. “Do I need a reason other than I want to? Pour yourself another drink if it makes you feel better.”
That was the only warning Jamie got before fingers pushed between her thighs and rubbed against her slit.
Jamie’s hand shook on the champagne bottle a waiter left behind.
Careful. Don’t give yourself away by spilling it everywhere and drawing unwanted attention.
Easier said than done. Jamie may no longer be under the insatiable spell of that blasted lube, but she was still feeling some of its remnants days later.
Every time Etta touched her, Jamie felt crazy jolts all through her body that would make most women pass out.
The only reason she was able to handle it was because she had been dating Etta for this long.
Putting up with endless pleasure came with the bundle of dating someone like her.
Healthy appetites, and all.
“Either you like it or you’re a dirty liar, Ms. Joy,” Etta said, using the same stern voice she once commanded when she was the boss. “Because things are definitely heating up between these lovely legs of yours.”
“Because someone is fingering me,” she muttered back. “Or at least about to, I imagine.”
“Tell me more about what you imagine.”
A dexterous woman like her had no trouble getting beneath Jamie’s underwear.
The fact that Jamie slightly opened her legs and leaned against the table so Etta’s hand was completely covered helped.
“You don’t usually give me time, ma’am.” Two could play at this game.
“I don’t get a second to think about what I want before you’re fucking me until stars are in my eyes. ”
“Good. I knew we were on the same page.”
“I don’t think you heard what I said, ma’am.”
“Oh, I heard you.” There was no more hair to bypass. Just the warmth of her skin as one finger dipped between her folds and explored the tight confines of her body.
The world disappeared into a blur. Jamie pretended to watch the party guests come and go, some of them laughing, others having heated discussions, and everyone getting loose on champagne and whatever they got at the open bar.
The only ones who had any idea about what was going on beneath that table were Etta and Jamie, both of whom probably weren’t paying attention to a damn thing going on around them.
“Now tell me,” Jamie said sweetly, ignoring the snap of pleasure going up her spine.
Etta had found her clit – finally – after all that sexy fumbling that would make any girl hot even if her partner didn’t make the final destination.
“What is this supposed to accomplish? Do I get to come, or are you doing this for your own amusement?”
“It could be both. Why? Do you want to come already? Right here? At this table? In front of all these stuck-up buffoons?”
Adele sashayed by, personal toy – excuse me, assistant – hot on her heels.
She accepted a kiss on the hand from a man Jamie didn’t recognize.
She did, however, hear the laughter echoing in her direction.
Etta used to be in a serious relationship with her.
She asked her to marry her, and I’m the one she’s fingering at my engagement party.
Jamie couldn’t contain the smirk taking over her face.
Nor could she contain the rising need to climax as Etta did nothing more than control her pleasure right there in her seat.
“You’re going to come for me after all.” Etta’s free hand stole some of her champagne.
“All prim and proper in front of the country club. I want to feel you shudder against my hand. I want to hear your little whimpers in your throat. You’re going to do both without showing it on your face. You understand?”
Jamie sucked in her breath, hands steadying against the table as Etta’s finger rubbed her clit faster, harder. “What if I can’t do that?” It took everything she had not to betray herself right there. “You’re driving a hard bargain over here.”
“You will. I have faith in you. Now, come.”
In the years leading up to meeting Etta, Jamie never once thought she would be able to orgasm on command. Who could seriously do that? That was something out of porn movies and crazy fantasies. In real life?
Then she met Etta and discovered what it meant to be completely at the whim of a single woman. A woman who knew exactly what she was doing.
“Fuck,” she muttered, fingers squeezing the edge of the table.
This wasn’t her usual idea of a quickie, yet here she was, being fingered to orgasm at her engagement party.
At least it’s with my fiancée? She was probably living up to someone’s relationship goals.
“You’re an asshole. I love you, but you’re an asshole. ”
Jamie let go. Her inhibitions, her grip on reality, and the table all left her reach as she sank beneath the weight of orgasm.
It wasn’t the hardest climax she ever experienced.
Not by a long shot. I’m okay with that. Don’t want to scream in front of all these nice people.
Instead, she silently rode out an orgasm that popped within her, at the hand of a mistress who wanted nothing more than to say, “I made her come at our party.”
“You naughty girl,” Etta muttered.
Jamie pushed against the back of her seat as soon as the orgasm subsided. Etta withdrew her hand and pulled a napkin off the table. “You’re going to be the death of me one day,” Jamie said through gritted teeth. “Not today, but one day.”
Etta excused herself to go wash up in the nearest women’s room. Jamie quickly fixed her skirt, and in time, for Adele sauntered up with not a single hair out of place.
“We’re about to play croquet. I know Etta hates the blasted game, so I’m not even going to bother asking her, but if you would like to join, it would be nice for one of you to partake.”
Jamie nodded, grateful to get away from the table before Etta could come back and bend her over it.
The way she’s been acting lately, I wouldn’t be surprised.
“You’ll have to refresh me on the rules,” she said, clearing her throat multiple times as she walked beside Adele.
“Can’t say I ever knew anything about it until I started dating Etta. ”
“Oh, that’s typical. We’re going to play in teams, anyway, and your partner is very adept at the game.” She scoffed. “Junior champion when they were young, if you can believe it.”
“I can believe anything these days.”
Adele stopped at the edge of the course, where a sizable group dressed in slacks, suits, and wide-brimmed hats waited. Everyone was paired off in teams, and since Etta wouldn’t go near a mallet if someone paid her, that left Jamie with the one other single at the event.
“Always a pleasure,” Ira Mathison said, taking a generous practice swing with a red-lined mallet. “Even more so, considering I get to call a bride my partner for an hour.”
Jamie accepted a shorter mallet adjusted for her height. It had purple lines, befitting her dress. “I hear you’re a junior champion, Ms… er… Mathison.”
“Please, call me Ira.” They bent down and picked a yellow ball out of a box. “Does someone still get to call herself junior champion at thirty?”
The teams were lining themselves up behind the starting stake.
“I will take what I can get,” Jamie said.
She picked a light blue ball before joining the pack.
She also shirked her heels, preferring to keep her bare feet on the dry, cool grass beneath.
Most of the women wearing stilettos followed suit.
“I am awful at this game. I’ve only played once before, and my hand-eye coordination isn’t the best.”
They watched as Adele started the game, taking a sizable whack at her black ball.
It shot out of the hoop and tumbled down the first hill – a little too strongly, for it blew past the first hoop.
She groaned, and everyone politely clapped for her strength, at least. “I do too many bicep curls,” she lamented.
Ira turned to Jamie, their light gray trousers clashing with their red mallet. “The worst that could happen is you being the opposite of that… and we can work with that.”
“It’s all right if we don’t win.”
“On the contrary, you’re a feature of the party. They gave you as my handicap. You must win, Jamie. It’s a matter of course.”
“And your girlfriend? Where is she?”
Ira nodded to the balcony, where a head of blond glanced at them in stoic boredom.
Guess she’s not the jealous type. Jamie didn’t want to imagine what a jealous Kathleen Allen was like – and if Jamie were the target of such jealousy?
Shudder. No one fucked with the richest heiress in town.
Well, save for perhaps the one she called her partner.
Who took another practice swing and encouraged Jamie to try.
“At this rate, we’ll be the last to go,” she said, watching everyone else go before them.
“You want to go last in this game. That way, you can hit everyone else’s balls on the way by.
” The way they enunciated balls was both amusing and childish.
I expect nothing less from a self-professed flirt and player.
Nevertheless, Jamie did not expect Ira to step behind her and put their arms around her torso.
“Excuse me, but you want to use this kind of form.” Jamie’s face turned an embarrassing shade of red as someone who was not her fiancée held her against their body and manipulated hers until, well, her ass was pointed in an awkward direction. Namely, at Ira’s crotch.
Half of the other croquet players, including Adele, stared at them. Jamie laughed it off. What else could she do, especially when Ira followed through on their insistence and showed her how to properly swing the mallet?