Chapter Twelve
Venezio
She was killing it.
Once she had a drink or two in her, Steph loosened right up and lost all the uncertainty she’d been racked with when we’d first stepped into the ballroom.
All those long days begging people to open up their wallets and give at least some spare change had prepared her for the discomfort of having to talk to rich strangers to do the same.
Her friends had been right; everyone in the room had deep pockets and slightly guilty consciences. They were all happy to write her a check right then and there or give her their personal numbers to call and remind them the following day.
I had been right about Vega.
Her new boss had been disinterested. Until Steph name-dropped Vega.
The second she did, his face changed. And then he was handing her a business card and pledging a staggering seventy-five grand.
Steph was supposed to call his assistant in the morning, who would be instructed to personally deliver the check to the charity.
“I’m losing track,” Steph admitted as I pulled out her chair when it was time for the food.
“I’m not,” I promised her. If there was one thing I was good at, it was keeping track of money on the fly. I had a whole fucking ledger going on in my head.
I would have given her the total if our table didn’t start to fill up. I didn’t know much about the elite class, but I did know that money talk was generally considered rude.
Instead, we sat and listened to shop talk about upcoming high-profile cases and where everyone was going for the holiday while we ate a four-course meal that neither of us seemed to enjoy.
As if reading my thoughts, Steph’s head turned, her lips close enough to tease my ear as she spoke. “I’d take a greasy slice of pizza over this any day.”
The food was removed, and the singer came back to join the band, crooning a romantic Christmas song I didn’t recognize.
Couples made their way to the dance floor.
“Come on, guys,” Andy said as Sammy took her hand to lead her to join the others.
“We don’t have to,” Steph was quick to assure me.
I wouldn’t claim to be a great dancer. But any idiot could do a slow dance.
I stood, pulling out Stephanie’s chair, then offering her my arm.
Her cheeks flushed, but she slid her arm through mine and let me lead her to the center of the dance floor.
I pulled her in, her soft body against mine, the silky dress doing nothing to hide her body heat from me as her breasts crushed to my chest and her hand took mine.
Taking advantage of the moment, I pressed my hand more firmly against her lower back, pulling her closer until our bodies were melded together as we started to move.
There was a second where she tensed.
Then she was putty in my arms.
One song melted into another, even slower, one. Even the couples that had been keeping it casual drew closer to each other.
Seemingly caught in the moment, Steph rested her head on my chest.
And I swear to fuck, something just felt like it snapped into place.
I had no idea what the hell that meant, but I did know that something about this moment, about her in my arms, felt right.
As the song dragged on, Stephanie’s breathing got quicker, more shallow. When my hand shifted up slightly, she tried to muffle a little whimper against my chest.
Up that close, though, there was no mistaking the sound.
I already wanted her.
The closeness had the need ratcheting up until it felt like fucking gasoline in my veins. The sound lit the match.
I’d moved us to the edge of the dance floor by the time the song ended.
“I need some air,” Stephanie, pink-cheeked and heavy-lidded, said, fanning her face. When we both knew the ballroom was just shy of cool, and that any heat she felt had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.
She made her way out of one of the side doors and into the abandoned hallway.
Her head was on a swivel until she spotted a family bathroom and made a beeline for it.
I stood out in the hallway, listening to the music get faster as the laughter and conversation grew louder by the moment as everyone got drunker.
I gave Steph a solid five minutes before the ache in my balls just refused to ease, leaving me knocking on the door.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” she called, likely thinking it was another woman looking for a chance to freshen up, sit on the lounge, and slip her feet out of her shoes.
I inched the door open.
Finding her at the sink, her head bent, holding a wad of wet paper towels to her flushed chest, I moved inside, sliding the lock she’d forgotten, then walking up behind.
“What—” she yelped, body tightening as her head whipped up. Catching my reflection in the mirror, there was no mistaking the desire that crossed her eyes. “What are you doing?” she asked, sounding raspy with her need.
I held her gaze in the mirror as I moved closer, just a whisper of air between us.
My hand landed at her hip. When she didn’t stiffen or move away, I slid it upward over her stomach, her ribs, then up between her breasts to grab the paper towels she was still clutching to her chest.
I tossed them down onto the counter then traced the pink skin across her chest, watching the way her lips parted and her eyelids got heavier.
“Venezio,” she said, her voice a whisper. “We can’t…”
“Can’t what?” I asked, my hand drifting down her stomach again, then up the slit of her dress so I could press my fingers between her thighs. “Can’t do this?” I asked, feeling how wet she already was for me.
Her head fell backward onto my chest, a helpless little mewling sound escaping her.
“There are people—” she tried to insist even as her hips rocked a little impatiently.
“The music is playing. Liquor is flowing. No one knows where we are,” I told her as my fingers started to drift up and down her pussy through the lacy material of her panties. “We can do anything we want.”
Her chest was rising and falling rapidly as she leaned back into me.
“Anything like this…” I said, snagging the material and pulling it down until it slipped down her legs to pool at her feet.
This time when I touched her, there was nothing to stop me from feeling the velvet softness of her skin, from being achingly aware of how soaked she was for me.
A throaty moan escaped her at the touch.
It was followed by an almost choked sound as my fingers tracked downward then slipped inside her pussy.
Her tight walls closed around my fingers as I pressed my palm flat against her cleft to engage her clit.
My gaze held hers in the mirror as I nipped her earlobe.
“Look how sexy you are when my fingers are inside you,” I murmured. A dark smile split my face as her pussy tightened at my words.
There was no holding myself back then.
I thrust hard and fast, driving her up and toward that edge in just a few short minutes.
Her thighs were shaking.
Her moans had become frantic gasps for air.
Then she came, hard, her whole body shuddering.
My arm anchored around her stomach, holding her against me as the orgasm rolled through her over and over.
I wasn’t done, though. Not yet.
As soon as her pussy stopped pulsing around my fingers, I dragged her backward and pressed her down onto the couch.
Her gaze went from confused to shocked as I lowered myself to the ground in front of her.
I leaned down, keeping eye contact as I lifted her thigh over my shoulder and pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee.
Then I moved slowly upward until I disappeared under her skirt. Until, finally, I could trace my tongue up her center. The sweet taste of her desire flooded my tongue, dragging a groan out of me as I found her clit and started to circle it relentlessly.
Steph’s hands grabbed the back of my head, holding me to her like I had any intention of moving away, of stopping before she was moaning and writhing and coming so hard she saw white.
I found the pace and pressure she liked, then worked her relentlessly with it as her thighs crushed my head, as her hips rocked restlessly against me, as her whimpers became moans, then nothing but breathless pants as I drove her right to that edge, then sent her over.
Her thighs were still shaking as I kissed back down her thigh, then slid out from underneath her skirt.
Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her cheeks flushed.
I moved to sit down next to her, and she shifted, sliding down.
“No, babe.”
“No?” she asked, taken aback.
“Believe me, I’ve been thinking about it non-fucking stop. But I can’t have you messing up your makeup by choking on my cock.”
A whimper escaped her at that.
Then she was moving, sliding over to straddle me.
Her lips were on mine then. Hard, hungry.
It wasn’t long before her need was growing again, her hips rocking against my lap.
She moaned against my lips before pulling back.
Her eyes slid half-open.
“Venezio…”
“Yeah, babe?” I asked, my hands on her ass.
“Fuck me.”
It was wrong.
She didn’t know who I was, not really.
If she knew, she would never want to have sex with me.
But she was straddling me, her pussy was wet, her eyes were full of need.
How could I say no to her?