Chapter 16 #2
Halfway through the first course, Dane’s hand slides beneath the tablecloth and settles on my thigh, his thumb brushing once, lightly, as if testing my response.
I draw a slow breath, schooling my expression as I keep my gaze fixed on the server pouring wine.
“You’re tense,” he murmurs, close enough that I feel the words more than hear them.
“Well, billionaires aren’t my usual crowd.” My breath catches as his thumb slips beneath the silk of my dress, tracing a slow path along my thigh.
“You don’t need to worry about them. Only me.”
His thumb drifts higher, warm against my skin.
“Dane—” I stiffen as his hand moves again, bolder now. He smirks, fingers closing around my thighs, before spreading them wider as if we’re alone. Heat floods me as his thumb slips between my legs, finding me slick already, gliding up the seam before circling my clit in lazy, maddening strokes.
He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t tease. He strokes me like he knows exactly what he’s doing—slow, sure, devastating.
I bite my lip, fighting the sound building in my chest.
The woman to my left takes this inconvenient moment to strike up another conversation, as Dane begins a slow torture with his thumb while he continues the conversation with the gentleman to his right, as if he isn’t undoing me in plain sight.
I seize my champagne and drain it in one swallow, my hands shaking as his finger slips inside me. The pressure builds fast; my body aching to tip over the edge.
“Oh my,” the woman says, eyes narrowing. “Are you alright, dear? You look rather flushed.”
“I—” I swallow hard, my voice unsteady. “Excuse me. I need the bathroom.”
I push Dane’s hand away and stand, legs trembling as I step back from the table, my breath coming fast as I make my escape.
Behind me, I sense his attention follow.
I half jog down the first hallway I can find, looking for a quiet place to compose myself before I return. The orchestra fades with every step until all I can hear is the thud of my pulse, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps close behind.
I glance over my shoulder, and sure enough, Dane is right behind me, hands in his pockets, almost casually. But there’s nothing casual about the fire burning in his eyes like he’s on the hunt, and there’s only one way this is ending.
“Running again, Ivy?” he drawls like this is the most fun he’s had in ages. “Just when things were getting interesting.”
Ahead, I pounce on a door marked Staff Only, cracked open enough to tempt me.
I yank it open, slamming it behind me.
The room is dim, lit only by the moon through a tall window that paints everything in silver and shadow. Crates, posters, and brochures line the walls. I lean against a table, one hand over my racing heart, breathing him out of my system.
Barely a second passes before the door creaks open.
My stomach flips as I turn. Dane’s broad silhouette fills the frame.
The light catches on his jaw, the loosened tie, the slight disarray of his shirt collar.
“Ivy.” His tone is quiet.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I manage, but my voice wavers.
He closes the door and steps forward, the faint click echoing in the small room.
“Neither should you,” he says softly. “Yet here we are.”
The moonlight carves his face in half as he closes in, one measured step at a time, one side shadowed, one lit, his eyes glinting somewhere between control and danger.
When he reaches me, his hand rises, brushing the line of my jaw with the backs of his fingers. The contact is light but electric. I should pull back, but I don’t.
My breath trembles. “What the hell was that?”
He tilts his head, the corner of his mouth curving. “What was what?”
“Back at the table,” I whisper.
He leans in, close enough that his breath skims my throat.
“That was all you, Ivy. Aching to come for me right there, in front of everyone.”
“Tell me I’m wrong?”
I open my mouth to protest, but nothing comes out as his mouth ghosts the sharp line of my jaw, his lips pausing just beneath my ear, tracing slow patterns that make my skin prickle.
“We—uh—we...” The words stall as his hand slides down, bunching my dress in his fist until it rides higher on my thighs. The heat of his palm, the rough brush of his knuckles—it’s almost too much.
“We—we—what, Ivy?” he murmurs, voice edged with challenge.
“We should go back.” I force the words out, although my body stays rooted to the spot, lost in every tingle and tremor he coaxes out of me.
“Why Ivy? Just when we’re getting started.”
He hikes the fabric higher, dragging his hand slowly up before his thumb brushes the ache waiting between my thighs, so light it borders on cruel. Not enough to satisfy. Just enough to increase the need.
I close my eyes and let my head rock back, legs falling wider apart.
“Good girl,” he whispers, his voice a soft lull.
He eases the straps of my dress from my shoulders, inching the fabric down until cool air grazes my skin. Moonlight spills across the curve of my bare breasts, a pale shimmer against the dark.
“So beautiful,” he rasps against my skin as he suckles my breast—his tongue tasting, flicking over each nipple before he draws one between his lips.
My body arches toward him, grinding against his thumb as I chase more. “That’s it, baby, give it to me,” he coaxes, sucking harder, the pull of his mouth and the thrust of his hand sending my thoughts scattering.
“Oh, fuck, Dane,” I choke out as he slips his middle finger deep inside me, curling it over the spot that draws a guttural moan. He silences me with his mouth, forcing my lips apart, his tongue sliding over mine.
“Look at you,” he breathes against my lips. “Being such a good girl for me.”
His hands circle my waist, his mouth tracing light kisses down the deep line of my neckline and over the soft curve of my belly.
“I think you’re ready for my tongue,” he continues. “But first I need to be sure you don’t run again.”
He steps back to unbuckle his belt. The leather slips free in one smooth motion, the clink of metal sending a sharp pulse through me.
He gathers my wrists behind my back, looping the belt around them until it’s snug. The restraint bites sharp enough to make me gasp. I should resist—want to—but the pulse between my thighs beats louder than reason.
My fingers curl into my palms when his lips trail lower, skimming the inside of my thigh in maddening, light trails, his stubble scraping deliciously against the sensitive skin.
Slowly, he drapes my leg over his broad shoulder, taking his time, letting the tension build. His gaze sweeps over me, lingering on my heaving breasts, nipples still wet and tight from his mouth. Firm fingers dig into my thighs, spreading me open, and I forget how to damn well breathe.
He doesn’t look away as he leans in. “Don’t ever run from me again, Ivy,” he whispers, blowing a gentle breath along my slit that makes my eyes roll.
The first touch of his tongue is a flat, slow, deliberate lick from my opening all the way up to my clit. It’s not gentle. It’s a claiming. My entire body arches off the table as his mouth closes around the swollen bud and he sucks. Hard.
After that, everything is a blur. A storm of sensations. Each slow drag of his tongue. That deliberate swirl that has me trembling. Hard. Deep strokes until I’m riding his face, begging every time he slows.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans, his tongue teasing with gentle flicks. “You taste so sweet.”
God, he’s too good at this. So good I can’t hold on to a single thought, can’t remember where I end and he begins—only that I need more.
I’m right there on the edge—until his voice jolts me back. “Eyes on me, Ivy.”
My gaze snaps to his, glinting with pure possession, wild green in the pale moonlight.
“Now come for me,” he hisses, lips glistening as he drags his tongue slowly, thoroughly, before thrusting it deep.
Oh. My. Fucking —
My body seizes around his mouth as I come hard enough to make the room spin.
“That’s it, baby,” he growls, his voice muffled against my skin. “Keep fucking my tongue.” He doesn’t let up. Rough palms slide under me, yanking me up, pressing me right into his mouth, ripping another orgasm from me, even more intense than the last.
I sag back against the table, breath coming slow and unsteady, floating and wrecked—and maybe a little pissed I’ve waited this long in life to experience that.
He kisses his way back up my body, then gathers me into his arms. With a softer touch, he unloops the belt and brings my wrists to his lips, one, then the other, planting tender kisses.
“You look beautiful in this dress,” he murmurs, brushing his lips on mine. “But even more beautiful wearing my belt.”
He steals one last dizzying kiss, and I melt into it. I hook my legs around his hips, rolling against him in a slow, deliberate grind, feeling his swollen cock pulse against my thigh.
“We’re leaving now,” he groans, his teeth catching my lower lip. “You’re coming home with me.”
I smile against his mouth and grind against him again, testing. “Only if you ask nicely.” My palm glides down, stroking him.
His hand snaps around my wrist instantly.
“It wasn’t a question, Ivy.”
He lifts my captured hand to his mouth, his lips grazing my knuckles. “But it’s cute that you thought it was.”
I roll my eyes.
“Oh, sorry,” I say, flashing my most innocent smile. “I forgot—you don’t do nice.”
A slow, filthy smile touches his lips as his hand slides to my thigh, yanking me hard against him.
“I don’t think you want nice, Ivy.”
My breath catches in my throat when his fingers slip back between my thighs, teasing until he draws another little helpless moan I can’t seem to control.
His mouth curls with smug satisfaction.
“Nice,” he drawls, his voice dropping to something that vibrates right through me. “Won’t fuck this tight pussy so deep you’ll be able to feel me until next week.”
“So let’s go—unless you prefer I fuck you against this wall. And no—I won’t be gentle.”
He smooths my dress and hair back into place as if nothing happened, then laces his fingers through mine.
I just stare at him, absurdly turned on and maybe a little terrified as he pulls me toward the door.
The night air bites as he leads me outside. Before opening the car door, he drapes his jacket over my shoulders, the fabric soft and warm against my skin.
He’s already gunning the engine by the time I slide into the seat, the sudden surge throwing me back as tires screech and the city opens in front of us, everything accelerating at once—sound, motion, my pulse—so fast it leaves no room to think.
The car eats up the road, turns coming one after another, my body responding before my mind can catch up, heat still bubbling under my skin from his mouth, his hands.
His palm splays over my thigh, warm skin against bare skin as he finds the split in my dress, his fingers brushing once in a slow tease. He glances over with a wicked curve to his mouth, like he knows exactly how he affects me.
As we move through the streets, his thumb comes up now and then, catching under my chin, brushing my jaw before returning to my thigh, the touch casual and infuriating in the way it leaves me wanting more.
When he slows at a red light, he leans in, his breath hot before his lips brush mine. The light changes, the engine snarls, and he’s already pulling away with sudden force, his hand still warm on my thigh as the road stretches ahead.
By the time he pulls into the basement garage of his apartment, every inch of me is wound tight.
He takes my hand, guiding me toward the elevator, and I follow in a daze, each step carrying me farther from reason, trying desperately to ignore the voice in my head.
You’ll fall too hard.
He’ll break your heart.
But I follow anyway, even though some part of me already knows how this ends.