Chapter Six #2
“We’re supposed to be just friends, Aston,” I say quietly, looking at our group to make sure no one was watching. “Your friends—players I have to see on a regular basis—are right there.”
He lets out a low, rumbling laugh, leaning down so his mouth is right next to my ear. “Honeybee, I think they’re already onto us based on the way we were grinding on the dance floor tonight. If they haven’t figured it out yet, they’re not paying attention to us.”
“Whatever,” I mutter, blowing off his comment as I slide back into the booth and take a sip of my fresh vodka soda.
The next hour goes by in a blur. Tequila has completely taken over the table, but Aston and I have switched to water. The rest of the group is pretty drunk, though, and the energy shifts as the music changes to an electric beat. The pairing off of couples is instant.
Aston’s hand has been running up and down my leg since we sat down, stroking the inside of my thigh with his thumb, getting so close to my center, teasing me to the point of madness, while our friends sit right next to us not knowing what’s going on under the table.
But then he’ll pull his hand away, only to start again minutes later.
Honestly, I’m getting so worked up, I’m ready to pull him out of here or maybe into the back hall.
Then Ellis’s hockey player arrives with two of his buddies, and he’s exactly the massive defenseman she’d described.
Within ten minutes of his arrival, he had Ellis cornered against the back of the booth, his hand buried in her hair as they kissed.
They’re the first to leave, Ellis waving at us over her shoulder as he led her out by the waist.
Not long after, Cher and Devon make their claim on two of Aston’s teammates. The group is messy and loud as they decide to take the party back to one of the guy’s apartments downtown, leaving in a flurry of spilled drinks.
All that’s left are me, Aston, and Brody. He is across the room, occupied with a girl he met at the bar earlier.
I lean back against the leather and look at Aston, and he’s sitting back, arm stretched out along the bench, his legs spread out under the table, and his eyes are completely fixed on me. He’s completely sober and perfectly composed.
“Well, looks like it’s just the two of us,” I say, my voice scratchy.
“Yep,” Aston says, touching my bare shoulder with his fingers. “Looks like it.”
I take a slow sip of my water, trying to maintain my composure but my eyes keep tracking the sharp lines of Aston’s jaw and the way his full lips felt against mine in that hallway. He looks relaxed and entirely comfortable while my body feels like it’s burning from the inside out.
“So, your friends are nice,” he says, his deep timbre cutting through the noise in the club. He leans in closer, his eyes locking on mine with an intensity that makes goosebumps scatter across my arms.
“Yeah, they’re great.” I think I say, but I can’t be sure because Aston’s hand starts to drift down my arm and it’s entirely distracting.
“What’s going through that head of yours, Honeybee?”
“Just enjoying the view,” I reply, tilting my chin up, hoping he doesn’t see just how much he’s affecting me.
“Is that right?”
Aston’s smirk deepens. Slowly, deliberately, he shifts his position and his hand disappears under the table again.
I barely have time to register the movement before I feel his large, warm palm on my knee. The sudden heat of his hand sends a jolt straight to my core. And he doesn’t stop there. With an agonizingly slow move, his hand snakes higher up my leg and slips under the hem of my dress.
My breath hitches, and my fingers tighten around my glass as her fingers drift higher up my leg.
“Aston,” I warn, but it’s completely without conviction, as I cast a glance around the room to see if anyone is looking our way.
“Yes, Carrington?” he asks, his tone innocent, while his eyes dance with mischief. He starts to pull his hand away, but I stop it by placing my hand on top of his.
His smile looks damn near victorious as his fingers continue their slow ascent up my inner thigh, tracing light lines and circles with his thumb against my delicate skin.
Every inch of movement feels like a test to see how long I can maintain my composure.
But then his hand reaches the edge of my lace panties.
Instead of moving under them, his hand settles over the thin material covering my pussy, his thumb applying enough pressure on my clit to make me bite the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound.
He begins to stroke over the fabric with his fingers, a teasing, wicked move that sends a wave of heat pooling in my core.
“We’re in public,” I manage to squeeze out, my thoughts shattering as the friction of his fingers against the lace drives me wild.
“No one’s looking at us, Eva,” he whispers, his lips grazing the shell of my ear, sending a shiver through my body. “And even if they were, I don’t give a fuck. You look too sexy for me to just sit here like a good boy.”
“A good boy?” I turn my head, and our faces are inches apart.
Instead of answering, he just hums and slips his fingers beneath the lace of my thong, pinching my clit between his thumb and forefinger, making my hips lift off the seat.
The contrast between his calm, effortless posture above the table and the intense, scandalous heat of his hand completely unraveling me under it is entirely maddening.
Just as I lean in closer to kiss him, his hand disappears but stays on my leg.
“Sup, Vaughn,” Aston says with a cocky edge to his voice.
“Hey, buddy, I’m gonna take off,” Brody says, smirking, looking between Aston and me. “You good?”
“Yeah, man,” Aston says, lifting his chin in a nod. “I’ll give you a buzz tomorrow, and we can meet at the gym.”
He’s talking like he didn’t just have his hands in my panties. It’s maddening that he can act so unaffected.
“Sounds good, brother. Eva, see you soon, yeah?” Brody winks at me and lifts a hand as he turns to walk away.
“Bye, Brody,” I manage to squeak out with a nod.
I lift my glass to take a drink, my throat suddenly dry, then set it on the table with a definite clink when I feel Aston’s fingers tugging at the string of my thong, then feel the snap of elastic against my hip when it breaks.
“Did you just rip my thong?” I gasp.
“Yep,” he says, smiling, and moves to the other side and breaks that strap too.
“Aston,” I breathe, feeling entirely too turned on in this very public setting.
“Lift,” he demands, pulling at the lace covering my pussy.
I do as he asks and lift my hips off the bench as he pulls them off me and stuff them in his pocket.
“Is stealing underwear a kink of yours or something?” I lift a brow.
“Only yours, Honeybee,” he whispers against my neck, as his fingers move back between my thighs. Instinctively, I open my legs wider, craving his touch.
With my eyes on the room, I reach under the table and wrap my fingers around his wrist, and instead of pushing his hand away, I hold it in place. “You’re a bad influence, Griffith.”
“By the way you’re soaking my fingers, I’d say you like it,” Aston says gruffly, his calm exterior crumbling as he pushes a long finger deep inside of me, hitting my g-spot.
My hips rock into his hand, trying to create the friction I need, but then he pulls his finger out. I squeeze his wrist and turn my head sharply to look at his face. “Aston,” I say breathily. Our faces are just inches apart, and I’m seconds away from covering his mouth with mine.
He pushes his finger back inside me, and circles my clit with his thumb. His eyes are locked on mine, his blue eyes burning with desire. “This what you want, Eva?”
“Yes,” I pant, my inner walls tightening around his finger.
Aston’s eyes flare with satisfaction, his thumb putting pressure on my clit before his hand stills, resting possessively over my pussy.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
“So … do you want to stay here and let the entire room listen as you scream out my name, or should we get out of here?” he asks, his eyes dropping to my lips before meeting my eyes again with an unyielding intensity.
“Come back to my place,” I say without hesitation. “Now.”
Aston doesn’t give me a chance to change my mind. He pulls his hand out from under my dress, stands, grabs my YSL clutch from the table, and offers me the hand that was just torturing me. We slip out of the VIP section unnoticed and pass through the heavy doors to the cool, New York City night air.
He had taken a car service into the city, so he pulls out his phone and dials the driver. Within minutes, a black SUV pulls up to the curb. He opens the door for me, then slides in after me.
The ride to my downtown loft apartment in Tribeca was full of tension.
Inside the car, away from the noise, the air between us is thick.
Aston sits close, his large hand resting on my thigh, his thumb burning hot circles on my skin.
Every time the car hits a pothole or breaks suddenly, he squeezes my knee.
The minute the driver pulls up to my building, Aston throws a few hundred bucks at the driver and we step out of the SUV.
We practically sprint through the glass lobby doors, and the elevator ride up to my place feels like it lasts longer than thirty seconds. As soon as the doors open into my private entryway, I get my keys from my bag and my hands shake with nervous, desperate energy.
I barely get the deadbolt open before Aston’s hand smacks against the metal, shoving the door open and pushing me gently inside.
The door clicks shut and then it’s just us. He grabs my waist, pushing me against the wall near the door. I let out a gasp, and my tote slips from my hand to the floor when his mouth crashes onto mine.
This isn’t the playful flirting and teasing like we did at the club. This is weeks worth of anticipation breaking through.
“Aston,” I say against his lips, my hands pulling at his shirt to remove it, then as soon as I have it over his head, I drop it to the floor.