Chapter 5 #2
The dress loosens around my shoulders, and he pushes it down to my waist while moving his mouth to my neck.
I tilt back my head and grip his shoulders while he trails his lips down to my collarbone.
Each press of his mouth sends a current of heat directly to my slit.
I’m already wet, and he hasn’t touched me below the waist.
I pull at his shirt, yanking it free from his pants, and run my hands over the bare skin of his abdomen. The muscles tense under my fingers as I move lower. When I reach his belt, I undo it and open his pants without hesitating.
His cock is thick and hard when I wrap my hand around it, and the low sound he makes against my throat is the first time I’ve ever heard him slip. I stroke him once, slowly, and feel the pulse against my palm. His small moan of pleasure is almost more intoxicating than his touch.
He backs me toward the couch. I sit on the edge, and he drops to his knees in front of me, pushing up my dress around my hips.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my underwear, and I lift my butt so he can slide them off.
Then he presses his lips to my inner thigh, and I grip the cushion beneath me with both hands because the anticipation is almost worse than the contact.
Laughter erupts from somewhere on the main floor, loud enough to cut through the door, and I freeze. He pauses, looks up at me, and waits until I nod.
He returns to his task, and when he finds my clit, I have to press the back of my hand against my lips to stay quiet when he gently swipes me with his tongue.
The club is twenty feet away, with music thumping and staff moving through the corridor, while Adrian Bugrov is on his knees with his mouth on my pussy like he has nothing else in the world to do tonight.
He works me with slow, focused pressure, circling my clit with his tongue before dragging it lower and pushing inside me. I move my hips against him instinctively and stop pretending I have any control over what my body is doing.
He lifts his head and looks up at me. “Don’t be quiet.”
I gasp softly. “There are two hundred people on the other side of that wall.”
“Then be quiet enough. Just not silent.” He lowers his mouth again, and I stop arguing.
The orgasm builds from a hot, concentrated point and spreads outward until my thighs are shaking against his shoulders.
I come with my fist pressed against my mouth and his name caught somewhere behind my teeth.
The intensity of it pulls a sound from me that I can’t fully muffle, and he grunts in approval.
After easing me down from the peak, he stands and moves over me, and the question is in his expression before he asks it.
Do I want to continue? I could stop here.
I could straighten my dress, catch my breath, and walk back onto the floor with one orgasm and my professional dignity mostly intact.
That would be the smart move. That would be what Marisol would tell me to do since it’s too late to take her better advice of not doing this at all.
Holding his gaze, I whisper, “Don’t stop.”
He lifts me, wrapping my legs around his waist, and sets me on the arm of the couch. I push his pants down. He brings a hand between us to guide his cock until it’s in the right position, pressed against my entrance, slick and hot.
I grip his shoulders harder. Before he can move, I pull his cock inside my sheath.
He sinks inside with one slow thrust, and the stretch draws a sound from both of us that we muffle against each other’s mouths.
He fills me completely, and for two full seconds, neither of us moves.
A server’s heels click past the door reminds me of the absurdity of where we are, what I’m doing, and how thoroughly I’ve detonated my own boundaries. That makes me laugh against his neck.
“Something funny?” He pulls back an inch, and the movement makes me gasp.
I shake my head while shrugging. “Everything about this is insane.”
“I know.” He starts to move slowly, plunging deeply before almost withdrawing to repeat the motion. The laughter dies in my throat.
I grip the back of his neck while the room narrows to the point where our bodies connect. Each stroke hits exactly right, and I arch against him, pulling his cock deeper with my heels pressed against his lower back. The couch shifts beneath us.
I should be terrified. I should be calculating the risk, measuring the fallout, and running the same cost-benefit analysis I run before every decision I make.
Instead, I’m choosing this. Every second, every thrust, and every sound I let him pull from me is a decision I’m making with my eyes open, and I refuse to pretend otherwise.
I come a second time with him still moving inside me, and my pussy tightening around his shaft makes him groan against my shoulder.
It takes three more thrusts, harder than the rest, before he follows.
His cock pulses inside me as he finishes, and I hold on to him through it, my arms around his neck and my face pressed against his hair.
He grips my hips hard enough that I’ll have marks tomorrow, but I don’t care.
We stay connected for several seconds, both breathing hard.
He rests his forehead against my shoulder, and I keep my fingers in his hair.
The room smells like sex, whiskey, and expensive leather.
The music from the club bleeds through the wall, muffled but persistent, and a reminder my shift isn’t over.
Two hundred people are out there while I sit here with his cum still warm inside me and my entire night broken in half. My whole life, for that matter, is now Before Adrian and After Adrian. That sounds overly dramatic even to me, but it feels apt.
He lifts his head and looks at me. The control is back in his expression, but his eyes haven’t caught up. They’re dark and unguarded, and for a second, I see awareness. This is trouble, and he knows it, but he’s not going to do a single thing about it.
I ease fully away but slowly. “I should go back to the floor.”
He nods. He helps me straighten my dress, hands me my underwear without comment, and watches me pull myself together.
I check my reflection in the dark window.
My hair needs smoothing, and my lips are swollen, but the dress is intact.
Surprisingly, my expression suggests I’m in full control.
It’s a lie, but I’m not forthcoming with my actual state right now.
I leave the private room first, smoothing my dress one more time in the corridor while taking a breath, before stepping back onto the floor. Nobody looks up or notices. I resume my rounds like nothing happened, adjusting a table arrangement, redirecting a server, and confirming a bottle order.
My hands are shaking. I keep them at my sides or wrapped around tablets and bottle necks, where the trembling doesn’t show.
Adrian and his companion enter the corridor leading to Dominic’s office a few minutes later.
I can feel his gaze on me briefly, but I’m turned away, and I don’t look back at him.
I’m not ignoring him, because that clearly doesn’t work.
I’m just buying more time to compose myself.