Chapter 38 #2
The heat that was working its way through me turns back to the fury that started bubbling in me before.
Of course he doesn’t approve. What made me think he would? He doesn’t understand that I don’t care what he thinks about the job. I care about him respecting my choices. I wish he could just look at me with pride that I do what makes me happy.
“Well, I like it. Now please let me do it properly.”
I walk away, this is not the place for a discussion. But he follows close behind.
“Rey,” he growls, but I keep walking, smiling at the group of guests passing, without registering their faces. I pretend I can’t feel the vibrations of the man prowling behind me.
“I can’t keep looking at you walking around like this. Watching people ogle you.”
“And I can’t screw up my job.”
I spot the ladies’ room up ahead and push the door open. It’s empty.
“Get in,” I say. “Let’s talk in private.”
The security guard shows up behind Mark and I hold up a hand to stop him. “It’s fine,” I say, and Mark turns.
“Oh, hi, Mr Becker,” the guard says. “Are you sure you’re alright, miss?” he asks, looking at me now.
I nod and step into the ladies’ room, which of course isn’t your average restaurant restroom.
The walls are covered in pink mosaic, lit up from behind.
The whole room is glowing. The sinks are shaped like leaves, and the taps are all made of gorgeous brass.
There’s even a green velvet chaise lounge—you know, for those who come in here to chill out.
The heat emanating from the man behind me is impossible to ignore, regardless of the beauty of the room.
“Rey,” he whispers, a hand finding my waist from behind. “Where can I kiss you?”
I sigh and turn. The man is irresistible. I want to be angry with him, to tell him to let me get back to work. But I also want his hands all over me. Unfortunately, most of me is covered in paint.
“Nowhere…?” I gesture to my painted arms and face.
“Even…” His hand travels down, past the hem of my skirt, “…here?”
My breath hitches. “Mark,” I breathe, “I’m working.”
“I just want to kiss you.”
“I—I can’t, you’re crazy,” I say, laughing. There’s no way he’d be able to even do that here. Although my mind is working hard on a solution. The thought of his tongue on my clit has me clenching my thighs.
His crooked, naughty smile spreads across his face, and there’s a hungry look in his eyes. He reaches back and locks the main door to the room.
“Turn around,” he growls, and I do as he says. “Good girl.”
I shiver at the words. It gets me every time, and he knows it.
“Bend down, put your hands on the chaise. Let me show you how much I want you.”
“How?” I whimper with need, but do as he says. I lean down on the chaise, my arse in the air. I’m so wet for him and it must be obvious from his angle.
He groans and slips a finger under the hem of the underwear, and I moan in response.
“I need to hear you say it.”
“Yes, Mark, show me how much you want me.”
Then, he does something I did not expect.
He gets on his knees behind me, pulls the fabric to the side and sticks his tongue into my wet, achingly needy pussy. I cry out in surprise, but he grips my hip firmly with his free hand. His tongue flicks up my clit, and oh my god—the angle.
“Mmm, sensational,” he rumbles into my wetness.
It’s such a surprisingly hot move, and with his strong tongue moving from my centre and flicking up over my clit, I quickly feel the heat spreading through my bloodstream.
Faster than I can think, my nerve-endings fire up, and I climax right here in the Millefleuré restroom with Mark’s face pressed into my pussy, sounding like he’s having the best meal of his life.
“Jesus,” I breathe and shift away. I’m physically satisfied but feeling irate, livid that I let him boss me around like that when I wanted to talk.
I pull my underwear back in place and turn to look at him.
He’s still on his knees. In that elegant tux.
His mouth is swollen, hair a mess, and his eyes out of focus. My heart aches from looking at him. That expression on his face. His eyes finally blink back to reality, and he looks up at me.
“Can I take you home now, please?” he asks.
“You need to let me be angry with you, Mark, you can’t just come in here and stick your tongue in my pussy.”
I’m panting, balling my hands into fists and refuse to break eye contact.
He slumps, still on his knees, and wipes a hand over his mouth.
“I’m sorry, Rey. I’m not handling this very well.”
I cross my arms over my chest and nod, anger still simmering in me, mixed with the tingling between my legs. I want to anger-fuck this man so badly, I can’t think straight.
“If you want me to be your girlfriend, you need to take me for who I am,” I say, sounding braver than I feel. “You need to respect my choices.”
“I want to understand,” he says, standing up now, brushing off invisible floor particles from his knees.
His hands move to wrap around my waist, but I shirk away.
“I’m not the elegant kind of woman you’re used to, Mark. I’m not like that ex of yours or any of those out there.”
“And I’m fucking glad you’re not,” Mark says, lifting my chin with a careful finger. “I’ve realised that I never loved her. Now that I know what it really feels like.”
My heart pounds hard against my ribs. Bloody hell, I can’t stay mad at him when he says shit like that. But I need to keep pushing. I need to know if he will stand his ground.
“If I was more like her, I’d be your date tonight instead of the woman someone thinks you’re paying for.”
“Fuck that guy,” he says, but there’s something behind his eyes, still.
“I’d rather not.”
He laughs and puts a hand on my waist. I let him this time. “Please, Rey. Come home with me now, and I’ll show you how much I worship you.”
I beam at him; the anger dissipating. “I’ll let you do that,” I say. “I need some help to get all this paint off as well. The wet wipes they give us are never enough.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Now we’re talking.”
“Well, that we need to do as well, Mark.”
“Talk?”
“Yes, but first I need to finish my shift.”
Then he straightens his tux, drags a hand through his hair and looks at me.
“You’ve got green on your collar,” I say, expecting him to curse and wash it off frantically.
But he looks at it, and then at me. “Good.”
I smile, maybe this is the first step towards us figuring out how to do this.
“I’ll wait in the car for you, I’m done mingling,” he says and leaves, sending me a smile on the way out that should warm me from the inside, but it still stings that I’m not able to leave with him holding my hand proudly down the red carpet.