Page 41 of Whiteout

Nothing.

A fork poised at her mouth, Breanna swallowed, her gaze flitting over to the avaricious motherfucker sitting there beside her.

Dipping beneath the hem of her dress, he went higher. With the feeling of her delicate skin and the enticing taste of that sweet cunt fresh in his memory, Ian’s foot slid over her tights, toes pressing, up the inside of her thigh.

Her blue eyes going round, Breanna’s pupils flared.

Got your attention, now, don’t I, princess?

He winked and, inching to that place between her legs, Ian pushed forward. The thin, stretchy tights an ineffective barrier, he prodded, stroking her pussy as deftly as he would with his fingers.

The fork slipped from her grasp, falling to her plate.

Without missing a beat, Derek picked it up and handed it back to her.

“Thanks,” Breanna sputtered. Face strained, she bit her lip.

His partner none the wiser, Ian continued his deviant game of footsie. How wet was she? Knowing his dirty girl, those tights she wore were more than damp. Ian bet he could push his toes halfway in her hole if he tried. Should he make her come right here?

Might be fun with Derek right next to her.

Nah.

As much as he wanted to, he enjoyed toying with her. He’d rather keep her needy and wanting until after Derek left. Once the nuisance was gone, he would be more than happy to remind her just who this pussy belonged to.

He pressed into her clit. Me.

“No more.” Breanna kicked his shin.

Turning their heads, everyone looked at her.

“Food,” she added, raising her napkin to her mouth. “I couldn’t eat another bite. I’m so stuffed.”

Not yet. Ian snickered under his breath, teeth raking over his lip.

“Me, too,” Pamela said, patting her toned belly. “I could use some coffee.”

“I’ve got it ready and waiting for us.” Francie got up from the table, her husband going over to her.

“Dessert, too?”

“Yes, Pam.” With a soft chuckle, the eyes behind her horn-rimmed frames rolled.

“Come on, dearest.” With a smirk, Ian glanced at Breanna while assisting Pamela from her chair. “You’re the only woman I know who can claim to be full and ask for sweets all in the same breath.”

Much better.

Coffee service laid out on a square low-set table, Ian made himself comfortable on the sectional in front of the fire. Derek stood over at the bar, pouring brandy into snifters. Pamela took a seat beside him, while Breanna sat down on the other end, as far away from them as she could be.

“Come on over here, sweetheart.” Fixing herself a cup of coffee, Pamela fixed her gaze on Breanna. “We can’t carry on a conversation if you’re all the way over there, can we?”

“I suppose not.”

With a somewhat apprehensive smile on her face, which Ian already knew wasn’t like her, she moved to sit directly across from him on the big U-shaped sofa. Hera jumped up beside her, the dog settling her head on Breanna’s lap.

He grinned at that. Traitor.

“Coffee, dear.”

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