Page 77 of Playing Pretend

“And what do we need a few minutes for?”

I close in on her back, placing my hands on the vanity at either side of her hips.

“I’ll remind you of your promises, Rome.” She cuts the water and turns to face me. “There’s no touching. You’re not allowed to kiss me.”

“Noinappropriatetouching,” I correct. “And I’m not doing either.”

“You missed your calling as a lawyer. You’d be right at home arguing semantics in a courtroom.”

“Semantics are important in business.”

“Apparently, vibrators are, too,” she drawls. “So you’re just going to cage me here and stare?”

I could. I want to. “At least until you tell me how you’re holding up.”

“Giving you intimate details isn’t part of our deal.”

I grin. “Look at you, already improving your negotiation skills.”

“I’m nothing if not adaptable. Should I place that on my resume, boss?”

My dick jolts. I think I like her calling me that. “Tell me and I promise not to increase the settings until you’ve finished dessert.”

She scrutinizes me, nibbling her bottom lip in contemplation.

“Or…” I shrug. “Would you prefer if we discovered what level thirteen feels—”

“I’m holding up just fine,” she cuts me off.

“Describe fine.” I need the words. I crave the visual. I want to know every sensation coursing through her body.

She breaks eye contact to stare at the open stalls. “Despite my earlier confidence, it’s obviously not easy, okay? I have to concentrate. And my muscles are already tired from being constantly clenched.”

“Have you been close?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “That’s impossible when I’m uncomfortable and paranoid.”

“About what?”

She falls quiet, denying me an answer.

“Is the device too big?” I ask. “Do you need lube?”

“No.” Her cheeks turn scarlet, the gorgeous shade of nervousness making my dick throb. “My discomfort is because...” She snaps her mouth shut.

“Because?” I lean into her line of sight, our lips a breath apart. “Tell me.”

“Because I’m wet,” she blurts. “Why do you think I had to use the bathroom so early in the night? I’m worried I’ll ruin my dress.”

My pulse rages.

My cock aches.

I want a firsthand account of this wetness.

I want to touch her. Maul her. I itch to break my promises and end this charade by revealing my true intentions. But I don’t want that significant memory taking place in the middle of a public goddamn bathroom.

“Are we done now?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Can I return to my work event?”

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