Page 71 of Redemption

A server carrying a silver tray with Champagne flutes pauses to offer us a drink. Dane assesses me with an x-ray gaze, reading every nuance of my jittery, indignant mood.

He selects a glass for himself but doesn’t offer me one.

“I’d rather not end up with Champagne in my eyes,” he teases. “I have a feeling you’d toss the drink in my face as soon as it was in your hand.”

“Good idea,” I mutter.

“Sorry to disappoint you. Now, do you want a drink?

I blink at him. He just said I couldn’t have one.

“Yes,” I reply before he can change his mind. Now that he’s mentioned it, I would very much like to throw Champagne into his smug face.

One of his big hands slides into my hair at my nape, anchoring me in a firm grip. He applies steady pressure and tugs my head back slightly. He lifts the glass to my lips.

“You wouldn’t,” I insist.

He won’t actually give me a drink from his hand like I truly am his helpless pet.

“Your choice,” he says again, but he doesn’t lower the glass.

I press my lips together in denial, but I can’t shift my head. The glass tilts despite my glower, and Champagne spills down my chin, dripping onto my chest.

I open my mouth, cheeks flaming. Having him pour the drink down my chest feels more embarrassing than accepting the drink. The fizzy liquid bubbles over my tongue, reminding me of the drink he bought for me on our first date.

That memory is so terribly tempting, and for a moment, I want to give in.

I want to belong to Dane again. In every way.

But the Champagne is still spilling from the corners of my lips, and I realize he’s doing it intentionally.

“Not too much,” he chides, as though I have a choice in how much I’m drinking. “I don’t want your senses impaired.”

I consider spitting the Champagne in his face, but it’s too late for that. He pulls the glass away, and I’m left panting for breath and covered in expensive wine.

His eyes darken when they fix on my chest, and I realize my nipples have pebbled to hard, aching buds. They’re clearly visible against the dark purple silk. It clings to my breasts now that the material is wet.

“I want a taste,” Dane rumbles, but he sets the half-empty glass on to a passing server’s tray.

I try to ease away from his predatory energy, but the handcuff keeps me closely bound to him. And he still hasn’t released my hair.

He tugs sharply, forcing me to expose my throat. His lips are unbearably soft against my sensitive skin, and his tongue brands me when he licks the line of my vulnerable artery. He takes his time sampling the Champagne on my skin, making his way lower down my chest with a trail of hot, hungry kisses.

“No.” My protest is so breathy that it might as well be a welcoming purr.

His lips close over my nipple, his teeth grazing it through the thin barrier of my wet dress. Pleasure floods my body in a strong wave that crashes from my breasts all the way to my fingers and toes. It goes straight to my head, and for a moment, I’m euphoric. Desire layers over my embarrassment, and sparks dance down my spine to heat my core.

“Lovely.” The woman’s voice is far too close.

Oh, god. I remember all of the people that surround us. They’re all bearing witness to my shameful, wanton responses to Dane’s cruel game.

I lift my free hand and try to shove his head away from my chest. He bites my nipple in sharp reprimand.

I yelp, and the woman giggles.

I turn desperate eyes on her and suppress a whimper as Dane returns to teasing my tight, sensitive bud with his tongue.

“Help me,” I beg. I can’t bear further humiliation, no matter how my body is humming for him. “I don’t want this.”

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