Page 75 of Fractured (Not Quite a Billionaire)
Yes.I didn’t play games, because I wanted it. I forced myself to do it slowly all the same, though, even though all I needed was for him to take off my clothes andtouchme.
When he saw what was under the dress, he got more still than ever. He was frozen, in fact.
I wasn’t. My dress was still on my shoulders, but lying open to the waist, the full skirt pulled up high and spread on the seat around me as I lay back on the seat and showed Hemi the rest of my purchases.
First, my beautiful ankle-strapped heels. Above them, stockings so sheer they were barely a whisper against my skin, ending in tops edged with white lace. And abovethat…a G-string to match the bra. A piece of lingerie so skimpy, it could barely justify its existence, let alone its price tag. It was made of the same pearl-pink material as the bra, the tiniest triangle of sheer fabric in front, and absolutely nothing else to it but a couple of ribboned straps.
Oh, and there was the garter belt. It matched, too. Delicate, lacy scallops ran along my lower belly, offering up a semicircle of pale skin for Hemi’s viewing pleasure before the G-string hid me from view. Well, partially.
Hemi still hadn’t moved, and he didn’t speak, but the dark flush on his cheekbones sent a message I had no trouble at all reading.
“Do you like what you see?” I asked in a throaty voice that belonged to a much curvier woman.
“Not yet,” he said, making my head jerk up in surprise. “But I will when you’re touching yourself.”
He held me with his gaze, and if I’d been melting before? Now, I was liquid.
I said, when he didn’t go on, “What? Now?”
“Yeh. Now. And while you show me how you do it, you’re going to talk to me. You didn’t do so well describing your lingerie, so I’m going to give you a failing mark and move on. You’re going to tell me your nastiest, dirtiest, most secret fantasy. The one you use when I’ve been gone too long, the one that makes you come the hardest and moan in spite of yourself and blush the most to remember. The one you can’t believe you let yourself even think.”
“What if it isn’t about you?” I asked sweetly. I still had a little push-back left, it seemed. I treated him to my most innocent look, pretending I wasn’t so wet I was embarrassing myself.
If I’d thought I’d disconcert him, I’d been wrong. “Ah,” he said, nothing but dark satisfaction in his melted-chocolate voice. “Then you’ll give me something else to take up with you later, won’t you? Make it dirty, sweetheart. Seems I’ve got to remind you of a few things tonight. So go on. Inspire me.”
I didn’t want to do it, and I was dying to do it. Well, to be honest, I was dying forhimto do it. But one of us had better do it, because the throb between my legs needed attention, and it needed it now.
I didn’t give in entirely, of course. I made him wait. I started by stroking the bare skin between the scalloped edge of the garter belt and the top of the G-string. Over and over, my fingertips pleasuring, stimulating, my other hand going to my inner thigh above the top of the stocking, tracing, moving slowly up.
When my eyes drifted shut at the intensity of it, Hemi said, “Oh, no. You’re not doing that. Eyes open. Look at me. And tell me. Don’t disappoint me, Hope.”
I forced my eyes open, and there he was, his dark gaze pinning me in place exactly like the butterfly I always felt with him. I said, “Uh, I guess…I imagine, uh…” My fingers stilled, and so did my tongue.
“No,” he said. “Tell me like it’s happening. Tell me what I’m doing. And get busy. I want to see your hand disappear in there, and I want to see it now. I’m going to watch you come, and you’re going to show me. Right now.”
I took a breath, looked into his eyes, and did it. It wasn’t exactly an effort to find the right place. My hand smoothed over the damp fabric, which felt pretty fabulous all by itself, then edged inside, and I hauled in a hard breath as my fingers finally touched me where I needed it most.
All I wanted to do was close my eyes and enjoy it. Instead, I talked, because Hemi had ordered me to, and I needed to obey him exactly as much as I’d needed to disobey him earlier, but for an entirely different reason. For a reason that had nothing to do with logic and self-determination and independence, and everything to do with being the other half of the woman I was, here in the secret spaces, in the dark.
“We’re in a restaurant,” I began. Haltingly, because…could I really say this? “A fancy one. Candles on the tables, white tablecloths, good silverware, classical music, you know. You’ve taken me there, but you’ve told me it’s going to be different tonight, but I don’t know how, or when it will happen, and I’m nervous. It’s, um, dark outside, low lights inside, so people walking by can, uh, look in and see.”
Touching myself felt so good. So incredibly good. “There are all these men at the other tables,” I went on, part of me burning with embarrassment at what I was saying, what I was doing, the other part drawn irresistibly onward. “Men in suits. They’ve been…looking at me all night long, because I’m wearing something…” I could feel myself blushing even as my hand found its pace and started to carry me up, riding that wave.
“What?” Hemi asked. “What are you wearing?”
“Something…too revealing.” My fingers were a whisper over swollen, aching flesh. “A jersey dress, red, and a bra like this one. They can all see my nipples getting hard, and they’re all looking. And you’re not…” I drew in a shaky breath. “Not sitting across from me. You’re beside me. You’re telling me to eat, making me drink my wine, and I’m doing it, but you…you…”
“Yes?” His gaze was burning me, compelling me onward.
“You’ve got your hand under the tablecloth. It’s on my thigh, and you say, ‘Take a drink, sweetheart,’ and when I do…you lift up my skirt under the table and put your hand on me. Inside my…my thong. You’re rubbing me, and you’re telling me…”
“What am I telling you?”
“That you’re going to…” I was so close. The tingle had long since turned to a hum, and then to a pulsating beat that resonated deep inside me. “That you’re going to take me home and…”
I looked into his eyes, seeing in his face the absolute confirmation of everything I was saying, and feeling it pushing me higher.
I wanted to stop telling him. I wanted to close my eyes, too. But I couldn’t do either thing, because Hemi wouldn’t let me, and because I needed to watch him looking at me, to watch him being so turned on by me, and I needed to say it out loud, too. I needed to share it, because it was too exciting not to.
