Page 57 of Stick to the Deal
My hand leaves her hip to grip her chin, forcing her to face the mirror again. “Don’t you look away. Watch how beautiful you are in your passion. You are afucking goddess and don’t you forget it.” I thrust in and out of her pussy with each word.
Her eyes meet mine. “Reginald, please.”
My fingers pick up their grueling pace, curling to hit that spot I know she likes best. “I wish I had time to fuck you properly. I want you dripping down your legs all night thinking of all the ways I’ll take your body when we get home. Now cum.”
Mouth opening in a silent scream, she does. Wetness rushes as her core clenches around my hand. Her weight now rests on my chest more solidly as her breasts heave at the sweetheart neckline in panting breaths. Her eyes stare as I lift my fingers—glistening from her orgasm—to my lips and suck them clean. “That’s better.”
She smiles. It’s small and tentative, but she finally looks more herself.
I drop a kiss to her temple, then head to the door, calling over my shoulder, “Finish up, we’re leaving in five minutes.”
She steps towards the bed to retrieve her clutch and wrap. I’m satisfied to see a slight wobble to her legs. “Where are you going?”
“To change my tie.” With a yank, I pull the black silk from my neck and toss it to her. “Leave that one. We’ll be needing it later.”
The limo pulls up to the red carpet in a sea of lights. I stand and tug my jacket in a practiced gesture as cameras flash like fireflies in the crowd. Reaching down for her hand, I watch Nic exit the car with her confident smile back in place. She could have been an award-winning actress if she’d wanted to.
We make our way, stopping for photographs in front of the charity banner. Nic looks gorgeous in her dress, and I’m not the only one to admire it. Men and women stare at her as she gracefully moves by my side. I wrap my hand around her ribs, resting just under the swell of her breast.
Is it a possessive gesture? Damn right. Borderline immature and might cause tabloid stories tomorrow? Right again. But at this moment I don’t care. Nic is my wife, and everyone else can sod off.
She doesn’t move away, if anything, she leans closer to me as we pause for photographs. Halfway down the carpet, she turns her head, leaning in so closethat her breath tickles my ear. “Lord Crawford’s dates get younger every year—I swear this one could be his granddaughter. Imagine what we’d raise for erectile dysfunction instead.”
My lips quiver as I fight a smile.
“We could call it the Little Blue Gala.”
Unable to hold back any longer, I let loose a belly laugh. It sounds rusty to my own ears. When was the last time I really laughed? The thought is sobering enough to school my features back into their stoic mask.
We reach the end of the carpet where my family waits. A grim look of displeasure mars my mother’s otherwise flawless face. “Where have you been?”
Nic stiffens slightly under my arm as I lean in to give the expected kiss to my mother’s cheek. “It’s my fault. I had to change my tie.”
“Red? The two of you really should clear your outfits with me in the future.”
I grit my teeth to moderate my tone. “Relax, Mother, the theme is red hearts. Aren’t you overreacting a tad?”
“Whatever has gotten into you lately, Reginald.” She shakes her head, every strand of hair staying perfectly in place.
“I, for one, think Nic looks lovely in that gown, Mother,” Monty leans in, grasping Nic’s hand. “Quite ravishing.”
Mother grabs Monty’s arm with a hard look. “Well, it’s too late now. Go mingle and remember who you are.” With one last glare at us, she turns to a couple approaching, summarily dismissing us.
Father is barely paying attention to us as he smiles and nods at the crowd.
Nic slips her hand into the crook of my elbow and we enter the gala itself. We make the rounds, schmoozing donors and family friends alike. My wife is unstoppable. She uses that uncanny ability of hers to draw everyone in.
The band plays the opening refrain of a waltz. “Shall we dance?” I hold my hand out to Nic. Her eyes twinkle as she takes my hand and lets me lead her out onto the floor.
“You’re quite the dancer, Lord Ravenscourt.” Her cheeks blush beautifully as I swing her through another turn.
“Five years of ballroom lessons. Mother insisted.”
“For once, I approve of something your mother did.”
I chuckle. “Thank you for coming with me tonight.”
“Of course. Wasn’t that part of the deal?” Her lips quirk into a sassy smile.
