Page 100 of Captive Audience
I could even make out the rose pink of Asha’s areolas and peaked nipples. My dick had already been standing at attention being this near to her. It was rock-hard now.
A growl rumbled in my chest. “Is this what you wore all day?”
“Does it matter?” She arched one brow innocently, as if she weren’t driving me to thoughts of murdering any man who’d laid eyes on her.
I bristled. “You know it does.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to know how many pricks’ eyeballs I’m removing. That’s why.”
Asha’s mouth twitched.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
She batted her lashes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’ve been toying with me all day. Spending big, flirting with Philippe, walking around like this.” I gestured to her chest. “Every prick at that restaurant is probably wanking over my wife’s gorgeous fucking tits.”
She looked at me as though I was a dumb twat. “No one’s wanking over my tits.”
I raised a hand. “Aye, they are.”
“You don’t count.” She straightened, which only brought her chest closer to mine. “Fine. Maybe I have been playing with you today. You can’t blame me for wanting a little payback.”
I supposed I deserved that. Respected her for it, even. Didn’t mean I liked it.
“God, look at you, Mr. Cranky Pants. So uptight.” She ran a finger down the center of my brow, trying to work out the creases. “Relax, gangster. I only took my bra off after we got home. No one saw me like this. No one but you.”
No one but me.
Why did that soothe me so much? And why was I so consumed with having her all to myself?
Asha was a beautiful, intelligent, inspiring woman—not a possession. But fuck me, if any bastard tried to tell me she wasn’t mine, I’d snap their neck.
“And I should probably tell you that Philippe mentioned his boyfriend no fewer than three times, so please don’t hurt him.” She glanced at her tits, then hit me with an impish grin. “You think they’re gorgeous?”
“Christ, woman, if you had your hand on my cock right now, you wouldn’t ask.”
“What if”—Asha’s gaze dipped again, this time to the bulge in my shorts—“I wanted to know for sure?”
Mother have mercy. She didn’t know what those words did to me. How they made my pulse quicken and blood rush through my veins. I was fucking desperate to have her hands wrapped around my dick.
But she was drunk, and if I fucked her now, she might never forgive me. She might never forgive herself. “That’s the drink talking,” I said.
“I know, but it’s still what I want.”
I exhaled slowly, trying not to lose control. “Why?”
She scoffed. “Jesus, Rook. Just tell me if you want me or not.”
“I want you more than my next breath. I’ve had a constant hard-on since you moved in. My balls ache. I can’t sleep. But if youtouch me now, Asha, I’ll lose what little restraint I have and fuck you right here on this counter. Fast. Hard. Deep. And I won’t stop until you moan my name and forget every reason you’ve tried to stay angry at me.”
She made a small whimpering noise.
Which wasn’t a no.
But, fuck, she’d hate me even more tomorrow if I took advantage of her like that.
