“If you want me to stop, just say the word.” I pushed my leg between her knees, nudging them apart.
Vivian opened her mouth, then closed it when my thumb traced a small circle over her soft skin. The flush on her cheeks spread to her neck and chest.
“Say it.” I trailed my fingers up her inner thigh in a lazy caress. My cock strained against my zipper, begging for attention, but I ignored it. “You can’t, can you?” I mocked.
Her teeth sank into her bottom lip. Lust and defiance battled for dominance in her eyes. “You’re an asshole.”
My fingers brushed against drenched silk.
She grasped my shoulders, her nails digging into my back when I slid her underwear aside and rubbed my thumb over her swollen clit.
Her body jerked. Small trembles ran through her as her teeth dug deeper into her lip.
“I’m an asshole, yet you’re dripping all over my hand.” I kept my thumb on her clit while I slipped a finger inside her. “What does that say about you?”
I slid a second finger inside, filling her. Stretching her. Stroking and curling until I hit her most sensitive spot.
The trembles gave way to a full-body shudder. Sweat beaded on her forehead, but she remained stubbornly silent.
“Answer me.” Command hardened my voice into steel.
Vivian shook her head.
“If you won’t say it, I will.” I slowly withdrew both fingers, then thrust them inside her again. “It says you’re mine. Puoi negarlo quanto vuoi, ma è la verità.”
“You don’t even like me,” she panted.
“Like has nothing to do with this.”
I pressed the heel of my palm against her clit until a gasping moan broke free. She bucked against my hand, forcing me deeper.
“That’s it.” My velvety murmur glided between us. “Give into it, sweetheart. Let me feel you come all over my hand.”
“Fuck you.”
I let out a soft laugh. “That’s the idea.”
Vivian put up a good fight, but her resistance gradually melted and she clutched my shoulders harder, grinding shamelessly against my hand while I increased my pace. Her little moans and pants mingled with the slick sounds of my fingers fucking her pussy, and soon, my fingers were soaked with her juices.
I didn’t touch my cock even though it was so fucking hard it ached. I was too enraptured by the sight of Vivian’s arousal—flushed cheeks, parted lips, heavy-lidded eyes.
It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
My rhythm continued. In and out, faster and deeper, until she finally split apart with a sharp cry.
I kept my fingers inside her and pressed my thumb against her clit again, letting her ride out the waves of her orgasm until her trembles subsided.
Only then did I withdraw my hand while she slumped against the bookcase, her chest heaving.
“Make no mistake, mia cara.” I grasped her chin and tilted it up. I pulled her bottom lip down with my thumb, letting her taste her own arousal. “This is business. And if there’s one thing I take seriously, it’s my investments.”
Vivian
Idreamt of Dante three nights in a row.
I couldn’t recall what happened in the dreams, but I woke up each morning with the phantom touch of his hands between my thighs and a tight ball of need in my stomach.
Cold showers only helped temporarily, and Dante’s absence while he was in California was both a blessing and a curse.
A blessing because I didn’t have to face him with amorphous memories of sex dreams running through my head.
A curse because without new interactions to distract me, all I could think about was our night in Valhalla’s library.
His grip on my neck. His fingers filling me as I shamelessly rode his hand to orgasm. The desire in his eyes as he watched me come apart in his arms, so hot and potent it’d almost driven me to the peak again.
A shiver that had nothing to do with the weather rolled over my body.
The day had dawned gray and drizzly, and while I usually only liked the rain when I was tucked snug and warm in my bed, I relished the chill today. It cleared my thoughts—as much as they could be cleared anyway.
I checked my watch as I wound past the puddles gathering on the sidewalk, umbrella in hand. I’d finished lunch in record time since I wanted to browse Lohman & Sons before my next meeting at two.
It was the Russo Group’s largest jewelry subsidiary. Up until now, I mostly wore my family’s brand of jewels, my engagement ring notwithstanding, but since I was marrying a Russo, it made sense to add more of their products to my collection.
Rain and retail therapy. Two things guaranteed to take my mind off Dante.
The ring of my phone dragged me out of my thoughts before they took me down an unwanted path.
An unknown caller on my work phone. Unusual but not unheard of.
“This is Vivian.” I slipped into my professional voice and stopped in front of the Lohman & Sons entrance. An elegant older woman passed by with an immaculately groomed white poodle. Both wore matching quilted Chanel jackets.
Only on the Upper East Side.
“Vivian, dear, how are you?” Buffy’s throaty voice oozed over the phone. “This is Buffy Darlington.”
My heart skipped a beat. I hadn’t talked to Buffy since her granddaughter’s birthday two weeks ago. The payments were settled, the contracts fulfilled. The Darlingtons seemed happy with the event, but then why would Buffy be calling me on a random Tuesday afternoon?
We were both active on the Manhattan social scene, but we ran in very different circles. We didn’t call each other just to chitchat.
“I’m well, thank you. How are you?”
“Wonderful. I heard you were at the Valhalla Club’s gala over the weekend. I was quite upset about missing it, but poor Balenciaga was having stomach issues and we had to rush him to the vet.”
Balenciaga was one of Buffy’s five prized Malteses, along with Prada, Givenchy, Chanel, and Dior. Each dog only wore clothing by the designer corresponding to their name. There’d been a whole spread about them in Mode de Vie two years ago.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said politely. “I hope Balenciaga’s feeling better.”
“Thank you. He’s doing much better now.” I heard the clatter of china in the background before Buffy spoke again. “While I can discuss my precious babies all day, I must admit, I have an ulterior motive for calling.”
I’d figured as much. People like Buffy didn’t contact you out of the blue unless you could do something for them.
“As you may know, I’m the chairwoman of the Legacy Ball committee this year. I’m in charge of the overall production, including choosing the host or hostess and guiding them through the planning process.”
My pulse spiked at the mention of the ball.
“Arabella Creighton was the hostess,” Buffy said. “But unfortunately, she had to resign from her position due to unforeseen circumstances.”
Unforeseen circumstanceswas an understatement. Arabella’s husband had been charged with embezzlement and corporate fraud over the weekend. Photos of the FBI marching him out of his Park Avenue townhouse in his pajamas had been splashed across all the front pages since Saturday.
Three days.