Hardass (Bad Bitch)(26)

“Don’t be so hasty. I think there are some empty bedrooms upstairs—”

“Matt, honey. Have you met Quincy?” A smiling brunette in a silver dress walked up with her arm threaded through Quincy Walker’s, a classmate of mine. “He’s one of the newest associates at Daddy’s firm.”

Matt stepped away and dropped his hand—a good thing, because I was about to knee him in the goods.

“Fawn.” He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “This is Caroline Montreat, one of Wash’s new associates.”

So this was the woman they were fighting over? She was pretty. Short with understated curves. Though she was smiling, it seemed somewhat fake, as if she weren’t enjoying herself.

“Wash?” Her gaze flickered to me, and her smile gained a hint of warmth. “How’s he doing?”

“Fine.” I managed to actually get past Matt this time, especially now that he was looking everywhere but at me. “Excuse me, but I need to use the ladies’ room.”

Fawn put a hand on my arm. “Down the back hallway. Let’s chat later.”

“Sure. Very nice to meet you.” I hurried away, making a mental note to avoid Fawn if at all possible.

I pushed through, the crowd seeming far tighter than it had only moments ago, and finally entered the hall. There were several doors along the way, and I was certain at least one of them was a powder room. I peeked in a couple of dark bedrooms and finally found one with an en suite bathroom.

I closed the bedroom door behind me and leaned against it. The darkness comforted me somewhat, as if it shielded me from prying eyes. The light from the bathroom illuminated just enough for me to see the space was done in a rich damask, the four-poster bed covered with a dark duvet that picked up the contrasting pattern in the drapes. Mr. Palmer definitely had style.

The dimness and relative quiet soothed my nerves, and I pushed any useless tears back down. Judge Lane was a sexist ass hat, and Mr. Granade was clearly some sort of dual-personality jerk. The sooner I was done with this party, the better.

I took a deep breath and stepped away from the door. I toileted, then smiled at myself in the mirror, testing to make sure my game face still worked. It did. I washed up. The bedroom door clicked.

“Out in a minute.” I dried my hands and opened the bathroom door.

Arms were around me and I was pressed into the roughest, hottest kiss of my life. Mr. Granade’s mouth was demanding, his breath a mix of alcohol and something sweet. My surprised yelp died in my throat as he clutched me to him and bent me backward, his mouth taking mine and his tongue exploring me. All my nerve endings seemed to explode at the same time, detonated by the sudden onslaught.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he bent me back farther, to the point where the only thing holding me up was him. I had never been kissed so completely, possessed so entirely. He ran a hand down my ass and gripped me through my dress. He groaned into my mouth and pulled me even closer, his hard length pressing into my stomach.

He straightened and lifted me before backing out of the doorway and carrying me to the bed. He laid me down and stood, scrubbing a hand over his jaw.

“Spread your legs.”

I shot a glance toward the door.

“It’s locked. Now spread your fucking legs, Caroline.” He shed his blazer and tossed it to the floor.

His kiss had left me desperate for more, for all of him. I did as he said, easing my legs apart and bending them at the knees so my heels were on the duvet.

“Further, Caroline.”

I let them fall open, my skirt riding up to my hips, and his gaze fastened on my panties.

He put a hand on the poster as if he needed the support. “Jesus Christ. Take them off for me. Slowly, Caroline.”

I hesitated. He gripped the post harder, his knuckles turning white. “Off.” It was a low growl.

I hooked my fingers in the thin fabric at my hips and lifted my ass a little to shimmy them off. They got caught on the heel of my right foot. I raised it to try to dislodge them, but Mr. Granade gripped that ankle and pulled them the rest of the way off with his teeth. I had never seen anything more erotic in my life. He stuffed them into his pocket and kissed the top of my foot, his shaking hands running down my calf.

His gaze captured mine, and it was just the two of us. The voices in the hallway sank into a background hum.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” He kissed up my ankle, past the strap and farther. His mouth was warm and wet, teasing my skin and making me squirm.

I gripped the duvet as he worked higher, his lips past my knee, on my inner thigh, and then so close to my pussy that I was dying for his mouth. He dropped to his knees and gripped my hips, yanking me to the edge of the bed. My skirt rode up to my stomach, and he wrapped his hands around my thighs, guiding them around his head.