Killing Kate(18)
“You’re eating with your hands,” he says. I look down. So I am. There’s also a trail of grease running down my arm. Oh yes, I ordered the lamb shank. I femininely lick the grease off my arm from elbow to wrist with a mild attempt to be seductive yet humorous and note the way Drake is looking at me. I realize the effect was intended to intoxicate him with my charms but I feel myself getting slightly aroused. Dammit, what was his crazy effect on me? I can’t remember the last time a guy made me feel this way, and I’m terrified and thrilled. I rest a bit on the cushion so I am closer to Drake under the low table and lean back against the pillows behind me. I decide I’m full and likely to explode if I consume more of the dead flesh that was my meal.
“Shall we talk business?” I ask him. Drake raises one eyebrow, shrugs, and reaches into his briefcase. He pulls out the stack of paperwork and slides it over toward me across the table. I reach for it and jump as I feel his hand clench around my ankle. His hold loosens gradually and I feel his hand slide up and around my leg, stroking my calf.
“This is a declaration of property tax transfer,” Drake says. His left hand is to my knee now and I see he is calmly sipping his martini with his right hand. “Basically it indicates that all taxes paid on 10133 S. Menard Avenue will be in your name and in Devin’s name. He will need to sign as well.”
“What about mortgage?” I ask. I feel his hand graze over my knee and onto my thigh. The hem of my dress is hiked up pretty far. Any farther and it becomes a shirt, though some might argue that it already was before Drake did anything to it.
Drake pulls my leg so that I am practically lying down at the table. Lucky for us there are curtains. I wonder how much can be seen as the curtains aren’t exactly opaque, and the thought intrigues and excites me. I feel his hand slide against the edge of my panties which are officially soaked. He takes his hand and pushes his fingers onto my clit. My lips part and I gasp and am about to moan, but he puts his drink down and puts his finger on his lips and says “Shhh.” I comply and smile slightly.
“The house is paid off already. The taxes are about six thousand per year, give or take. We can appeal those since they just raised them. But other than maintenance and property tax, you don’t owe anything.”
His thumb slides inside of me and the knuckle of his middle finger presses on my clit. I grip the pillow on either side of me as though I might float away. I realize I’m holding my breath and it enhances what I’m feeling below my waist. The waves of pleasure mount within me and I close my eyes and imagine how I want Drake to be mounting me later on when we get out of this place. I am close. Suddenly my orgasm comes in an electric surge and I hear a demure voice say, “Would you care for another drink?” I shoot to a sitting position, bang both of my knees under the table and tip my drink directly into my lap. Chaos ensues. Drake obviously has to disengage his hand which is soaked, and thankfully everything is masked with the smell of my orange blossom martini. Napkins are shoved in my direction. Apologies are barked at me. All I can do is sit and allow myself to be blotted and consoled because I am completely and utterly numb. Drake is laughing somewhat maniacally, and even the dirty look I shoot his way doesn’t suppress his ability to find the situation ridiculous.
Our waitress discounts our drinks because she feels guilty about how I spilled everything all over myself. I actually consider it my fault, but keep my mouth shut. It’s as though I contributed to the bill in some way – drinks on me! Literally. My dress is still somewhat damp from the drink and my legs are somewhat damp from what Drake did to me over dinner. We stand and wait for the valet to bring Drake’s Mercedes. Drake looks at me and chews on the tip of his thumb and grins while I smoke. I flush from cheeks to chest and decide that if I wanted him before, I wanted him ten times more right now. Kate isn’t here to do the dirty work for me, and for once I’m truly grateful.
In his car Drake drives fast and is silent, unlike the ride to Crimson. I don’t know where we are going and don’t really care. “Take your dress off,” he tells me, watching me twisting the damp hem in an attempt to dry it off. “We can find you something dry at my place.” I comply, pulling the once-soft yellow fabric over my head and toss the ruined thing on the floor. I didn’t wear a bra. It’s odd that I’m not self-conscious in front of a man I barely know, but he did just finger me in a restaurant and I dance in a cage for a living, so I guess it makes a little bit of sense.
Drake pulls into a parking garage and parks between a Mini Cooper and a Porsche. He shrugs out of his light jacket and hands it to me. “Wear this in case anyone else might be in the elevator.” I nod and slip on the jacket. It smells like the restaurant we just left, and a bit like a spicy musk that gives me a flash of familiarity, but it’s quickly gone. He leads me over to the elevator and presses the button to go up, and then inside he presses another button to go to the eighteenth floor. No one else is in there, but Drake doesn’t touch me, and we don’t say anything to each other, and I wonder if he is upset about something or what he might be thinking. The doors open on eighteen. I step out and let him pass me, and then follow him down a long hallway to a door that says 1806 in brass numbers. He lets me in to his place.