Out of Her Comfort Zone(11)
His hands covered hers, gripping. She felt his breaths, in and out, pushing her new hair forward and back. She turned her head so her mouth was nearer his, so she could whisper. “Are you allowed to touch me?”
“If you consent,” he croaked out. “Do you?”
“I do.”
His hands slid from his hips to hers, the shortest of distances, and she bucked. He licked the divot between her shoulder and her neck, and then suddenly she felt his fingers over the front of her thighs.
“You do? Here? Now?”
“I do.”
A hand slid over the satin covering her pussy. It cupped her, and she groaned slow. Though the beat of the music was heavy in her ear, she heard felt his chuckle in her spine.
Another hand slid behind the first, and under the satin. “Stay still,” he said, as if that ever worked. He locked his legs outside hers to support them, wisely, as her knees had turned to jelly.
“Might want to grip the window again,” he said, but she reached for the back of his neck instead. He was going nowhere. His kisses along her collarbone turned to nips, and there it was, a matching nip on her clit. She gasped, and arched, pushing back, throbbing.
“Open your eyes,” he said.
She tilted her head up again and opened her eyes. It took a moment for her vision to clear, and then she caught his gaze in the reflection. He looked down, and her gaze followed him. Her hard, hungry nipples teetered out of the bustier. In front of the whole city. She laughed, but all that came out was a throaty huff.
“Think it’s funny, exposing yourself?” He moved his outside hand to hug across her breasts, brushing both nipples at once. His forearm mirrored the circling his fingers were doing to her clit, matching the pulse of the music, of their hearts, of their blood. She was rising and rising, her hips grinding and grinding.
The lights were dim, but behind her eyelids it was flashing daylight. She was going to come. She couldn’t come.
She did come.
Elliot caught most of her hoarse scream behind his hand. His arms squeezed tight, blanketing her bucking. So quick, so deep, and oh, so good.
When she came back to consciousness, breaths still heavy, he had his arms wrapped around her front. Her Elliot modesty bra.
He lifted his fingers to her lips, and she sucked gently. She tasted good.
He met her gaze in the window’s reflection. He looked like he’d just been fucked, but good. She shook her head at him, and he grinned. She coasted on the feeling a long moment. So right.
It couldn’t get better than this. She sagged against him. “Oh, El,” she said on a sigh.
“Oh, Em.”
She heard a sudden intake of breath. It wasn’t either one of them. Someone had overheard.
Someone was listening.
Someone was watching.
The chuckle sounded familiar. Was it – could it be – Elliot’s stepfather? “El, man, don’t tell me you’re fondling your fiancée at your own stag party.”
Emily went from overheated to ice cold in under a second. He knows. He’s going to tell everyone. Everyone knows. They will judge. This is what I didn’t want. This is what I never want.
Her limbs went heavy as lead, but still the ground didn’t swallow her up.
Elliot grabbed the man’s arm. “Not my fiancée. Never say that. Never.” But it was, indeed, the other Elliott. The one they’ve had Thanksgiving dinners with, the one who didn’t play dumb. Or nice.
“You might share. That’d keep my mouth shut.”
“No. She’s mine.”
“She isn’t, though. She’s Madame Z’s, right?” The older man smiled, his pretty mouth like a Komodo Dragon’s.
“Don’t do this.” Elliot’s voice was razor-sharp, but his stepfather shrugged.
“Your mother, I think. That’s all who needs to know.”
His mother. The perfect hostess, with flawless skin and incomparable manners. And now she would know this about her? Emily’s mind shied away from the thought.
“Stop it,” Elliot growled. At her? At his stepfather? He stepped toward the older man – or away from her, she wasn’t sure.
“Kidding, kidding, kiddo. No harm, no foul.” Emily twisted out of Elliot’s grasp. He wasn’t fast enough to grab her back, even with her on these pogo sticks.
Leaning against the window for support and to get as far away from people as possible, she skirted the room. Finally, she reached the foyer and walk-ran down the hall. She passed the room set aside for the ladies and went straight on to the master bedroom. It wasn’t until she got to the bedroom, slammed the door, and locked it that she realized she’d just given up her identity to anyone who was watching her go.