Prince Albert(139)

Hearing those words come out of oh-so-professional Delaney's mouth nearly does me in. My cock is throbbing against the fabric of my pants. But I stand, my fingers still inside her, and kiss her hard on the mouth. When I pull back, she gasps for breath and I withdraw my fingers, sliding them over her bottom lip, coating it with her wetness. "Tell me you're mine," I demand.

"I'm yours." She whispers it. She's so far gone now she'll say anything I want her to say.

"Good. I'm glad to hear it. I'm leaving now," I tell her.

"What?" Her eyes fly open, and she looks at me in disbelief. "What do you mean, you're leaving?"

Leaning in close to her, I whisper. "It's your father's party," I say. "We need to get ready. And you need to learn a lesson in making me wait."

"So that's…it?"

"Darlin', I'm just getting started," I say. "What you wear tonight, you wear for me. No panties, no bra. And no touching yourself between now and the party. Do you understand?"

Delaney raises her eyebrows. "So, you're going to just issue orders and expect me to fall in line, then?"

I lean in close to her. "I'll know if you touch yourself," I say, reaching between her legs to stroke her clit one last time before I leave. She clutches my arms as I roll my finger in circles. "And not only am I going to issue orders and anticipate that you'll follow them, I'm going to expect you to be dripping when you do."





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

DELANEY



"Kombanwa," I say, bowing as I speak my greeting, good evening, in Japanese. "Hajimemashite. Watashi no namae wa Delaney Marlowe desu." I introduce myself in Japanese, already rusty after not speaking it since I've been in Texas.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Marlowe." Akira Ito is young, probably late twenties, and looks like a Japanese film star. No one told me that. How do I say I thought you were an old man, in Japanese? He's covering my hand with his and looking me in the eye, apparently not content with just a Japanese greeting. "You speak Japanese with ease. Tell me you didn't just learn an introduction for us."

My father walks up beside me, claps his hand on my shoulder, and Akira drops my hand. "Delaney was an Asian Studies major in college," he says. "She's been studying Japanese for years."

"I'm thrilled to be helping with Gaige's tour," I say. "And I'm very much looking forward to visiting Japan." Mentally, I'm only partially here. I haven't seen Gaige all night, not since what happened earlier in my bedroom. As soon as he left, I slid my fingers between my legs and made myself come. It was impossible to wait after what he'd done to me, how close he'd brought me to the edge and then stopped. Touching myself did nothing to satisfy me, though, and the aching between my legs tonight is a constant reminder of where I want Gaige to be.

My father's voice jerks me out of my daydream. "Isn't that right, Delaney?" he's asking.

I nod. "Yes, of course." I have no idea what I've just agreed to.

"Then I will look forward to giving you a personal tour when you're there," Akira says, before he walks away.

A personal tour? How much of the conversation did I miss?

My father turns to me. "Nice job," he says. "Akira Ito seems impressed with your Japanese."

"I'm sure he just didn't expect you to be sending someone who spoke the language," I say.

My father sips his scotch. "Watch yourself over there," he says, looking at me meaningfully. Then, his expression changes as someone else walks up to us. "Congressman Adams. Where is your lovely wife?"

I stand beside my father, smiling as he makes introductions and parades me around like the proud father he is. But I'm looking around, searching the faces in the crowd for Gaige. The annual Fourth of July party is a tradition of my father's. He hosts it every year. It's an all-American Texas barbecue on steroids, over-the-top and ridiculous, complete with Texas state representatives and the mayor in attendance, and a fireworks display at the end that rivals the town's own display. It's a huge business party hosted by Marlowe Oil. And my father will spend the evening with my mother at his side, greasing palms and courting new contacts.

One of the catering staff walks by with a tray of glasses, champagne flutes with raspberries and blueberries in the bottom that ensure even the drinks are part of the patriotic theme. I snag a glass, reveling in the moment of silence with no one bothering me. That sense of peace lasts less than five minutes until Chelsea approaches me. "You've been busy," she says, her expression pinched.

"I hope that's a compliment," I say. I know it's exactly the opposite, but I'm determined not to let Chelsea ruin my night. Nothing is going to ruin my night, not with Gaige's words running through my head, like some kind of dirty mantra: I'm going to expect you to be dripping.