Chapter 27
Social Intercourse
She wore a sequined mermaid-cut silver dress with a ruffled slit traveling up her inner thigh, toeing the line of indecency. Champagne bubbles tickled her nose, the smooth blown-glass of the flute a welcome weight in her hand. Music flooded the room, mingling with the gentle chatter of guests.
Heat pressed into her back. “Are you enjoying yourself, Ms. Keats?”
Her eyes closed as she leaned into him, a thousand worries and insecurities scattering into the wind like thistle on a balmy afternoon.
Hands coasted over her bare shoulders and turned her body. She walked as the heavy press of his palm settled on the small of her back and directed her through the crowd.
They were in an aquarium. The normal lights were replaced with dripping crystal chandeliers. Rafters were swathed in thick, satin reams of white linens, bunched with balls of wild lilies perfuming the air.
He led her to an isolated corner. Three walls were made of glass. Clown fish and colorful beds of coral brightened the dark blues, pierced with silver beams of light. It was as though she were in some secret part of Atlantis, a magical underwater kingdom away from the rush and racket of the world.
She could see her reflection in the glass, silver shadows playing over her skin, giving her a celestial blue glow and turning her gown shades of cerulean and deep indigo. His hand traveled over the tight curve of her hip. The dress hung on her like a weighted skin bedazzled in gems. She was the pirate’s treasure hidden beneath the deep blue of the ocean.
Heavy satin tickled her knee as it was lifted away from her leg. The cool air met her heated flesh as her inner thigh was subtly exposed, and fingers traced upward over her sensitized flesh. Angelfish passed by, undaunted by the display of delicious need and lust on the other side of the glass.
She needed him, needed his touch like a breath beneath all this water. Bubbles danced slowly from reefs, circling waving fronds and palms of green as they made a slow, tantric climb to the unseen surface.
Guests passed, their shadows meandering at the entrance of the quiet room. She wondered who the voyeurs were, them or the fish. Blurred silhouettes could barely be seen on the other side of the aquarium as guests took in the view. If they looked hard enough they would see them, see him touching her.
“Spread your legs.”
Her sandal-covered feet, so sharply arched, stepped apart, giving him access. Her folds were bare. Only silk stockings covered her legs, tied with delicate ribbons to the garter that fit around her nipped waist.
Warm fingers slid upward and tickled her bare folds. “Are you wet for me?”
Her heart raced and her voice tripped past her tongue in a raspy whisper. “Always.”
“Good girl.”
The touch of his fingertips was a carefully rationed tease she wanted to steal and gorge her body on. She moaned, expressing her deep hunger to feel him inside of her. “Please.”
“Please what, Evelyn?”
“Please touch me.”
Gentle fingers continued to pet over her folds as he tsked. “We’re at a very formal and public affair, Ms. Keats. Someone might see.”
The side of her lips curved into a secret smile. That was her exhibitionist, always playing on the edge of propriety.
His movements were contrary to his words. “Part your gown for me.”
Her shaky fingers found the heavy ruffled hem of her gown and slowly lifted, pulling the folds apart like a curtain to some hedonistic show.
“I should punish you for being so brazen,” he threatened with little conviction.
His palm cupped the apex of her thighs, and his middle finger slid deep into her heated channel. Her body quivered and buckled. That first, long-awaited touch was always the most potent.
He slid his finger out and plunged it back into her, gently fucking her with his hand. “I love taking you like this, having you at my disposal to entertain me and satisfy my every whim. You love being that for me don’t you, Evelyn?” His words heated her temple as he whispered them against her flesh, each gentle puff of his breath teasing her hair.
“Yes.”
“Do you see there, through the glass? If you look up you can see where the majority of guests are. I’m going to fuck you right before their eyes and they won’t even know what they’re missing.”
Her teeth bit into the soft pout of her lower lip as she stifled her moans. She was so ready for him. Her body coiled with need as he wound her tighter and tighter. The scrape of his feet shifting over the polished floor preceded the slow glide of the zipper on his tuxedo pants as it lowered.
“Give me your glass.” The champagne flute disappeared. There was a soft click. Her dress lifted, discreetly exposing the backs of her thighs. “Place your palms on the glass and don’t move.”
Cool glass pressed beneath her fingers as they stretched wide. Her skin was so hot, condensation gathered in the creases of her palms. A sharp crack followed by a quick sting bloomed over her ass. She gasped.
“That’s for being so wicked at a high-class function, Ms. Keats. Shame on you, tempting me to take such measures,” he whispered playfully. She loved the sound of his smile over his hoarse voice.
The blunt end of his cock teased down the crease of her ass as he slowly seated the tip of his erection in the opening of her sex. His finger slipped under the band of her garter and pulled it back, releasing it like the tight thread of a bow. As it snapped against the rounded curve of her ass cheek, she gasped as he filled her in one quick motion.
So full. Her eyes shut as his knees bent behind her. His hips pulled back and snapped forward, filling her in long, sure strokes. “Let me hear you.”
Her teeth released the hold they had on her lip as she surrendered to him, allowing her moans to escape. With each plunge of his cock she gave a soft cry. Her breath beat against the glass, causing a cloud of vapor to form on the surface. Her hands slicked and whined, as the force of his thrusts caused her palms to drag along the aquarium wall.
“Louder.”
She cried out as he forcefully took her. His hand curled over the inside of her thigh and lifted her left foot off the ground. He had her suspended, one leg trapped on the outside of his strong knee and thigh, the other lifted, forcing her body open for his taking. Her hands offered little support, but his body was so snug behind hers, covering her like a second skin, she knew she wouldn’t fall.
Her skin heated as her needy cries echoed through the quiet room, countered by a hard grunt that escaped his chest with each steady thrust. If she concentrated she could make out the voices of guests nearby, knowing it would only take one lull in a conversation to expose them. She had no doubt her cries could be heard if only someone cared to listen.
Fingers dug into her thigh and his pace increased. He drilled into her. Words whispered over her bare shoulders as he spoke of what she did to him. The flesh of her thigh was released. She had no doubt the press of his fingers left little purple kisses on the ivory expanse of her skin.
His hand slid upward and strong fingers found her clit. He grazed her tender flesh, and she nearly came out of her skin.
His sultry snicker was music to her ears. “Dirty girl,” he whispered playfully and pressed a kiss just below her ear. “Feel what you do to me.” He thrust. His hips pivoted and his cock caressed the walls of her sex.
She moaned and ground her body into his.
His teeth scraped her shoulder, and the fingers of his right hand found their way up the back of her neck, latching into the hair at her throat. Her head was jerked back at the same time his fingers advanced on her, bringing an onslaught of pleasure to her clitoris as he drove into her.
She cried out as she came, visions of glass shattering around them filling her fanciful mind, water washing them away on a tide of pleasure. His teeth bit into her shoulder, pulling her skin tight between his lips, marking her.
His release flooded her like a warm caress. Her body pulsed with his, milking every bit of his pleasure, swirling their beating bodies into a riptide of need that followed a continuum of throbbing ripples as their climaxes doubled and folded into one.
His chest pressed into her back as his breath huffed against her neck, ruffling tiny wisps of her now ruined hair. Her forehead rested on the misty glass, searching for coolness.
“I love you,” he whispered with more affection than she could measure. “Don’t ever leave me, Evelyn. Ever.”
She woke up on a choking gasp and sat bolt upright. The living room was black as pitch. She was panting and covered in a cold sweat. Scrambling for the lamp, she fumbled with the switch. Her eyes fluttered and adjusted to the sudden brightness.
She caught her breath and waited to find her equilibrium. Her cheeks heated as she quickly stared at the doorway to the hall, checking that the bedroom was dark, she slid a hand between her legs. She’d come in her sleep.
A wash of humiliation and guilt flooded her. That was a rule. She was not allowed to make herself come.
Those rules don’t apply anymore, stupid. He left you.
She frowned and hid her hand behind her back. Actually, it was him who had made her climax, just not in real life. She shook her head. She needed to stop this. She needed to get past all of this, past him.
Sighing, she fell back onto the couch. God, this sofa is uncomfortable. Shifting irritably beneath the covers she tried to find sleep again, but it was elusive. Her mind was now stuck on Lucian, on the conversations they’d had in the past, the moments that made her laugh, the things he had taught her.
He defined so much of who she was. She’d never known someone who played such a fundamental part in her identity.
She knew it was best to get over him, but her conscience was stubbornly holding on to him. It was a self-imposed torture. But in truth, the real torture would be letting him go. Moving on without Lucian meant saying good-bye. Pain had her curling into her pillow. Why did she have to love him so much?
She shut off the light and cried silently in the dark. It was time to let the past go and move on. She’d never get anywhere in life if she allowed a ghost of her past to have such a hold on her.
Life was like the game of chess, he’d taught her. “Social intercourse,” he called it. Regular men were the pawns of the visionaries. Rooks were the voyeurs, the onlookers watching from their towers and announcing events to come. The knights were clever and alert, seemingly sleeping beasts with one eye open.
And then there was the all-powerful king, tucked safely within his court. Everyone vied to be near him, but only the truly deserving made it to his side. He needed his queen to stoically stand by his side and protect him. According to Lucian, that was her greatest charge in life. However, the queen was never tethered. She had the freedom to go if she pleased and very little could truly trap her.
She thought she was a queen, but perhaps she had only ever been a pawn.
As Scout fell back asleep, her last thought rang like an epiphany clamoring through the belfry of her mind. In life, everyone who encroached on the king got fucked—social intercourse indeed.