by Cynthia Sax
“Lift your skirt.”
I stare at him. “What?”
“You heard me.” His firm tone makes my nipples stand at attention. They poke against the soft fabric of my dress. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
I glance around us and nervously raise my skirt, revealing my pale thighs and smoothly shaven pussy. This is so decadent, so naughty.
“Spread your thighs for me, baby. Show me your sweet cunt.”
I reluctantly obey, pressing my left leg against the middle console and my right leg against the passenger door. My heart pounds. He’ll see how wet I am, how his instructions arouse me.
Smoke stops the Lambo at a light and turns his head. Seconds pass as he devours me with his gaze, looking at all of me. I shift in my seat. He’s a player. He must have seen a bazillion pussies. Am I normal? My clit isn’t pierced as Chelsea’s is.
“You’ve got a pretty cunt, Jenella.” The approval wrapped around these coarse words warms me. “It’s the same color as the petals of the roses I gave you.” He sounds pleased with himself. “And that ivory skin is begging to be touched, to be marked by a man’s hand.”
The light changes. Smoke shifts and the car shoots forward, a silver bullet zipping along the street.
“I can’t resist you.” He slides his right palm along my legs, his touch setting off tremors within me. “Guide my fingers. I have to keep my eyes on the road.”
He’s a player. I’m certain he knows the route.
He wants me to help him, wants my participation. I move his hand upward, toward my wet hot center, the glide of skin against skin slow, sensual.
He curves his fingers over my mons, his fingertips firm against my pussy lips. “You’re dripping for me, baby.”
“Ummm…” I struggle to find words.
He removes his hand, shifts, returns it to the same spot. I gaze at the wet spot glistening on the stick. His beautiful car will smell of me.
“Take my index finger.” Smoke straightens it. “And circle your clit, show me how you like to be touched.”
My hands trembling, I do as he says, circling that responsive bud round and round, winding passion around me, the tightness in my chest escalating. He’s touching me in public. If pedestrians gaze into the car, they’ll see Smoke’s fingers on my naked flesh.
He pulls his hand away, shifts, spreading more of my pussy juices over the black leather knob, and he cups me once more. This time, two of his fingers slide into my entrance and I inhale sharply, the fullness divine.
“You like that, don’t you, Jenella?” Smoke’s smile is smug.
“Yes.” I lift my hips, taking him deeper. He pumps me slowly at first, then faster and faster. I pant, shamelessly fucking his fingers.
Every time I get close to coming, he withdraws his hand and shifts. I slide my gaze to his face. The bastard must be doing this on purpose, seeking to drive me wild.
It’s working.
Soon, I lose track of where we are. I don’t care. I’m teetering on the edge of release. Smoke shifts again and I bite my bottom lip, suppressing my shriek of frustration.
“You’re in a bad way, baby,” he states the obvious, turning toward me.
“Smoke.” Fuck driving. I grip his wrist with both hands. If he takes this glorious pressure away from me, I’ll die.
“I know what you need.” He thrusts his fingers into my pussy, the suction of his hard fingers in my wetness obscenely loud. “Trust me to give it to you.”
“Oh God. Yes. Give it to me.” I’m so close. I hump his hand, splattering his palm with my juices. My rhythm is hampered by the ass-sucking, shoulder-crushing seat, which perversely makes this even hotter. I’m partially restrained, at his mercy.
“Pinch your tits for me.”
I close my fingers around my nipples. He drives into me, adding a third finger, and brushes my clit. The combination splinters me into thousands of pieces. I open my mouth to scream.
He lurches forward and covers my lips with his, swallowing the sound, his big body crushing me into the seat. I writhe and buck, clawing at his chest with my fingernails, clenching and unclenching his fingers with my pussy walls, trapped on the passenger side of the vehicle.
The tremors lessen, rational thought returns and I slump in the damn uncomfortable seat, boneless, my legs and arms like jelly. “What was that?” I stare at him, my vision fuzzy.
“That’s number one.” He slides his fingers out of me and licks them clean, one by one, his eyelids lowering, his expression blissful. “You owe me one more.”
“I won’t survive one more.” I barely survived this fingering. “Shouldn’t you be driving?”
“We’re here.” Smoke grins. “The valet is waiting for us to exit.”
I glance out the window. A clean-cut uniform-wearing young man stands beside the car, his hands clasped behind his back. “Oh shit.” I push my skirt down, covering my nakedness.
“The windows are tinted. I doubt he saw anything.” Smoke chuckles, unfazed by our audience. “But you can cross public sex off your list.”
Chapter Ten
Smoke exits his beautiful sports car and strolls to the passenger side. He opens my door. “Baby.” He holds out his right hand.
I grip his fingers and wiggle my hips, trying to free myself from the seat. My ass is wedged in tightly. Lamborghinis aren’t designed for plus-sized women. “Hmmm…” My face heats. “I need help.”
He clasps both of my hands and pulls. Nothing happens. He heaves harder.
It takes all of his muscle to remove me from his car. There’s an embarrassing smucking sound as my body parts ways with the seat. A moist outline of my ass cheeks is left on the leather.
Patio diners watch the spectacle, smirks on their faces. I want to shrivel into the sidewalk. Smoke, thankfully, says nothing. He takes Edward’s tablet out of my tote, closes the door, trades his car keys for a valet chip.
The kid’s face lights up like he has won the lottery.
This reaction makes me nervous. “Aren’t you worried he’ll scratch the finish or grind the gears?” I murmur.
“It’s a car.” Smoke shrugs, tucking the chip into his jacket’s inside pocket. “It’s meant to be driven.” He wraps one of his arms around my waist and guides me into the restaurant.
I navigate carefully between the tables. They’re covered with white cloth. The wooden chairs, ceramic candle holders and napkins are that vivid blue I always associate with Greece. The candles are long and white, the flames flickering as we pass. The crystal glasses sparkle. The silverware shines.
Every table is occupied. Dark-suited businessmen huddle over a basket of freshly baked psomi. A man and a woman clink their wine glasses together, their faces glowing with either love or alcohol. A family boisterously converse in Greek, the gray-haired man at the head of the table beaming proudly.
My mind remains on Smoke’s beautiful Lamborghini. “You paid Woofer to ensure no one touched your car.”
“You packed food for him,” he counters.
The job he assigned to Woofer was an excuse to give the boy money. My heart squeezes. “You’re a good man, Smoke Sheridan.”
He leans toward me and whispers, “If that misconception gets me a titty fuck tonight, I won’t correct it.”
My lips twitch. He has a one-track mind.
I spot Edward around the same time he sees us. He looks at me, then at Smoke. His eyes widen, his mouth drops open, and crimson rushes up his neck, not stopping until it covers his high forehead.
Edward stands, ignoring the woman seated beside him. Chelsea purses her bright-red lips, floating to her feet also, not at all pleased with his reaction.
Edward’s attention remains on me. “Jenella, I almost didn’t recognize you. You look good.” His gaze sweeps over me, pausing on my breasts and legs, before it shifts to my date. “Smoke, I didn’t realize you knew each other.”
“That’s surprising, since you were the reason we met.” The club owner’s smile doesn’t rea
ch his eyes. “I believe this is yours.” He places the tablet on the table. “And this beautiful woman is now mine.” He reaches to pull out my chair.
Edward moves to do the same. Then he remembers he’s no longer my man and belatedly turns his attention to a pissed-off-looking Chelsea.
“I didn’t know you were one of those, Smoke.” The tiny brunette drifts downward. She’d never require help getting out of a sports car.
Smoke claims the seat beside me. “One of those?” He spreads his legs, pressing his shin against my calf, the contact grounding me.
“A chubby chaser,” Chelsea stage-whispers, acting as though I can’t hear her.
My happiness dims. Smoke mentioned being concerned about his image. My gaze lifts to his black hair. There’s not a hint of gray in those strands, unlike in the private curls I saw last night. That means he must dye his hair. He drives a Lamborghini. He’s obscenely fit. He wouldn’t want to be seen with a full-figured woman.
“I enjoy curves.” Smoke takes my hand, stopping my fidgeting. “And Jenella certainly has plenty of those.” He leers at me, open about his appreciation.
Edward makes a disgruntled sound, forgetting once again that he’s not my boyfriend, that he left me, breaking my heart into a million pieces.
Chelsea turns her fake smile my way. “You’ll enjoy your one night with Smoke. I can personally attest that all of the rumors about him are true—every sinful one.” She touches her top lip with the tip of her tongue.
The bitch wants to ensure that I know she fucked my date first.
“I’ve enjoyed his company thus far.” I meet her gaze directly. I’m on a date with a man whore. Half of the restaurant has probably fucked him. “Smoke has a great sense of humor.”
He grins at me.
“I’ll give you some advice, as a friend.” Chelsea’s harsh tone contradicts her words. “Laugh while you can, sweets. Smoke doesn’t give any girl a second date.”
“Chelsea’s right.” Smoke lifts my hand, brushes his lips across my knuckles and I tremble. “I don’t give girls second dates.” He sucks on my skin. “But you’re all woman, Jenella, and one evening isn’t enough to explore your vast charms.” He lowers his gaze to my chest. “Eddy knows that.”
Edward’s blue eyes harden.
“Eddy has upgraded. He’s with me now.” Chelsea drags one of her crimson fingernails over his cheek, leaving a trail of pink on his pale skin. “Aren’t you, Eddy?”
Edward continues to glare at Smoke.
“Of course, he’s with you, Chelsea.” I summon a smile, trying to decrease the tension at the small table. “Your dress is a beautiful shade of red.” I could have predicted she’d wear that eye-catching color. The brunette likes to be the center of attention. “It flatters your figure.” She’s one sneeze away from busting the seams.
“It flatters my figure.” She rubs her hands over her chest. “Not every woman can wear it. One unsightly bulge—” She gazes pointedly at my waist and wrinkles her nose. “—would ruin its fit.”
I swallow the retort I want to give. “It’s perfect for you.”
Smoke squeezes my fingers, his eyes shining with pride. My gaze shifts to Edward. There was a time when he looked at me the same way.
But as Chelsea pointed out, he’s with her now.
The dinner is a production starring Edward’s new girlfriend. She’s allergic to olive oil, a staple in Greek cuisine, and requires a special meal prepared for her. Her recent trip to the mall is recounted in excruciating detail. She demands the full attention of both men.
“Smoke.” Midway through the meal, Edward dares to interrupt her. “Have you given any more consideration to the matter we were discussing last week?”
“Are you referring to the sale of the club?” Water swirls in Smoke’s glass. The rest of us are drinking white wine. “I’m happy with the business right now. Tomorrow, who knows?”
“That’s the issue, isn’t it? Who knows what will happen tomorrow?” My ex’s tone is deceivingly bland. “The club business is precarious. One moment, you’re the hot place to be. The next day, you’re old news.”
“True.” Smoke nods. “It takes constant reinvention to remain relevant.”
“That reinvention isn’t guaranteed to work.” Edward is pushing hard for the sale his client, Rexton Bass, wants. “You could lose everything.”
“Nothing is guaranteed in business.” I join the fray, unable to tolerate his pressure tactics. “If you owned the land, Smoke, it would be different. They aren’t making more lots in the entertainment district. Every day you hold on to the site, it becomes more valuable. You could never lose everything.”
“I do own the land.” Smoke’s eyes gleam. I’m not fooling him. He knows I’m aware of his ownership.
“This isn’t your area of expertise, Jenella.” Edward’s voice is tight.
“You’re right.” I bare my teeth in a borderline-civil smile. “I’m merely a manager at one of Toronto’s top real estate companies. I’m paid to evaluate the financial feasibility of projects.” I’m more qualified than he is to talk about real estate values. “Anyone considering selling a piece of property should talk to at least three different appraisers, recommended by three different people.”
“Business is boring,” Chelsea whines.
“I’ll take your advice into consideration, baby.” Smoke gives me one of those pussy-wetting smiles of his and my rational thought disappears. “Beauty and brains too. Can any man get any luckier than I am right now?”
Edward grumbles under his breath.
“Eddy gets lucky,” Chelsea chirps. Her hand disappears under the table and Edward’s spine abruptly straightens. “All the time.” She giggles. The girl is feeling up my ex in a fancy restaurant.
And he’s allowing her to do this.
He isn’t the conservative man I thought I knew and loved.
“You’re right.” Smoke threads his fingers between mine. “Eddy is a lucky man. Chelsea, how is your fish?”
The girl beams, thrilled to be in the spotlight once more. We eat. She talks about her meal, her university courses, the other girls in her classes.
Her happiness lasts for twenty minutes. Then she boasts about a gala she thought they were attending and Edward is forced to confess that they wouldn’t be one of those beautiful people.
“What do you mean you couldn’t get tickets?” Chelsea’s voice raises and heads turn. Our table is the center of attention once more. I wince.
“Tickets went to the partners first.” Edward gazes at her with a mixture of fear and fascination. “Mr. Barron’s daughter and her husband wished to go and—”
“Are the daughter and her husband partners?” Chelsea stands, tossing the ends of her brown hair over her shoulder. “No, they’re not. We deserve those tickets more than they do. Did you tell him that? Did you say anything?”
“Chelsea.”
“I can’t sit here and listen to this.” She strides toward the back of the restaurant. The girl isn’t leaving. The door we entered through is located in the opposite direction. “You know I wanted to attend that event.” She says this loud enough for the entire dining area to hear.
“Chelsea.” Edward looks toward me.
The ass dumped me for this girl and now wants my advice on how to handle her. “Go ahead. Smoke and I will entertain ourselves.”
He swings his gaze to Smoke and frowns. “We’ll be back soon.” Edward follows Chelsea. There’s a distinctive ridge in his dress pants.
He’s turned on.
“They’re not leaving to fight.” Smoke says what I’m thinking.
Sex in a backroom of a restaurant would have never crossed my mind. “I am boring.” I glance at Smoke. “Do you want to argue also?”
“You’re not boring. You’re mature.” He cuts one of his veal cutlets into two. “And no, I don’t want to argue. I know the owner of Paros. He’s a nice man, very conservative. He believes in family values and showing respect. There’s
a time and place for public sex. This isn’t it.”
I look in the direction Edward and Chelsea stormed off to. This is one of my ex’s favorite restaurants. “Is Edward aware of that?”
“The next time he requests a table, he’ll learn about the owner’s values. Try this, baby.” Smoke places a piece of meat on my plate. “But save some room. Because you know what else is on the menu tonight?”
“What?”
“Me ‘n u.” He grins, proud of himself for sharing this terrible line.
I laugh. “You’re hopeless.”
His smile flickers. “I am hopeless.” The vulnerability on his handsome face touches me. “Don’t ever forget that, gorgeous.”
I open my mouth to object, to tell him I don’t believe that.
“What type of music do you listen to?” Smoke changes the subject.
We talk about music, past and present. His knowledge is much broader than mine. The man is plugged into the scene, friends with the local artists, yet he doesn’t discredit my less-educated opinion.
Smoke gazes at me as though I’m the cleverest, wittiest woman he has ever met, caresses me every chance he can. It’s intoxicating, exciting, arousing.
I don’t want the evening to end.
We finish dinner and dessert and are lingering over our cups of coffee when Edward and Chelsea return. Chelsea’s hair is mussed and her lipstick has been reapplied. Edward has a slash of red on his white dress shirt and a damp spot on his pants.
I’m with Smoke, a handsome charming successful man. We’re having a wonderful time. Seeing the aftermath of Edward’s quickie with his new girlfriend, viewing the drowsy satisfaction on his face, shouldn’t hurt like this, like someone has plunged a butcher’s knife into my gut and twisted the handle.
But it does. He sported that same expression after having sex with me and I thought then that I was special, loved.
I was delusional. Clearly.
I glance at Smoke, not hiding my despair.
“Jenella and I have to leave.” Smoke stands, tossing bills in the center of the table. Judging by the size of the wad, he’s paying for everyone’s meal and leaving a generous tip. “The club opens in a hour and I must prep the staff.” He helps me to my feet.
