Satisfied, he did the same thing with the right leg and the right-side seat belt.
Splayed. He’s splaying me.
Open.
Exposed.
She tried not to squirm, but oh, it was difficult.
By the time he was done there was a deep vee between her legs; her dress, so light and airy, a flimsy shield against the leering predator between her knees. Sol admired his work, looking at how the seat belts bit into her flesh. From the dress pooling over her thighs and up to her breasts. From the wineglass in her hands to her painted mouth.
“Lovely,” he said as he placed his hands on her knees. His thumbs brushed the ties before caressing farther up, over the soft skin of her inner thighs. Pleasure coursed through her, hitting her nipples, her gut, her crotch, the sensations shooting through her body like the metal ball inside a pinball machine. She sucked in a breath as his hands climbed higher, reaching the frilly bottom of the dress and folding it up. The fabric was shoved to her navel, exposing her peach panties. For a hideous moment, he stopped touching her, just staring at her barely clad pussy and the way the seat belts held her open for him.
“Can’t have you tense before dinner,” he whispered, so quiet she barely heard him, before he dropped his head down between her legs, close enough that she could feel his breath.
I’m dying.
I’m going to die.
She managed a broken mewl. He paid it no mind. His mouth pressed in, over the cloth of the underwear, lips seeking her sweet spot and, finding it, sucking on it through the fabric. She nearly dropped the wineglass on the bench at the stab of delight, but would that displease him? Maybe? So she clutched the glass, her breathing coming far faster than it had moments ago. Her body temperature skyrocketed as he fastened his mouth to her, sucking hard, his hands reaching up to rest against the fullness of her thighs and push them wider.
She gazed down at his head, at his face, his expression intent as he teased her with his mouth. He looked up, studying her reactions as he prodded her yet again toward a creamy end.
“I want to taste it. You,” he said, raspy and slow, like he was drunk on her. She wasn’t sure if he was asking permission or not, but she nodded all the same, feeling like a puppet off its strings, like her head flopped around far too much to be graceful. His left hand crept in, closer toward her slit, but he didn’t touch her, just snagged the crotch of the panties and pulled it aside, revealing her in full. His breath seared her where it collided with her body, teasing at both wet and dry parts alike.
But there are definitely more wet than dry.
His tongue came next, warm and wet above her clit, lapping at the hood, slowly descending through her slickest folds. It squirmed back and forth, and she yelped; the pointed tip flicking over her feverish flesh was decadent and magical and dirty. She loved it. She remembered the driver she’d met just minutes ago, poor Lorelai, and swallowed her next cry, but she didn’t dare clamp her hand over her mouth because, as Sol said earlier, her sounds belonged to him.
She moaned instead.
She moaned as he followed the trajectory downward, delving between her plump lips until he reached her honeypot. She moaned as he swirled his tongue around the outside, sucking her juices from her before thrusting it inside. She moaned as he pulled his tongue away, lapping at her, only to stab it back in again, tracing along her walls as if he wanted to acclimate himself with every part of her body using every part of his. She moaned as he lifted his free hand up, a finger snaking down and hooking so he could rub her clit while he fucked her with his tongue, in and out, building speed.
She was soaked. Her throat produced more lewd groans. They were straight porno, from another girl’s mouth, and yet they were hers as he ravaged her pussy with his mouth, his lips and chin smeared in her most intimate offerings. His lips closed in to suck, smacking a few times before he moved his hand aside to focus his mouth on that distended, fuck-swollen clit.
Her hips moved of their own volition, lifting to meet him.
Humping.
Humping his face.
He never stopped watching her.
It made it sexier.
“Sol. I can’t help . . . Please, Sol. Please.”
“Go.” One word, growled into her pussy before his tongue flicked at her, hard, the pressure, the wet, the everything building to a crescendo that burst from her mouth in a scream. Lorelai would hear. Rain didn’t care. Fuck, the people they drove by could probably hear and she didn’t care. Her ass lifted with every hard pulse, every muscle in her body furling and unfurling over and over as he lapped, sucked, nuzzled, and claimed her with his mouth. The wine splashed all over her shawl, her head slapped back against the seat with a hard thud, and Arianna Barrington simply Did. Not. Care.
FIFTEEN
“YOU LOOK RELAXED, kitten. Are you relaxed?”
He knew damned well she was relaxed by her slump, the slow rise and fall of her chest, and the tranquil smile plastered across her face. He wasn’t always sure whether he was playing dom the way he should—if there even was a right way to do it, beyond the usual mantra of safe, sane, consensual—but this time he was confident he’d done his job well. It hadn’t felt like playing at all. He felt right at home.
Maybe that’s the trick to it. Confidence.
Confidence and cunnilingus.
I can do that.
He licked his lips clean as he untied Rain’s left leg, then her right, his fingers massaging away the sting left by tightened bonds.
“I feel great.”
She never opened her eyes.
If his ego got any bigger, it’d choke the air from the backseat.
He gently moved her aside on the bench so he could sit, doing his best to ignore the aching in his crotch. For all that he had no problem pleasing her before dinner, he didn’t want to get her so messy she couldn’t enjoy her meal.
At least, not this time. Sitting in his cum would be reserved for other dates.
Her head tucked in against his shoulder, her body rolled toward him. He smelled like pussy. He reached for a napkin, wetting it with wine to get the smell of sweet girl off his face. It took a few passes, but when he was fairly certain she wasn’t coating him anymore, he pressed kisses to her brow. It’d probably be smart to pop a breath mint just in case before he went into Restaurant R’evolution.
“We’ll be there soon,” he murmured into her hair.
“Oh, good. Tell Miss Lorelai I’m sorry about the screaming.”
“I’m sure she didn’t mind.”
I pay her well enough to not mind.
Sol bent forward to retrieve her shoes, fitting them to her feet one at a time, like Prince Charming at Cinderella’s most perverse ball.
I doubt Charming ever pulled the shit I just pulled, but if he did, lucky Cinderella.
The car slowed to a stop. Arianna patted at her hair, checking her reflection in her hand mirror, her finger skimming along the outside of her lipstick. He liked the reddish pink shade. He more liked the thought of seeing it on his dick later.
Maybe? Maybe.
Yes.
It didn’t do a lot to alleviate the situation in his pants, but at least it promised relief. He breathed deep and focused on unsexy things.
Grandma’s chin wattle.
Mom’s liposuction.
Nash’s fetal pig in a jar.
That helped. Oh, that helped.
There was a thud as Lorelai exited the car, followed by another thud and then another. The limo door swung open and flash! Snap, snap, snap. Cameras, at least a dozen of them, pointed at the interior of the car, a cacophony of voices shouting questions about the rumored Barrington sex tape. Lorelai used her impressive height to force the photographers back, but someone had tipped off the press about Arianna’s arrival, and by the deer-in-the-headlights look Rain gave the swarming vultures
outside, she wasn’t ready for a barrage of paparazzi.
Shit.
“We can go to dinner here or we can grab takeout and hit the hotel,” he whispered into her ear.
“Takeout, please,” she managed. And then she smiled. Beaming and white. The transformation was absolute: one second she shriveled in the presence of so many camera lenses, the next she turned up the Barrington charm to forty thousand watts, blasting out a smile of pure saccharin that would grace a hundred blogs by morning.
She’s good. Very good.
She actually looks happy to see them.
Clever kitty.
“Hello everyone!” she called out, sounding like the impromptu mob wasn’t at all an imposition.
The resounding shouts came at them from all directions. “Are you and Mr. DuMont seeing each other? What about the sex tape? What about Charles Harwood? Your mother reported you two were an item.”
Rain gave a tinkling little laugh. “Lovely to see all of you! My mother was mistaken. I went out with Mr. Harwood a few times, but it never got serious. And yes, Mr. DuMont and I are seeing each other. He’s a wonderful man.”
“How long have you been together? Are there plans for the future? Mr. DuMont, how do you feel about the sex tape?”
“We’re leaving,” Sol replied, lifting a hand in a wave at the mob. Lorelai knew what to do. The door slammed, she climbed into the front, Sol engaged the locks. Rain collapsed beside him, muttering to herself, her hand over her eyes.
“I want a cheeseburger,” she blurted.
What?
“We can get one at Gustav’s, or call in or—”
“No.” She turned her face to look at him, her media darling mask replaced by annoyance. Her chin was up, her eyes pinched, her skin flushed, though whether that was the surprise press or the post-tonguing afterglow, he couldn’t say. “I want a fat, greasy cheeseburger with bacon and chili cheese fries.”
“You’re all right?” He stroked her hair, fretting over her as Lorelai advanced the limousine through the throng.
“Oh, I’m fine. It’s probably just my mother needling me, but how did she find out?”
It was a good question. Only one person had known where their reservations were, and that was Lorelai. Well, two if you counted the girl over the phone at the actual restaurant, but how would she know to call the press? He hadn’t mentioned Arianna at all.
Lorelai is loyal, always has been.
Who else?
“Did you tell anyone, kitten? I never mentioned your name when I called, and Lorelai’s been in my employ for years. I trust her implicitly. I did mention it to Vaughan earlier, but he wouldn’t spill your secrets, would he?”
“No. He and Mom don’t get along.”
“Hmm.”
At a Jack in the Box drive-through they got Rain her requested Extra Nasty Burger with a side of grease. She devoured it like a she-wolf, her brow wrinkling with every artery-hardening bite. He didn’t like to witness her upset. He wanted to rub it away, or suck it away, or . . . something. He kept touching her gently, trying to reassure her. It helped some, but not as much as he would have liked.
It’s been a perfect day. For fuck’s sake.
“Let me . . .” She put the decimated remains of the once-burger next to the untouched fries in her lap and retrieved her phone. Sol saw Vaughan’s name pop up on the screen before she put the cell to her ear. Three rings in and she was talking quietly, asking her brother if he’d spoken to anyone at home or told anyone at all where she was going. Sol couldn’t hear Vaughan’s side of the conversation, but by the way Rain’s expression darkened, she had the answer she was looking for.
“I see. Well, that’s the likeliest explanation then. I’ll let Sol know. I love you. I’ll probably be in his suite tonight but . . . Okay. Breakfast is good. Enjoy your night.”
She tucked the phone away.
Rain wouldn’t look at him.
“Arianna?”
“He didn’t call my mother, but he did tell Amanda in passing. He didn’t think much of it at the time.”
It took Sol a moment to catch on, and when he did, he jerked his head away from her to glower at his reflection in the window.
She’s fired.
He waited to drop the bomb, though it nearly killed him to do so. He and Rain walked into The Seaside, past Amanda at the front desk fifteen minutes before the end of her shift. She never lifted her head, though he did notice a faint flush along her cheeks that stretched up to her ears at their arrival.
She didn’t say hello. She always said hello.
You did it. You did it, you did it, you did it.
Damn it. Stupid girl.
“I’ll get you settled in with Freckles and then I’ll be back. I have some business to attend to,” he said to Rain, guiding her to the elevator. The ascent took forever, the security clearance took forever, the getting back downstairs took forever. Amanda was packing up her things to go home for the night by the time he reappeared, and again when he approached, she wouldn’t look him in the eye.
“My office, Amanda, before you go?”
She jerked her head up, eyes wide.
“Sir?”
“My office, please. Now.”
Her face fell.
She knows.
She scurried ahead of him, behind the check-in desk, down the hall, and to the office four doors from Gustav’s. Instead of sitting in one of the overstuffed leather chairs, she stood between them clutching her handbag, her work heels in hand, a pair of sensible white sneakers on her feet.
Sol circled his desk to sit, his hand streaking across his mouth.
I hate this part.
“When did you talk to Barrington?”
“I . . . Vaughan? A half hour ago. He broke our plans for tonight.”
Good man.
“No. The other one.”
There was an awkward pause. She peered at him with those big brown eyes, and then swung them to the ceiling, the edges turning red right before tears streaked down her cheeks.
“Sir, I . . .”
“When?”
“This morning,” she croaked. “And again an hour ago.”
“What did she have to say?”
She sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry.”
That does neither of us any good.
“What did she say, Amanda?”
The sound she made reminded him of a teakettle boiling over, a high-pitched squeal that actually hurt to hear. Her brown curls trembled at her shoulders. “That she’d pay for information. I didn’t think. I immediately regretted it. I didn’t realize . . . but then Vaughan said and . . . I’m sorry.”
“Don’t I pay you well enough?”
“Yes. It was stupid. It was a lot of money and I . . . I’m sorry.”
He nodded and looked at the floor, at her ridiculous sneakers that did not in any way match the handsome black suit she’d worn to her shift. Sensible, yes, but sinfully ugly.
“You’re fired.”
The sob was immediate, and he did feel bad about it, but there were certain expectations that came with working for the DuMonts. The first was exceptional service and a dedication to pleasing every customer who walked through the door, even the pricks and assholes. The second was loyalty. She’d failed miserably on that front.
“Please, I didn’t th—”
“Our guests, regardless of my relationship with them, deserve their privacy. You’ve invaded Arianna Barrington’s privacy. Collect your things. By the time you have them, I’ll have your last check.”
She stood there staring at him, imploring with her tearful expression, but he only turned toward his computer to get her hour count and vacation time. She had more than two years’ worth saved up, and he winced at the thought of how one impersonal calculation converted all that long-
term loyalty into dollars. She babbled more apologies and darted for the hallway to gather any personal effects she’d left in the staff room.
Whatever the Barrington woman gave you, I hope it was enough to sustain you awhile.
He wrote the check, doubling her vacation time for good measure, and waited. It only took her ten minutes to return, her face puffy, her jaw wobbling.
“I’ll give you a reference,” he said, sliding the check to her. She took it, looked at it, and nodded, managing a broken thank-you.
“Best of luck, Amanda.”
“Yes, sir.”
He watched her go, disappointed with her, resenting Elise Barrington, and wishing the night had played out any other way.
SIXTEEN
RAIN WAS FRETTING. She probably shouldn’t be—Sol had assured her he was fine—but she’d caught his dark expression before he’d left the suite. He was furious and it was Mama’s fault for bribing Elise. Rain should have expected it. She knew her mother’s tactics; what she couldn’t get with money she got through manipulation, bullying, or favor trades. Mama would have found an in with or without Amanda’s help. It was simply a matter of time.
The chili cheese fries she’d brought in from the limo went from greasy decadence to a disgusting pile of brown sludge when they turned cold, so she dumped them in the trash. Her eyes strayed to the clock. He’d been gone for twenty minutes. She could do any number of things to pass the time including turn on the TV or pat the dog or play a game on her phone, but instead she walked back and forth through the living room, silently cursing her mother for being a pain in the ass.
It would have been easier if she could commiserate with someone. Anyone. There had been friends over the years, but they’d shifted with the season or whatever the politicking of society parties dictated. Others had proven themselves only in it for the coattails experience of being a Barrington, and Rain, feeling used, had let them go, albeit with regrets. She had one close friend from college, but Theresa was a photojournalist currently touring Africa, and cell reception in Nairobi could be spotty at times.
The King of Bourbon Street Page 11
