“I don’t think so. They’re a small operation. Addie must have agreed to do it for two. Just to get me.”
I flatten my lips into a line as a spark of anger ignites in my veins.
I don’t ever think I’ve been angrier with Addison Ames that I am in this moment, and I’ve been ready to blow my top at her many times before.
I agree with Skye. This has Addie’s stench all over it.
“I’ll take care of it,” I say.
“No! That’s not what I meant. I don’t want you to get involved. This is my problem.”
“All it’ll take is a quick call to your balloon place.”
“Please. No. That’s not why I told you.”
“Then why did you tell me?”
She doesn’t reply, just parts her lips in the way that drives me wild.
“Skye, when you tell me about a problem, I find a solution. It’s what I do.”
“I’m not asking for a solution. Please. I’ll handle this myself.”
“Are you sure?”
“Definitely sure. Let’s just have dinner.”
I won’t push her. Not on how she chooses to handle her career. To handle Addie.
I’ll be doing enough pushing in the bedroom.
The salmon en croute with asparagus and walnut sauce is delicious, but Skye hardly touches hers.
“Don’t let Addie ruin the evening for you,” I tell her.
“I’m not. I won’t. Addie doesn’t control me.”
“Good girl,” I say, adding to myself, Only I control you.
“Do you want some more champagne?” I nod toward the bottle sitting in ice.
She smiles. “You know what I’d really like?”
“Wild Turkey?”
“Yes. Please.”
I head to the bar. No one waylays me this time, as everyone’s busy eating dinner. I bring back two bourbons.
Skye takes a sip, but her mood is still subdued.
Again, I don’t press. She eventually eats about half her food.
Dessert is served, and then George takes center stage.
“Thank you all for being here tonight,” he says. “I’m happy to report that we’ve surpassed our expected donations for the evening thanks to our generous benefactor, who has doubled all our receipts. Please give a hand to Boston’s own Braden Black.”
I stand to thunderous applause. I’ve learned to take the appreciation and applause gracefully and sit down after several seconds when it begins to wane.
George continues speaking, and I turn to Skye. “Time to go.”
“Now? While he’s talking?”
“Yes. Now. Before I tear that dress off you right here.”
Chapter Fifty
I insisted that Christopher take a rare night off and I ordered a limo.
“Where’s Christopher?” Skye asks when we’re secure in the limo.
“He has the night off.”
“Oh.”
“You didn’t really think I could wait until we got to my place to have you, did you?”
She gulps. “I…didn’t think about it.”
I move toward her, softly brush her straps off her shoulders, baring her breasts, and then give the chain between them a good yank.
She cries out.
“That’s right. I’ve been thinking about those nipple clamps all night, Skye. Every time I looked at you. Every time someone else looked at you.”
“No one looked at me,” she says.
“Not blatantly, no. They wouldn’t dare. But they looked, baby, and every time they did, I thought about what I’d do to you tonight in this limo. What I, and no one else, would be doing to you.”
“What are you going to do?” she asks.
I yank the chain again. “I’m going to drive you as wild as you’ve driven me all evening.” I crush my mouth to hers.
She opens instantly as I continue to pull on the chain in tandem with the thrusts of my tongue.
With one swift movement, I have her on my lap, her dress around her waist and her clamped nipples in full view. We kiss and we kiss and we kiss as the rhythm of my yanks on the chain becomes discordant and nonsensical. I’m enthralled. Intoxicated. Wild with passion as I tantalize her nipples. Finally, I pull my mouth away from hers, her lips swollen and parted just so.
“God, those tits.” I lift her skirt and rip her panties off her. Then, holding her to the side, I unbuckle my belt, slide my pants and boxer briefs over my hips, all with my one free hand. My cock juts out, hard. “Have to have you now.” I grip her hips and push her down onto my erection.
I’ve been aching all night for this—this homecoming, this joining of our bodies, this shoving of my cock into her heat. Every time I looked at her—those lips parted, those nipples hard, those brown eyes so warm and intense. She sits on me, all pink and creamy, and just once—just this once—I’ll give her the control she craves.
“Ride me, Skye,” I say huskily.
She begins to fuck me hard and fast. I don’t care that the driver is right behind the wall. She doesn’t seem to care, either. She moans, gasps, cries out my name, all the while knowing the chauffeur can hear us.
My fingers never leave the chain between her breasts, and I pull on it in the same discordant way as she fucks me. Her nipples are sticking out farther than I’ve ever seen them, and they’re red from pinching.
Fuck. I made them red. Gorgeous red.
Her boobs bounce as she fucks me harder and harder.
“Damn. Those tits,” I say again, yanking on the chain.
Then I grip her hips, taking over the thrusting. This is my rhythm now, and as I take over, I twist the chain between her nipples tight, parachuting her into an intense climax.
A moment later, I’m releasing, slamming her down onto me. With every spurt, I grow closer and closer to that place inside me. That place I never go.
That place I never thought I’d want to share with another person.
I’m no longer perplexed. No longer disturbed.
I’m fucking in love.
In love with Skye Manning.
And scared out of my wits.
When we both finally come down from our high, I can’t move.
I embrace her, holding her close—something I’ve done very seldom.