After that, the party is on. I forget to monitor my guests because they’re having a great time. Conversation gets more relaxed, their boisterousness is less combative, taking on a more celebratory vibe.
Halfway through the second set, Nikolai pulls me onto his lap.
“Stop, what are you doing?” I demand, trying not to make a scene as I attempt to wiggle back to my chair.
“Shh. You’re my girlfriend. Act like it.”
“Nikolai…”
“Hush.” He uses the arm around my waist to drag me higher over his lap. “Watch the band.”
I sit stiffly for a few minutes, then start to relax as he traces light circles around my knee with his fingertips. I shouldn’t be sitting on Nikolai’s lap. Even if he was my legit boyfriend—which he absolutely is not—it would be unprofessional. I’m here with potential clients. Then again, said clients are getting sloshed and watching the band, not me. There’s also the fact that Nikolai’s fingers start trailing up my inner thigh, and it’s making my pulse race. Especially because I vaguely remember—all right, I remember in perfect detail—how skilled he is with his fingers. Especially in the region of my body where he’s headed.
I squirm a little on his lap, my mind taking a spin around the “this is a horrible idea” track again while his fingers send tingles up and down my spine.
Nikolai’s teeth score my shoulder, and I grind right down on his lap, losing my breath. “Were you sore today, Freckles?” His hot breath is at my nape.
I both shake and nod my head at the same time.
“Were you mad?”
It’s a funny question considering I’m the one who begged him for it last night, but I appreciate it. It did hurt a bit, and I was drunk. His question shows a level of consideration I wouldn’t expect from a guy like him.
Except I’m starting to realize I don’t know what a guy like him actually is. I had a fuzzy stereotype cobbled together from the movies and based on what he did to Zane. But other parts don’t really fit.
His fingers slide up my skirt, just lightly skimming over my hose. “I like your tight skirts, zayka. You dress like you’re going to be boss bitch some day soon.”
I twist to see his face because the words surprise me. They also satisfy and fluster me. Like this guy sees me in a skirt two days in a row and suddenly knows my life goals or something.
His blue gaze is on my face, intent and more serious than I expect.
“That’s my plan,” I say primly.
His lips quirk. “I’ll stay out of your way, then.” He winks, and I curse the way I cream my panties.
Player.
This guy is nothing but a player. That’s why he’s so damn good at seduction.
I can’t let him be a repeat of Rob Sharke for me. I learned that lesson in the worst possible way a seventeen-year-old girl could.
Last night I had too much to drink. Tonight I’m sober. I should have better self-control. I should not be on this guy’s lap.
But then he boldly cups my mons, and I let out a cry of pleasure. The sight alone of his hand disappearing under my rucked up skirt sends a bolt of hedonistic lust straight to my nether region. The black lace of my thigh-highs show, setting off the patch of pale skin sandwiched between the hose and the skirt. I snatch my jacket off the back of my chair and drape it over my lap, even though we’re in the dark corner, and the table hides everything.
“I won’t let anyone see,” Nikolai promises in that scolding tone he used when he pulled the chair. Like I should know better than to doubt him.
He’s moving his fingers over my panties now, and it’s all I can do not to dance on his lap. He changes his angle with the arm around my waist to slide his hand up my sweater. When he pinches my nipple and rubs my clit at the same time, I jerk and cry out again.
Thankfully, the sound of my choked cry is drowned out by the boisterous sound filling the lounge.
I have to admit, the band is really cool. I’d pay more attention if—
Oh God.
Nikolai dips a finger inside me while maintaining pressure on my clit with his palm and rolling and tugging my nipple.
I want to laugh and cry at the same time. I’m too hot—needy and desperate, and I really want more than the tip of Nikolai’s finger inside me.
I guess Shanna was right.
I really need to get laid
Otherwise, I wouldn’t let this ridiculous, crazy thing happen right now.
I want to blame Nikolai—make him the devil—but he’s not the one receiving pleasure.
I am.
He’s doing all the giving.
“Why…” I squirm, trying to drive his finger deeper. He pushes a second one inside me.
“Why, what, Freckles? Why do I find you so hot? I’m not sure. I think it’s something about that boss-bitch attitude in such a tiny package.”
I buck my hips, coming around his fingers. I’m embarrassed and not quite satisfied. Also, more than a little confused by my helplessness to withstand Nikolai’s charms.
He rubs my clit, and I come a little more, a full-body shudder running through me as I rest my head back on his shoulder and slump in his lap.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I croak, as if he just did something bad rather than something mind-blowing and fun. Something that was only for my pleasure and not for his.
“I didn’t mean to,” he murmurs back.
His words drape over my shoulders and settle there like a gossamer cape, woven of magic and mystery. Nikolai couldn’t help himself either. This isn’t something he’s doing to me, but rather something we’re in together.
8
Nikolai
As I drive the trio back to their hotel, I sense Chelle’s stiffness return. She warmed up by the end of the show, not just to me, but to the guys and the band.
The Storytellers never put on a better show, and Chelle’s skateboarding stars loved it. Whether it was the alcohol talking, or the fact that Flynn recognized them, and they felt famous, I couldn’t be sure, but they mingled during the band’s break, and by the time Rue’s closed for the night, Chelle was brokering their drunken promises to use the Storyteller’s music on their Youtube videos in some kind of collaboration
Guessing at her anxiety now that the night’s almost over, I play ambassador.
“So are you guys going to sign on with Chelle and her boss, or were you just dicking her around tonight?”
A couple of the guys chuckle softly.
“No, we’ll sign,” Randy says easily. “I mean, we were dicking around, but yeah. Chelle, you’re cool. You have my trust.”
“Yeah, totally,” Tiny agrees.
“Me too,” Boner says.
“Thanks. That’s great.” Relief pours from Chelle. I see the first genuine smile on her face, and it’s heart-stopping. “You’ll come by tomorrow to sign the papers?”
“Yep. We’ll be there. But we want to work with you not your stuffy boss, yeah?” Randy says.
“Okay.” Chelle’s smile is even bigger. “You might need to tell her that for me, okay?”
“Oh, we will,” Randy swears.
I pull into the circle drive of their hotel and climb out to do their fist-bumping thing, but now they’re all about man-hugs, slapping my back and breathing vodka in my face while they tell me what a great time they had.