I blink my eyes open, and I know this idea I just concocted is wild. I know…but well, this dress is giving me quite a lot of courage, and the last time we fooled around, I was the lucky one. It’s only fair that this time it should be him. I want to drive him mad. I want to provide him with an image that racks through his brain the rest of the evening, so I ignore him when he protests the fact that I’ve broken off our kiss. He even steps closer and tries to grip my chin and seal his mouth on mine again, but I tut like he’s being naughty then lock eyes with him as I start to get down on my knees. My chin slips from his fingers and his eyes go molten. He knows what I’m after, and there’s no going back now. A woman only kneels down in front of a man for one reason, and it’s not to surrender. It’s to wage war.
“Candace,” he murmurs breathlessly, his voice heavy with lust as my hands glide down his tuxedo-clad thighs.
The cold concrete bites into my knees as I settle in place, but what’s a little discomfort compared to the look on Logan’s face right now? I’m not even touching him, not yet, and already I’ve won. Poor guy.
“You look really handsome tonight,” I say, my hands drifting up higher, toward the noticeable bulge in his trousers. I skim around it like a tease, and he hisses in a sharp breath as my fingers fall on the black button. I shift it out of the hole then reach for the zipper. It slides down with no effort at all, and then his trousers slip down his toned hips enough that I can reach my hands inside and start tugging down his boxer briefs.
My mouth waters as my fingers brush over his hard length.
This is so, so wrong.
We’re at a gala! We’re in a supply closet at a gala!
But there’s no stopping me, not when I look up and see the way Logan is staring down at me, like I’m not quite real, like this is all a dream. It gives me the courage to close my hand around him and start to slide it up then pump back down, harder and faster, again and again.
He groans deep and low, and I know he’s going mad. I lean in close to brush my lips over his hardness and then his hand falls on my hair, tangling in the strands. Just like that, he’s mine, utterly lost in my mouth as I take him deeper.
My lips tighten around him and my hand keeps pumping and Logan’s eyes flutter closed then blink open quickly, as if he doesn’t want to miss a single moment of what I’m doing to him. Our gazes connect and there’s a transfer of emotion, like he’s trying to tell me something, but I can’t make out exactly what it is. I’m too scared to let the full weight of it sink into me. So, I use my mouth and my tongue and my lips and let my body do all the talking.
He whispers my name and then his hips start to pump forward, harder, taking back a little control. I ease up and let him, and now the tables have turned. He’s using me now, and all the uncomfortable sensations come flooding in: my aching jaw, the cold concrete, the burning desire to suck in a deep breath of air. I’m almost at my tipping point, close to tapping out—but then his hand soothes my hair and my eyes find his again and I see the emotion there. The adoration and the need, pure and simple. He’s so close so I dig a little deeper, ignoring the ache, and choose to stay down on my knees in this closet, letting him use my mouth, knowing he loves it, knowing ultimately, I’m responsible for that look on his face right now. Then, finally, when I’m desperate for air, he jerks forward and his body shakes with uncontrolled surges as he finishes. Shattered. Done. So am I.
We stay silent, gulping in breaths. It’s like we’ve both been stuck under water for too long and we’re trying to recover, attempting to piece ourselves back together. My heart starts to calm, but I still feel like a wreck when he helps me stand.
The high has burned off, and now I’m left feeling like I can’t possibly go back out in public without everyone realizing what we’ve just done.
For some insane reason, tears burn the edges of my eyes, and maybe it’s just the fact that all my emotions seem to be living right on the surface lately, or maybe it’s the feeling of wrongdoing falling heavy on my shoulders.
Logan settles me back on my feet and hugs me close, wrapping his arms around me so I’m totally sheltered from the world. We don’t say a word for a long time as he holds me. I breathe in his cologne and try to pretend we’re completely alone, in a vacuum of our own making.
But then a jazz band starts to play out in the main hall, and even in our supply closet, we hear it.
Logan pulls back and holds me at arm’s length.
I arch a brow at him, and his solemn expression starts to lessen. He shakes me back and forth, trying to tease a smile out of me, and eventually, I relent. Then, he tugs a handkerchief from his front pocket and passes it over to me. I use it to dab at the corners of my eyes then fold it over to wipe around my mouth.
“I could use a shower.”
“I think there’s a bathroom just around the corner.”
I groan. “Do I look like I’ve just given a blow job?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “You look as sexy as you did when I first dragged you in here.”
“You’re biased. You’ve just had a lovely time, so nothing quite matters. Be truthful—do I look like a mess?”
He tugs me toward him and kisses my hair. “I promise you look fine, but I’ll lead you to the bathroom so you can see for yourself.”
Then he picks up my clutch and passes it over so I can tuck it under my arm, and we start to head for the door. He opens it and pokes his head out. I laugh at how ridiculous he looks, like he’s on some sort of reconnaissance mission. A regular secret agent.
“The coast is clear,” he tells me, taking my hand and pulling me out after him. We close the door and walk out into the hall, and just like that, we’re two normal people attending the gala once again.
My cheeks go red, though, just knowing I look a fright. I see the door for the loos up ahead and practically bolt for it.
“I’ll be in there! Don’t bother waiting for me—I’ll probably be a while.”
“All right, I’ll go get us drinks.”
I wink then push through the door. It’s blessedly empty and cold, but I don’t bother looking at my reflection yet. It’ll only depress me. I do my business in the stall and rearrange my dress so it sits where it’s meant to. Then I walk out to the sink, take a deep breath, and lift my gaze.
Oof.
My lipstick is smeared round my mouth. I look like I belong in a striped circus tent, and the damage doesn’t end there. My hair is standing on end in a few places, from where Logan was gripping me to keep me where he wanted. He really did a number on me. My cheeks are flushed and my eyes are a bit glassy.
Fragile. I look fragile.
I groan and grab a load of paper towels to carefully dab off my smeared lipstick, without ruining even more of my makeup. Then I toss them and start to finger-comb my hair. It’s sort of useless, but it’s all I’ve got. I’m still going at it when the door opens and Melody strolls in. She sees me and jumps in shock.
“I know you!”
I smile. “Oh, err…hello there. Yeah, I’m Candace.”
She narrows her eyes in thought as if trying to place me, and then she smiles. “Right! Candace. You were the waitress at that bar we went to the other night.”