Page 49 of Wicked Takeover
Lauren wouldn’t have liked anything better. His need for her dazzled and gave her confidence she’d never had. “What do we tell the others? We have to work, remember? What if someone wants in here? Like your first customer? What if Jasmina or Van Gogh looks at the monitors in my office?”
“If they did that, you should fire them.”
He didn’t mean it.
She cradled his cheek. “We’ll play later, okay?”
He muttered something, shoved her panties in his pocket, and spoke into the intercom. “I’ll be with you in a sec, all right?”
“Sure thing.”
After Lauren smoothed down her skirt, front and back, she turned a slow circle. “Am I decent?”
“I hope not.” He gathered her in his arms, kissed her fiercely, starving them both for air, and pecked her beauty mark. “Starting tomorrow, you don’t wear a bra any longer.”
She giggled and muffled the sound against his chest. “Sorry, I can’t ditch the bra. No way. Never. I’ll tattoo my own eyeballs before I do that.”
He cupped her ass. “Before long, you’ll enjoy being exposed in ways you’ve never imagined.”
…
Throughout the day, he could see his promise registered on Lauren’s face. She watched him as she had before they’d become intimate. Like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how to begin.
He could have helped her, of course, and shared what he had in mind for their carnal play. But keeping her in suspense was more fun. It built her arousal…and his. Whenever they were alone in the same room, he went from relaxed to horny in two seconds flat.
Lauren wasn’t immune. Her breath always caught. Color tinted her cheeks.
The first time it happened was in the back room when he’d gone to grab a snack between customers. Lauren was already there, her lips hugging a Dove Bar. She looked guilty as hell.
He guessed she’d fallen off her diet that he knew she didn’t need or she’d taken the treat without asking Jasmina.
Jasmina’s voice sounded from Van Gogh’s station where he inked a client. Both she and he were busy, not likely to interrupt whatever happened back here. At least for a moment or two.
Dante joined Lauren at the fridge but said nothing. He waited to see what she’d do.
She blinked slowly.
Either that small motion took great effort or she was trying to clear her thoughts. Didn’t do her much good. Vanilla and chocolate rolled down the bar and skimmed her thumb.
He licked it away.
She made a small, yearning sound.
He fondled her boob.
She lost her remaining breath.
The threat of discovery hung between them. Excitement did, too. She was more than ready. His slightest touch produced a response—her lids fluttering, chest heaving, gaze longing.
The conversation in Van Gogh’s station died down.
Lauren’s attention crept to the doorway.
Dante squeezed her breast and flicked her nipple through her lacy bra. He ran his other hand over her sweet tummy to the delightful curls between her legs and to her slit.
Her damp heat registered through the flimsy fabric.
She dropped her hand. The Dove Bar pointed at the floor rather than her mouth. Her pleading look told him she was torn between asking him to fuck her on the spot or to wait until after hours so they could really enjoy themselves.
