Page 6 of House Rules
“So tell me, did you need it just as bad as I did, or am I reading this situation all wrong?”
I go still. Am I really having this conversation with Sean? “I…I…” I fumble, unable to form a coherent thought.
He leans closer, and beneath the table, his hand lands on my thigh and toys with the lace stockings I’m still wearing. He pushes up my dress, the slit exposing my right leg. He might as well be stroking the bundle of nerves throbbing between my thighs, because I’m sure I’m about to orgasm.
“How about I find out myself,” he says, not asking but telling, a feral intensity about him that I’ve never seen before. He’s going to freaking eat me alive. A flurry of excitement races through me.
I want to stop him, say no, but instead find myself widening my legs because, yeah, I want him to take me. His grin is so cocky; I don’t know whether I want to kiss it or smack it off his face. I should put a stop to this. He’s practically accosting me here in the bar, touching without permission—then again, maybe the widening of my legs was all the permission he needed. And seriously, am I going to le
t this opportunity pass me by? I’m in London on a quest for sex, and Sean is the perfect man to give it to me.
He widens my thighs even more, and his fingers climb higher. I turn my head away, hot, tight need spearing through me. Good God, what if someone is peering into our dark corner and watching us? My pulse thuds, and I can’t tell for certain whether that’s from excitement or fear.
“Look at me, Kitten.”
I turn back to him, and his eyes are piercing, holding me captive as they lock on mine. I want to whimper, squirm, beg him to touch me already, but the sound will draw attention, I’m sure. One look at the two of us and it’d be easy to tell what Sean is doing beneath the table.
A moan I have no control over crawls out of my throat.
Oh God, in only a few short hours I’ve turned from a straight-laced museum curator to a kinky dancer with fetishes. Did the bartender put something in my drink?
“Mmm,” he says, his thumb brushing my sex, his breath scorching my face. “Very hot.” He puts his mouth next to my ear, the heat of his breath caressing the shell. “I bet you’re wet, too.”
I gulp, wanting nothing more than for him to slide a hand into my panties and find out. Before I can respond, he stands and holds his hand out to me. “How about a dance?”
His hand swallows mine whole as I reach for him, and he lifts me from my chair. My body collides with his, and his cock presses into my stomach. My eyes widen, and he just gives me an unapologetic grin in response, no modesty or constraint—bold as hell.
A shiver races through me.
His scent curls around me as he guides me to the small dance floor and pulls me into his arms. He’s so tall I have to crane my neck to see him, and when our gazes lock, I feel like he has me under some sort of spell.
A warm arm slides around my back and he pulls me close. “So what about you?” he asks. “What brings you to London?”
I grew up in New York. My accent has given me away. “Business,” I say, a partial truth. I’m in the business of seeking out legendary sex, but he doesn’t have to know that. Let him think I’m here in London to dance at his club.
“You’re staying at this hotel?”
“Yes. It’s close to work. But I’m looking for another place to lay my head.” Again, not a lie. I am looking for another place to sleep—Sean’s bed.
“Hmm.”
“What.”
“Will you be here tomorrow night?”
“Yes,” I answer. What is he up to? What is he getting at?
“I have a proposition for you.”
At the word proposition, hot lust floods me. I want whatever he has in mind, whatever he’s offering, but try to play it cool by asking, “What might that be?”
“I’m here on business, and I need a girl.”
I need a girl.
With my breath far choppier than I would have liked, I ask, “What do you need a girl for?”
“To pretend to be my fiancée.”
