“Don’t.” I place my hand up. “Don’t give Dad any reason to do anything extreme. We both know what happened to Libby Conover from the 2nd Ward.”
“Libby…?”
“Remember? Her father thought she got too spirited and married her off to some old geezer in Arizona. She was fresh out of high school. Don’t think it can’t happen to one of us.”
My phone dings in my purse, and I spring for it without hesitation.
“You’re on that thing all the time now.” Waverly stands up and crosses her arms.
“I’ve only had it a few days. How can I be on it all the time?” I call out as she leaves. I press the green icon on my screen and only after I read his text do I realize I’m holding my breath and that I smiled the entire time.
SATURDAY CAN’T COME SOON ENOUGH, he says.
If he were my boyfriend, I might reply with one of those cute heart emojis or the one with the red lips. I force the smile off my face though an intense amount of butterflies remain in my belly. I’m certainly not falling in love with Dane, but I am falling in love with the escape. The rush. The thrill.
The build up and excitement and anticipation.
The prospect of freedom.
I type a reply.
DO YOU NEED ME TO DO ANYTHING SPECIAL TOMORROW? WILL YOU BE IN?
A minute later, he responds.
I WON’T BE IN. SENDING A CAR TO PICK YOU UP AT ONE FOR LUNCH AT HARBOR BLEU. WEAR THE BLACK HERVE LEGER DRESS, RED HEELS, GOLD NECKLACE AND NOTHING ELSE. YOU HAVE AN APPOINTMENT AT NINE AT BELLISIMA DAY SPA ON FORREST AVENUE.
The man needs a distraction, and I certainly won’t fault him for that.
YES, MASTER. GOODNIGHT.
SEVENTEEN
DANE
Harbor Bleu is a classy establishment, but it’s not going to deter me from keeping my hands off Bellamy as soon as I see her. I’d been planning to treat her to a decent lunch all week, even before Uncle Leo passed, and I wasn’t about to trash my reservations in lieu of sitting around Golden Oak moping with Beck and Odessa. Uncle Leo wouldn’t have liked that. He’d much rather me be out getting pussy and celebrating the colorful life that old bastard lived until fucking cancer stole his last fighting breath.
“Right this way, Ms. Miller.” The maître-d escorts a stunning blonde in sky-high red stilettos my way. Her hair bounces as she walks, and her breasts peek from the top of the skintight bandage dress that hugs her curves. She glows. Her skin is luminous like that of a woman who’s spent all morning at a spa getting waxed, polished, scrubbed, massaged and moisturized.
I stand to greet her, leaning over the small candlelit table to kiss her cheek. She slides into the half-moon booth I’ve reserved in the back of the restaurant and takes the spot next to me.
“You look beautiful.” I reach for the diamond necklace and straighten it. “Thank you for meeting me today.”
Not that she had a choice.
“Thank you for the spa appointment,” she says, running her fingertips along the length of her bare, soft arm.
“May I offer you a sample? Trimbach Riesling. Two thousand seven.” A member of the wait staff approaches us with an open bottle and two pieces of stemware.
Bellamy looks at me, but I’m more focused on the way the server is looking at her. I’ll deduct one percent from his tip for each second he feasts on her cleavage.
“Yes, please.” I reach beneath the tablecloth and squeeze her knee before inching my way up her inner thighs and way past the hem of her tight dress.
Her chin dips low, and a curtain of blonde wisps hide her face as she squirms. I wait for the server to finish pouring our samples and scram before I push her hair away.
“I want to see your face,” I whisper, my fingers aching to be inside her, though not nearly as much as my growing cock right now. “I want to see the way you fight it when I…”
Well, well, well.
I was going to fuck her with my fingers right here over dinner since there’s no finer way to enjoy a medium rare filet than sitting across from a beautiful woman with an orgasmic flush.
But she’s wearing fucking panties.
I pull my hand away and lean into her, nipping her earlobe between my teeth. “I thought I gave you explicit instructions not to wear anything else besides the dress, the heels, and the necklace.”
Her gaze narrows.
“The panties, Angel.” I roll my eyes and lean back. “Go to the ladies’ room, remove them, and bring them back to me.”
Her jaw drops as her cheeks flush. “I can’t do that.”
“Pardon?”
“This dress is so short. I can’t. I’ll be exposed.”
“If it’s that big of a deal, use your safeword.” I’m challenging her. “But this is an extremely minor, basic thing, of that you can be sure. I suppose now you’re going to pretend to be all virtuous.”
I toss back the Riesling sample and gaze around the restaurant, waiting for her to make up her mind.
“Fine.” She slides out of the booth, tugging her dress down as she saunters to the restroom, returning five long minutes later.
“Let me see them.”
Bellamy’s fist is balled, and she extends it my way, dropping a crumpled lace panty in my lap. I tuck them in my inner jacket pocket and wait for her to take her spot once again.
My hand wastes no time gliding back up under her dress, and my cock hardens the second I feel the slickness between her thighs.
“You’re so fucking wet,” I moan into her ear, breathing in her salon-scented hair. Two fingers slide between her folds, pushing inside her and eliciting a soft gasp while my thumb massages her clit.
“Are we ready to order?” Our server returns and my fingers have no intention of leaving Bellamy’s pussy anytime soon.
“Yes, please, I’ll take the filet. Medium rare. House salad. She’ll have the same.” I hand him our menus with my free hand.
“Would you two like any bread with fresh olive oil and parm–”
“No,” I cut him off, my fingers wriggling inside her clenched walls as her fingers dig into my forearm.
She sighs the second he walks off and tugs her bottom lip between her perfect teeth.
“Are you waiting for permission, Angel?” I whisper.
She nods.
“Good girl,” I say. “Come like no one’s watching. It’s just you and me. We’re the only ones here.”
My thumb presses harder against her clit as my fingers push deeper, faster. Her chest heaves as her lips smash together, stifling the moans she refuses to release. Her hips buck against my fingers until her eyes roll back, and she collapses against my arm.
Her thighs go limp, and I retract my arm, studying the sweet flush of release that floods her glowing face.
“Thank you for not faking it that time.” I scoot slightly and place my napkin over my lap.
Bellamy tilts her head. “What are you talking about?”
“I highly recommend you not lie about it.” I tip up my empty glass and set it back down. “That wouldn’t be good for you at all right now.”
“I’m sorry.” Her voice is hushed. “I was nervous.”
I don’t believe her, but I’m too mentally exhausted to psychoanalyze why she felt the need to do a poor rendition of a screaming porno orgasm.
“Whatever the reason, I don’t particularly care. Just don’t fake one again or I’ll ensure you have five in a row that you absolutely will not be able to fake.”
Forced masturbation isn’t a kink of mine, but in this case it might serve as a rational deterrent.
Our food arrives piping hot and on time, and per my calculations our server is now looking at a three percent tip based on the seventeen times he’s taken liberties at checking out my sub.
“Did you grow up around here?” She saws gracefully into her filet and forks a small sliver, bringing it to her rosebud lips.
“No,” I say.
“Where are you from? Or how did you wind up in Salt Lake City?”
“Here in Utah. And it’s just the way it happened, Bellamy. How is your steak?”