me.” He grabs the wine the bartender poured for him to taste. Watching him hold the delicate stem reminds me of his hands trailing down my neck with the barest of touches. A shiver runs through me. Cupping the glass, he circles it, swirling the wine. He inhales before he puts the glass to his mouth and sips. The burgundy liquid kisses his full lips. He makes an “mmm” sound and the tone goes straight to my core. I cross my legs and his hand covers my knee. He drags a thumb across the silky nylon surface and starts mimicking figure eights or the infinity symbol. It’s maddening, but I don’t move it. I like his hands on me too much to stop him. “The wine is fine. Thank you, James.”
“When you ordered the wine, you said from our backyard. Are you from California, too?”
He nods. “I have homes in all the major cities, but I leave my heart in San Francisco.” His eyes twinkle and I laugh. Cheeky fella. He’d be so easy to fall for.
The bartender half fills our glasses and meanders away. I get up the nerve to ask the question I really want to know. “So what do you mean when you say those women weren’t yours?”
His thumb continues to rub circles across my knee, rising higher at each turn. It’s a slow, quiet seduction of my senses, but its working well. Each pass stokes my desire, ramping it up until I’m a tight ball of need.
He ignores my question at first. “God, Gillian, I can’t stop thinking about what’s under here.” Now his entire hand is gripping my thigh and creeping up until the tip of his fingers reach the garter clasp. He growls quietly and shakes his head as if to clear it. “I, uh, I hire them to go to those events with me.”
I can’t hide my shock. “Why? You could have anyone?”
“Thank you, but I have very little time to woo women. Except you. You are something else.” He shakes his head as if trying to clear his mind. “Something else entirely.” He squeezes my thigh, and I imagine him squeezing me somewhere else, preferably with his cock buried inside me. No, no, no! This is not supposed to be happening. I’m supposed to be cutting him loose. I lick my overly dry lips. His eyes go dark and I glance away. Looking into those hungry eyes will be my undoing.
“So, you weren’t with those women?” He’s feeding me a line. No woman in their right mind would go out with him and not try to bed him. He’d be a major win for anyone. Just not me.
“I fucked them, if that’s what you’re asking.” Holy moly, he’s crass and dangerously effective at making me hotter. “But I was never in a relationship with them.”
I narrow my eyes, completely disbelieving the line of bullshit spewing from his mouth.
“I never lie, Gillian. Dishonesty is the worst kind of weakness.” The smile that had me captive turns into a frown and his tone sounds irritated.
His hand slides to the outside of my thigh. I look at his hand clutching me possessively and see how very right it is there, how right his touch feels. Warm and safe. Feeling safe with a man is foreign to me. Panic wiggles into my subconscious and twists at my gut. I can’t look at his hand on my body anymore. I grasp for the wine, needing the distraction.
Deep breath, Gigi. You’re fine. You like his touch. You want his touch. It feels good.
“You had sex with those women after paying them to attend a function with you?” Disdain creeps into my tone. “You know what that’s called?”
He nods and grins. “Does that shock you?” he asks with a seductive lilt. He toys with the strap of my garter, slipping two fingers under and sliding them up and down, pushing my skirt to an indecent height. His touch is like molten lava, but I can’t push him away. I crave the intense heat, need to feel the burn. When his hands are on me, I feel alive.
“Y-yes, it does.” I stutter as his hands wickedly seduce me. “Why?” I whisper.
“Why not? Sometimes I need an escort to a function.”
“I’m not asking why you
“When you ordered the wine, you said from our backyard. Are you from California, too?”
He nods. “I have homes in all the major cities, but I leave my heart in San Francisco.” His eyes twinkle and I laugh. Cheeky fella. He’d be so easy to fall for.
The bartender half fills our glasses and meanders away. I get up the nerve to ask the question I really want to know. “So what do you mean when you say those women weren’t yours?”
His thumb continues to rub circles across my knee, rising higher at each turn. It’s a slow, quiet seduction of my senses, but its working well. Each pass stokes my desire, ramping it up until I’m a tight ball of need.
He ignores my question at first. “God, Gillian, I can’t stop thinking about what’s under here.” Now his entire hand is gripping my thigh and creeping up until the tip of his fingers reach the garter clasp. He growls quietly and shakes his head as if to clear it. “I, uh, I hire them to go to those events with me.”
I can’t hide my shock. “Why? You could have anyone?”
“Thank you, but I have very little time to woo women. Except you. You are something else.” He shakes his head as if trying to clear his mind. “Something else entirely.” He squeezes my thigh, and I imagine him squeezing me somewhere else, preferably with his cock buried inside me. No, no, no! This is not supposed to be happening. I’m supposed to be cutting him loose. I lick my overly dry lips. His eyes go dark and I glance away. Looking into those hungry eyes will be my undoing.
“So, you weren’t with those women?” He’s feeding me a line. No woman in their right mind would go out with him and not try to bed him. He’d be a major win for anyone. Just not me.
“I fucked them, if that’s what you’re asking.” Holy moly, he’s crass and dangerously effective at making me hotter. “But I was never in a relationship with them.”
I narrow my eyes, completely disbelieving the line of bullshit spewing from his mouth.
“I never lie, Gillian. Dishonesty is the worst kind of weakness.” The smile that had me captive turns into a frown and his tone sounds irritated.
His hand slides to the outside of my thigh. I look at his hand clutching me possessively and see how very right it is there, how right his touch feels. Warm and safe. Feeling safe with a man is foreign to me. Panic wiggles into my subconscious and twists at my gut. I can’t look at his hand on my body anymore. I grasp for the wine, needing the distraction.
Deep breath, Gigi. You’re fine. You like his touch. You want his touch. It feels good.
“You had sex with those women after paying them to attend a function with you?” Disdain creeps into my tone. “You know what that’s called?”
He nods and grins. “Does that shock you?” he asks with a seductive lilt. He toys with the strap of my garter, slipping two fingers under and sliding them up and down, pushing my skirt to an indecent height. His touch is like molten lava, but I can’t push him away. I crave the intense heat, need to feel the burn. When his hands are on me, I feel alive.
“Y-yes, it does.” I stutter as his hands wickedly seduce me. “Why?” I whisper.
“Why not? Sometimes I need an escort to a function.”
“I’m not asking why you
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