possibilities.”
He laughs. “Well, I might be able to make at least one of those happen, but unlike you, I actually need to come to this. You know the upper class social scene better than most, so rub shoulders.” He slaps my arse and I yelp. “And maybe you’ll get your public sex.”
Oh, promises, promises.
A waiter passes us with a tray of champagne glasses. I grab two and down them in quick succession. He raises his eyebrows and I glare at him. “Sobriety gives me hives.” I say.
I was happily fucking trashed before I found out I had to come to this shit, and now I’m riding the fine line between drunk and high. You get too drunk, you take a little cocaine to sober back up, but not so much that you’re off your face. I’ve counter balanced myself back to sober, I think, and I hate sober.
He drags me through the fucking party, stopping to talk to people. They smile and nod, the women touch him at every available opportunity while the men stare at my tits. It’s a fucking joy.
I’m pretending to listen to some old dude and about ready to go and face plant a bag of blow when I spot my mother and father across the room. I smile as I tighten my hold on Rhett’s arm.
I stand on tip toes until my lips are at his ear. “Kiss me.” I whisper.
He stops mid conversation and glances down at me with a cocked eyebrow. “Didn’t take you for the romance kind of girl.”
I roll my eyes. “Trust me, I’m not, and I didn’t mean a polite peck on the lips. Kiss me like you’re about to fuck me, I’ll throw in a little dry humping.” He shrugs, a sexy smile fixed on his lips as he grabs my wrist, pulling me against him and locking one hand around the back of my neck. His golden eyes meet mine, sparking violently before he slams his lips over mine.
I cup his face, dragging my nails over the short stubble of his jaw as his mouth moves against mine in a kiss so violent my lips already feel bruised. He literally steals my breath, and my heart slams against my ribs as my lungs scream for oxygen. Everything falls away until we’re the only people in the room. I barely know this man, and yet, right here with his lips on mine, I don’t care about anything that isn’t him touching me.
His tongue swipes over my bottom lip before he sucks it into his mouth, and then releases me. I’m panting like I just ran a marathon. I’ll give it to the guy, he fucks my shit up.
I glance past him to where my parents were standing. My father is gone, but my mother is staring at me, shaking her head in disgust. I smile and wink at her. I’d give her the middle finger, but well, that’s just too obvious, and she did teach me to always be stealthy in your insults.
“Blake, a word, please.” I look over Rhett’s shoulder to see my father standing there, red faced. I know him well enough to know that he’s about two point five seconds away from going postal. Of course, it’s all a load of shit. He flaps and huffs, but bottom line, he has no idea how to handle me and don’t I just love to test him on that.
My father is a handsome man, distinguished I suppose you could say. As always, his tux is immaculate, his bow tie perfectly tied by my mother. My father looks the part, but the truth is, he’s merely a puppet. They say that behind every powerful man is a powerful woman. Never has this been truer than with my mother. Arabella McQueen is a force that few will dare take on, and least of all, my father. I’ve learnt over the years that every move he makes has been carefully planned and orchestrated by her. Not least of all, the way he handles me. Personally, I prefer to just deal with the shebitch herself, cut out the middle man. I do so love to see him flounder, though.
“Rhett, this is my father, Miles McQueen. Daddy, this is Rhett Torres.”
Rhett releases me, but not before he winks at me. He turns to my father and holds out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I smile as my father shakes Rhett’s
He laughs. “Well, I might be able to make at least one of those happen, but unlike you, I actually need to come to this. You know the upper class social scene better than most, so rub shoulders.” He slaps my arse and I yelp. “And maybe you’ll get your public sex.”
Oh, promises, promises.
A waiter passes us with a tray of champagne glasses. I grab two and down them in quick succession. He raises his eyebrows and I glare at him. “Sobriety gives me hives.” I say.
I was happily fucking trashed before I found out I had to come to this shit, and now I’m riding the fine line between drunk and high. You get too drunk, you take a little cocaine to sober back up, but not so much that you’re off your face. I’ve counter balanced myself back to sober, I think, and I hate sober.
He drags me through the fucking party, stopping to talk to people. They smile and nod, the women touch him at every available opportunity while the men stare at my tits. It’s a fucking joy.
I’m pretending to listen to some old dude and about ready to go and face plant a bag of blow when I spot my mother and father across the room. I smile as I tighten my hold on Rhett’s arm.
I stand on tip toes until my lips are at his ear. “Kiss me.” I whisper.
He stops mid conversation and glances down at me with a cocked eyebrow. “Didn’t take you for the romance kind of girl.”
I roll my eyes. “Trust me, I’m not, and I didn’t mean a polite peck on the lips. Kiss me like you’re about to fuck me, I’ll throw in a little dry humping.” He shrugs, a sexy smile fixed on his lips as he grabs my wrist, pulling me against him and locking one hand around the back of my neck. His golden eyes meet mine, sparking violently before he slams his lips over mine.
I cup his face, dragging my nails over the short stubble of his jaw as his mouth moves against mine in a kiss so violent my lips already feel bruised. He literally steals my breath, and my heart slams against my ribs as my lungs scream for oxygen. Everything falls away until we’re the only people in the room. I barely know this man, and yet, right here with his lips on mine, I don’t care about anything that isn’t him touching me.
His tongue swipes over my bottom lip before he sucks it into his mouth, and then releases me. I’m panting like I just ran a marathon. I’ll give it to the guy, he fucks my shit up.
I glance past him to where my parents were standing. My father is gone, but my mother is staring at me, shaking her head in disgust. I smile and wink at her. I’d give her the middle finger, but well, that’s just too obvious, and she did teach me to always be stealthy in your insults.
“Blake, a word, please.” I look over Rhett’s shoulder to see my father standing there, red faced. I know him well enough to know that he’s about two point five seconds away from going postal. Of course, it’s all a load of shit. He flaps and huffs, but bottom line, he has no idea how to handle me and don’t I just love to test him on that.
My father is a handsome man, distinguished I suppose you could say. As always, his tux is immaculate, his bow tie perfectly tied by my mother. My father looks the part, but the truth is, he’s merely a puppet. They say that behind every powerful man is a powerful woman. Never has this been truer than with my mother. Arabella McQueen is a force that few will dare take on, and least of all, my father. I’ve learnt over the years that every move he makes has been carefully planned and orchestrated by her. Not least of all, the way he handles me. Personally, I prefer to just deal with the shebitch herself, cut out the middle man. I do so love to see him flounder, though.
“Rhett, this is my father, Miles McQueen. Daddy, this is Rhett Torres.”
Rhett releases me, but not before he winks at me. He turns to my father and holds out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I smile as my father shakes Rhett’s
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