I narrow my eyes. “Who were you expecting?”
“No one.” She stares at her pink-painted nails.
She’s lying. No idea why, but I’ll find out. Maybe she left the dinner table for some other reason than the tension brought by Ethan.
‘Is she part of the game now?’
A wave of possessiveness slams into me like the first clash in a battle. The need to own her all over again grabs me by the balls, demanding release.
Knowing she’s not wearing any underwear beneath her dress makes the idea more plausible.
Before I can think of a way to kick Harris and Moses out — or send them away — she reaches for her bag in my hand.
“I’m going back to the house.”
“We’ll drive you.” I keep the bag out of reach and barge inside so that I’m sitting beside her. Harris grumbles something unintelligible, but he takes the hint, gets out, and sits in the passenger seat. Soon after, Moses slides into his driver seat and the vehicle slowly retreats into the main street.
“I brought my car.” She reaches for her bag again.
“And I said I’ll drive you.”
“Don’t you have to prepare for a meeting or something?”
“We do,” Harris says from the front seat. “Thirty minutes late.”
I throw him a glare, but he merely adjusts his glasses with both his index and middle finger and focuses on his tablet again.
“I can go back on my own,” she says.
“Or we can drive you.”
“Do you ever give up?”
“Not when I can win.”
She huffs but doesn’t stop trying to reach for her bag.
I grab her by the arm and she freezes as her body half-falls against mine. The storm in her eyes gains an electric spark, almost as if she’s slipping from one state of mind to another. It’s fascinating how much the colour of her eyes can hint at her state of being so accurately.
“If you don’t stay still, I’ll consider that as an invitation to finger-fuck you,” I murmur against her ear, then bite down on the shell to reinforce my point. “After all, you’re naked under that dress.”
“Jonathan!” she whisper-yells. “Harris and Moses are here.”
“So fucking what?”
She moves those lips to say something, but they remain in that perfect ‘O’. Aurora
must see that I’m crazy enough to do it.
I’m about to reach under her dress and prove how right her assumption is, but she chooses the smart route and pushes back, clearing her throat.
Her cheeks are a soft hue of pink, and she keeps touching her neck, the one I held her by as I fucked her into the mattress the other day.
She thinks if she touches it enough, she’ll be able to cool down. A myth, but I don’t correct her.
“Can I brief you now?” Harris asks in his usual disregard. “If Aurora doesn’t have an objection.”
She makes a face at him, and he counters by readjusting his glasses.