Tony gapes at her. “Did you just say what I think you said?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. What do you think I said?”
“Adult cream pie,” he says, his face slightly red.
“Yeah. It’s a special pie, made to suit adult tastes.”
“Ohh,” Ivy says. “So it’s more like ‘a cream pie for adults.’”
“You could say it like that, but the direct translation is—”
“We like Ivy’s version better,” I say quickly. I’m not going to enlighten Yuna, and I’m also not going to continue to call the pastry I just had “adult cream pie,” of all things.
Yuna shrugs again. “Okay. But it’s really a mouthful to say it that way.”
Jo raises an eyebrow. “Oh, adult cream is a mouthful either way.”
A mouth isn’t the only thing it can fill.
The thought pops into my mind, unbidden and wholly unexpected. But it isn’t any less arousing. I’d love to fill her with my cock, then my cum, although realistically the second part would be a bad idea with potentially undesirable consequences.
That’s why God gave men brains. So we could invent condoms.
I dispose of my flute and plate as a server comes by. Then I lean toward Jo. “Want to finish the rest of the pie?”
“What are my other options?” Mischief gleams in her eyes.
“A tour of Tony’s mansion? He put a lot of work in designing the place.”
“I think I’d like that.” Jo gives me a very direct look. “Is it…big?”
“Much larger than you’re probably thinking.” I extend a hand in invitation.
She holds my eyes, then puts her plate and champagne flute down on a coffee table and links her fingers with mine. “Let’s just go see.”
Chapter Three
Jo
My mouth is dry, and heat is slowly spreading in my veins like a cat stretching. It has nothing to do with the champagne. It was good, but I’ve had good stuff before.
It’s this man.
When Edgar seemed distracted and was giving me short answers, I thought I might have made a mistake—that the attraction was only one-way. He must’ve been with thousands of wealthy, sophisticated women before, and even though I look damned sophisticated, I don’t have the kind of wealth and education his previous girlfriends undoubtedly did.
Then he asked me what I do for living, like he was genuinely interested. He didn’t react like my job was frivolous…unlike a lot of guys. I was even a little flattered that he seemed to care what I think about the way he’s dressed. I hope he isn’t too bothered by the fact I fibbed a little. I couldn’t bring myself to admit he projects a power that makes me want to strip him and lick him all over. So I had to spend some time to come up with something more socially acceptable.
Edgar takes me through a huge, deserted hall, saying something about the floor material, then up the stairs. I follow him, anticipation cresting like a wave about to break. When we hit the top step, I turn him around. I don’t want to wait. If we don’t do what I know we’re about to do, I’m going to combust right now.
He’s obviously on exactly the same page, because his lips come swooping down, crashing against mine. I moan against them, reveling in the firmness. His mouth is surprisingly hot and carnal. The controlled demeanor he was projecting earlier in front of everyone was a lie.
And I love this—the intensity, the greed. He devours me like a man starved, uncontrolled and savage. And his need is driving me crazy. I can’t remember a time I was desired like this—like having me is the only thing that matters to him.
I wrap my hand around the back of his neck, and he pulls me closer. I gasp at the thick erection pressing against my belly. Then, because I can’t help myself, I sneak my free hand between us to feel him.
A low, rough groan tears from his throat. “You’re hard,” I whisper.
“Been that way since we shook hands.” He buries his head in the crook of my neck, his rough breath tickling me. “I wanted to lick the champagne off your lips, see if it tastes better than from the glass. Then I thought about tasting you.”