“Well, I apologize for the misunderstanding. But I couldn’t risk you refusing to accompany him, so I ordered him to leave you with no choice.” His expression darkened, hardened. “You’ve always had a choice, Kyrie. You still do. You can leave at any time. You know that, correct?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, Roth. Not yet. You’ve got my interest at this point.”
“Just your interest?”
I gave him a teasing grin. “Yeah. You could say I’m interested, at the very least.”
“And here I thought I’d aroused a bit more than mere interest in you. I guess I’ll have to step up my efforts.” The look he gave me was scorching, virulent, and laced with erotic promise.
I shivered, sucked in a deep breath. “You should do that. You’re slacking, Roth.”
Evening had fallen by the time we had the boat docked, and as we entered the towering glass and steel canyons of downtown Manhattan, darkness was spreading thickening shadows between the buildings. We still had the Bentley’s top down, so I was chilled by the cool in the night air, goose bumps covering my skin. Roth noticed this, and as we stopped at a red light, he touched a button so the top unfolded and slid into place.
“You looked cold,” he said, eyeing me.
“What gave it away?”
His tongue slid over his lower lip. “Your ni**les. They’re poking through the dress. Teasing me. Standing up hard. Begging for my mouth.”
I glanced down and saw that, sure enough, my ni**les were peaked, showing clearly. Roth’s hand left the gear shifter and drifted up, pinched my left nipple. I bit my lip to keep from gasping, but Roth only pinched harder and rolled it between his finger and thumb, making me squirm in my seat, his touch verging on painful. When he increased his pressure, taking the sensation past pleasant and into outright uncomfortable, I flinched away, letting out a breath.
“That hurt, Valentine.”
“Just making sure I still have your interest,” he said. His hand settled on my thigh, just above my knee. “Do I have it?”
“Yeah,” I breathed. “I’m interested.”
He glanced away, back to the road as he made a left turn, touching the brakes as traffic slowed ahead of us. We were in Little Italy, I realized belatedly. He was taking us somewhere specific, some restaurant he knew, I guessed. My capacity for clear thought faded as Roth’s hand slid up my bare skin, fingers grazing my inner thigh, pushing up the hem of my dress.
“Take off your underwear,” Roth said.
I glanced at him, blinking, and then looked out the windows. We were surrounded by cars, stopped at a traffic light. There were people on the sidewalk and a cube van was idling beside us, the driver smoking a cigarette and glancing down at me. Watching Roth’s hand climb up my thigh.
“That driver beside us is watching,” I protested.
“So keep your dress down while you take them off. I told you, I’m not going to share you. Not so much as a glimpse, not with anyone. But I do want those panties in my hand in the next thirty seconds.” His voice was hard and low, demanding.
I tugged the hem of my dress down, and then lifted my hips, hooking my fingers into the elastic of my underwear through the cotton of the dress. Wiggling my hips, I managed to slide the black bikini-cut underwear down past my hips, and then was able to reach up under my dress and pull them off completely. I handed them to Roth, who glanced up at the driver of the truck to the left of us. The driver was entranced, staring down at us, not paying attention to the fact that the light had turned; he’d watched the entire performance, I realized, blushing.
Roth held my underwear to his nose and sniffed, staring up at the driver with a grin. I covered my face with my hands, mortified. Horns blared, and the driver of the truck started, surprised, and jerked the truck into motion.
“Goddamn you, Roth. Was that really necessary?”
He stuffed the underwear into the inside pocket of his blazer, grinning at me. “Yes. It was.”
“Because it amused me. He wanted you, Kyrie. Did you see the look in his eyes when you handed me your panties? He wanted them for himself. He wanted you for himself.” He replaced his hand on my thigh, higher this time, fingers creeping up under the hem of my dress. “And I, being a possessive caveman, wanted to prove a point. You’re mine.”
“I’m embarrassed, Roth. He watched me take off my underwear. You sniffed them. It was horrible.”
Roth traced his fingers up the line of my closed thighs, demanding entrance. I parted my legs, just a tiny bit, and his middle finger found my core, found it wet and hot and waiting. “They smelled of your desire, Kyrie. Like you. When you part your thighs for me, I can smell you. You want me. You want me to touch you, don’t you?” He gunned the engine, darting us forward and sliding to the left between the cube van and a taxi, then back across to the lane we had just left, his finger never ceasing its slow penetration of my cleft as he wove through New York traffic. “Don’t you, Kyrie? I could make you come by the time we get to the restaurant, don’t you think?”
“I’m—I’m sure you could.” I gripped the armrests and pressed my head back against the seat. “Are you going to make me come while that driver watches?”
Roth rumbled in his chest. “Now, that would be fun. I think I might just do that. Good idea.”
I swallowed hard as he brought his long, thick middle finger up against my clit. “Because…it’s embarrassing. Degrading.”
“He won’t see anything except my hand under your dress. You’re completely covered, Kyrie.”
“But he’ll know what you’re doing.”
I tried to push his hand away, but he was relentless, and he had me writhing at that point, nearing the edge with slow, precise circles, too far gone to let him stop, to want him to stop, but just aware enough to be mortified and adrenalized by that same embarrassment, which made the sense of impending climax all the more intense.
“Not yet, Kyrie. Don’t come yet.” He continued his strokes around my clit, bringing me closer with every circle.
“I’m there, Roth.”
“Not yet.” He slowed the Bentley, and I managed a glance to the left, saw the eyes-wide expression of the driver as my hips rolled with Roth’s hand buried under the edge of my dress. I arched my back as I approached the crest, biting my lip, unable to stop a moan from escaping.