The VIP Room(84)

I’d dragged her into the hallway, grateful I knew the exact spot where the cameras didn’t overlap, because I couldn’t wait a second longer to get my fingers inside her.

My cock would have been better, but there hadn’t been time for that. She’d been soaked, like a hot, wet vice. So tight, she must have had all pencil-dicked boyfriends. She’d gone off like a rocket, her face an arousing combination of surprise and ecstasy.

But the blow job was what got me. Not just that it was good, or that she’d let me in her throat, both surprises in themselves. No, it was her hunger. Her need to get her mouth on me. She didn’t hit her knees because she felt she had to, or thought she should.

She’d sucked me like she loved my cock. Like she couldn’t get enough, and could have sucked me all day. She’d swallowed my come without a flinch. I’d had women do that before, either because they loved to suck cock or they knew how to fake it. But never one this clean. This innocent.

Leigha was a revelation. One I was finding I wanted more than I’d expected.

We had to get through this dinner with her family. Then I was taking her to my penthouse. I might not let her out all weekend, except for the wedding.

If f*cking her was anything like having her suck me off, she was going to have a hard time walking by Sunday night.





Chapter 7





Leigha





I found myself leaning into Dylan as we approached my mother, sisters, and Peter, my future brother in law. Three (bleached) blond heads turned in our direction at Peter’s nudge.

Then three jaws dropped. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get some well-deserved satisfaction out of that. The three of them had always been peas in a pod–outgoing, pretty, popular, and skinny.

A constant stream of boyfriends rang our doorbell when I was in high school, all for Cathie, Christie and my mom. Only a few for me, and those never lasted long. Not once one of my vivacious sisters decided to steal him away.

They didn’t actually like my dates; they just thought it was funny to see how quickly they’d dump me for the promise of a popular girl guaranteed to put out.

I was the only female in my house who’d gone to college to get an education. While I’d graduated with a degree in business and accounting, then gone for my CPA, Christie and Cathie had been trying to figure out the best way to get an engagement ring before junior year.

Now, only a few years after they would have graduated, they both had a marriage and a divorce on their résumés. There was no actual employment unless you count the arduous task of interviewing housekeepers and divorce lawyers.

We were here at the Delecta so Christie could rope Peter and make him her latest sucker. I didn’t feel sorry for him. He was handsome, successful, and a complete *. As far as I was concerned, they deserved each other.

Dylan’s arm around my waist pulled me closer, tucking me into his side as we stopped before my family. Before they could speak, he said,

“I apologize for our lateness, it was my fault. I’m Dylan Kane.” He held out his hand to my mother, who took it, her jaw still half dropped.

“Not THE Dylan Kane?” she asked, breathlessly. I braced for the embarrassment to come. As I expected, she moved in, sidling closer so she could lay an overly familiar hand on the lapel of Dylan’s suit. “The owner of all of this? Girls, you know who Dylan Kane is!”

Before she could get any closer, Dylan eased back, stepping slightly behind me while keeping his arm firmly around my waist. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Carmichael,” Dylan said, polite in the face of her attempted groping.

Not one to give up easily, my mother giggled, a young, high-pitched sound I’d always hated. It usually meant she was up to something.

“Oh, I’m not Mrs. Carmichael. That was the girls' father’s name. I’ve moved on since then. I’m Mrs. Lowe, but you can call me Barbara.”

Unable to help myself, I went to my toes and whispered in Dylan’s ear, “The Mrs. Lowe is from husband number four.”

“Are you going to introduce me to your sisters?” he whispered back, his breath tickling my ear. I caught Christie scowling at me. She was justified. Whispering in front of all of them was kind of rude, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel badly about it.

“Only if you promise not to sleep with any of them,” I said into the side of his neck, my voice so low I knew he could barely hear. In response, I got another squeeze of his arm, followed by a light kiss to my temple.

“This is Cathie, Christie, and Christie’s fiancé, Peter,” I said, gesturing to each of them in turn.

“Nice to meet you,” Dylan said, then turned to the restaurant. “Do we have a reservation? I know it’s my fault we’re late, and I’d hate for everyone to go hungry.”

My mother finally remembered why we were there and led us to the hostess stand. A moment later, we were on our way to our table, a large circular booth surrounded by light drapes suspended from the ceiling. The design of the restaurant was intimate and cozy. Wonderful for a date, not so fabulous for a family dinner.

As we arranged ourselves in the booth, Cathie gave me a hip bump designed to send me reeling into Peter, giving her room to sit beside Dylan. Dylan refused to release his hold on my waist, and instead of letting me fall, he used my sideways momentum to slide me into the booth, with him beside me.