Mid Life Love (Mid Life Love #1)(26)

“Why?”

“I’m just wondering.”

“Wondering why someone my age would wear something so revealing? Is that what you thought when you first saw me tonight? You don’t have to beat around the bush.” I rolled my eyes.

He sighed. “Are you really that hung up on your age?”

Unfortunately yes...

“No.” I looked up at him. “I just find it a bit odd that you aren’t. I’m not sure what to make of it yet, and the fact that you just asked me about my dress makes me think—”

“Do you want to know what I was thinking when I first saw you tonight, Claire?”

“Yes...”

“You want an honest answer or a politically correct one?”

“Honest.”

“Okay.” He released me from his arms and stepped away.

Before I could wonder where he’d gone, I felt my back pressed against his chest and his hands wrapped around my hips.

“When I first saw you tonight,” he lowered his voice and whispered in my ear, “I wanted to drag you out of here, drive you home, and f**k you in every room of my house for the rest of the weekend.”

I gasped.

“The only reason I asked about your dress is because it looks good on you—very very good on you, and if we were to date I would hope to see more like it.” He hugged me tighter. “So, can you please stop reminding me about the age thing? I honestly wouldn’t give a damn if you were sixty.”

I nodded and tried to turn back around to face him, but he wouldn’t release me.

He started caressing my thighs. “Can you promise me you’ll drop the age thing?”

“Yes...”

“Good. Because it doesn’t matter to me.” He swayed me to the music and began planting kisses along my bare shoulders.

Every kiss sent a tremor down my spine, a new fluttering butterfly against my stomach.

“Are you still free tomorrow?” he whispered.

I didn’t answer him. It’d been so long since someone affected me like this and I didn’t want his barrage of kisses to stop.

“Claire?” He kissed the back of my neck and slid a hand underneath my dress.

He must’ve realized I wasn’t wearing any panties, because his hand stilled right where the lace band should’ve been. He kissed my neck again and slowly slid his fingers down lower.

I could feel the dampness between my thighs and I heard him fail to stifle a groan.

I’m never going commando around him again...

“Answer me, Claire...” He pushed one finger inside of me and torturously moved it in and out.

Say yes...You are still free tomorrow...

He pushed two fingers inside of me, holding my body completely still with his other arm. He kept his punishing rhythm at a steady pace, kissing my bare shoulders and whispering my name—waiting for an answer.

“This is our last midnight song ladies and gentlemen,” the maestro said as the horns began to play. “After this, we will be switching back to our in house DJ and turning on the lights.”

Jonathan slowly pulled his fingers out of me.

I thought we were going to dance to the final midnight song, but he began using his thumb to massage my clit. Then he pushed his two skilled fingers in and out of me again.

Oh my god...

His pressure was perfect. His rhythm was relentless. I was sure I was going to explode in any second if he didn’t stop.

“Mr. Stath—”

“Jonathan.” He kissed my shoulder.

“I...I...” My breath caught in my throat. “Stop...”

“Not until you answer my question.” He slipped his other hand underneath my dress and once again stalled when he realized I wasn’t wearing a bra. He cupped each of my br**sts, softly pinching my ni**les, pushing me further to the edge.

I said yes...

“The song is going to go off any second, Claire, but I’ll hold you right here—just like this, with the lights on until you answer me.” He was rubbing my clit even harder—faster, and I felt intense tremors building inside of me.

“Yes.” I bit my lip to prevent myself from crying out. I didn’t want any of the other people around us to know what was going on.

“Thirty seconds until we speed things up again!” The maestro’s voice was muffled.

“Yes what?” He continued his rhythm, continued caressing my br**sts, and I couldn’t hold back anymore.

I exploded in waves around him—shuddering and convulsing, biting down on my lip so hard it was probably bleeding. My knees nearly gave out, and it took every bit of energy I had to not collapse into his arms.

“Yes...I’m...free to go out tomorrow.”

“Good.” He withdrew his fingers and spun me around. He pulled the bottom of my dress down and grabbed my hand, leading me past the stage.

He led me into a private restroom and locked the door.

Helen was right—they were nice, too nice. There was a wall length antique mirror that covered the entire left wall, a rustic chandelier with glimmering emeralds, and a sofa and chaise covered in plush red velvet.

If Jonathan had been any other man, I would’ve immediately started berating him for what he did to me on the dance floor. I would’ve said it was rude and offensive and that I would never speak to him again. But he wasn’t any other guy and I couldn’t deny that I loved every second of it; I was still entranced.