Arranged(19)

I blushed harder, but for different reasons. Was that the reason I hadn’t seen him for a month? Was I flattering myself to assume that he even needed to have a reason not to see me?

I made myself meet his eyes and speak clearly. “It was my first time. And I’d never had that much to drink. I wasn’t sick because of that.”

He almost had his fingers out of me, but at that he pumped them back in to the hilt. “Well, that’s a relief.”

I gasped, ready to go all over again. “Please,” I whimpered.

He took my mouth briefly, his fingers dragging free of me. He spoke against my lips, but his words did not match the softness of his touch. “Show’s over. It’s time to go. Put yourself together. Straighten your dress. Once your legs are steady, go to the bathroom and fix your hair and makeup. And for God’s sake,” he continued harshly, “try to wipe that fuck me look off your face.”

I pulled away from him with deliberate slowness. It was an effort not to flat out recoil.

There was a knot of sick tension in my stomach as I did as he’d instructed, putting my dress to rights, grabbing my bag, and walking with as much dignity as I could muster to the restroom.

My mind was spinning with the way he went hot and cold on me with every step I took away from him, his last words echoing in my mind. Talk about mood swings.

I took my time in the powder room, smoothing out my hair, touching up my makeup.

I wondered what went through his head. I wondered if I really wanted to know. He probably just found me foolish and irritating. It was a chore for him to even pretend to go on a date with me. And the one time we’d had sex . . .well, that hadn’t endeared me to him much.

I exited the restroom with an optimistic mind toward turning it all around. There wasn’t much I could do about his affections or lack thereof, but the attraction between us was so real and visceral that it had its own pulse. We could at least make that one thing between us live up to the potential that was obvious to even no-experience practically still a virgin me.

Or at the very least, we could work toward making it an upgrade from our wedding night.

I was determined that this time when he left me, it would be with better memories than watching me rushing to the toilet and throwing my guts up right after he finished.

When I returned to the table, he was scowling at his phone.

“Something wrong?” I asked, sliding back into the booth beside him.

He instantly put his phone away, features smoothing into neutrality. “No. Are you ready to go?”

I nodded, rising again.

He didn’t touch me as we moved through the crowded back dining room to the more crowded lounge. Even when we made the short trip from the front door to the backseat of a limo, there was no contact at all.

I thought that was odd. If this was all for show, why was he being so visibly distant in such a public place?

I studied him as the car started moving and realized that, going by his demeanor and expression, he was deeply upset about something. I wanted to ask him again if something was wrong, but made myself refrain. He’d made it very clear that he didn’t care for those kinds of questions from me.

I glanced toward the front of the long cabin. The partition was up. I didn’t even know who was driving. Was it his regular driver? Did he have a regular driver? I assumed he did, since I’d been assigned one, but it was only a guess. I knew next to nothing about his day to day life.

“Let’s find out what you’ve learned,” he broke the silence. The words were so unexpected that I didn’t respond at first. I only stared at him. He motioned me closer until we were nearly touching.

Abruptly he opened his slacks, pushing them down to expose the thick, heavily veined length of his shaft. Without another word, he cupped the back of my head and pushed it down.

I was shocked but I caught on quick. I took him in my mouth. I rubbed my lips around his thick tip. It felt like velvet. I eased him slowly deeper. He was larger and harder than I was expecting. No wonder it had hurt so much our first time.

I cupped him in both hands, caressing him from root to tip. I liked the feel of him, warm and eager and overwhelming.

He groaned. The sound made me want to purr.

I took him deeper, inching my lips up his silky length, laving him with my tongue as I worked him deeper. It was heady, the taste of him, the feel of him rearing against the roof of my mouth. I liked it. I was already primed from what he’d done to me in the restaurant, but I knew innately that performing this act would have turned me on on its own.

Well wasn’t that some ironic icing on my precariously arranged cake?

I didn’t realize I’d paused midway down his length until I felt him move under me. His hips churned. He held my head still, his erection thrusting up at me impatiently.

With a hungry moan, I took him as deep down my throat as he would go. I started moving on him, my head bobbing slowly up and down, my hands gripping, sliding, stroking, getting mixed up in my saliva until it was a smooth glide. My hands worked his base while my mouth sucked and stroked at him from mid-shaft to tip. I worked into a well-balanced rhythm, sucking him as deep as I could and jacking at him firmly with my hand. I was so involved that a few times my lips met my own hands and I was caught off guard at the contact.

I paused when he gripped my hair suddenly, rolling my eyes to glance up into his face.

Holy shit. I actually liked the half-crazed look in his eyes, the way the skin around his cheekbones was taut with strain, his telling grip.