If I were ever going to be tempted by a pixie cut, it wouldn’t be tonight. My hair is behaving for once, pinned into a messy updo with some rhinestone clips. I tuck one stray curl back into place, then head back out through the long hallway that leads to the front of the theater. Maybe I’ll bid on that quilt I saw—
“Hey,” says this guy whose name I can’t quite recall. He’s one of Geordie’s friends . . . Albert? Alphonse? Fortunately, he isn’t trying to start a hallway chat. “Your friend was looking for you—they told me to tell you to meet up backstage.”
He must mean Carmen. “Oh, okay. Thanks.”
What could have come up? If Carmen needs a private moment in the middle of a big bash, she must be upset about something. I can’t imagine what, though. Surely this isn’t about Shay’s baby shower.
A side door seems likely to lead backstage. I go through it and see that I’m right—a few steps lead up to the wooden stage, where a couple of rehearsal items lie abandoned: a metal chair, a table, some water bottles people forgot to recycle. But I don’t see Carmen.
I go up the steps, wondering if she’s on the far side of the stage—
—and a hand closes over my elbow, hard.
In the first moment of shock, I try to pull away, staggering on my high heels. Then I realize who has me.
Jonah’s other hand closes around my mouth. He pulls me close, his gray eyes staring into mine, as he whispers, “Don’t scream.”
The growl of his voice makes me shudder—deep and commanding. Even if I didn’t know I could stop this in an instant, I might be too astonished and intimidated to cry for help. His grasp tightens—and all that does is get me hotter. He’s brought me back to the line between fear and arousal.
And Jonah’s going to hold me there as long as he wants.
He pulls me toward the back of the stage, farther away from the hallway, from anyone who might see or stop him. We’re far behind the red curtain. Beyond the velvet, the muffled sounds of the reception swirl, laughter and music; here, there’s no one but me and Jonah.
Nothing but the way he spins me around and shoves me against the back wall.
Jonah stands behind me now, both hands clutching my arms as he whispers into my ear, “You don’t move. You don’t talk. Do you hear me?”
“Yes—”
He presses his entire body against my back as he brings one hand up to cup my face. His fingers press against my cheeks. “No, no, no. Get it wrong again and you’ll be sorry. You don’t move. You don’t talk. I don’t want to hear a single sound from you. Do you understand?” I manage to nod, and Jonah laughs softly. “There we go.”
When he releases me, I remain motionless against the wall. The plaster feels cool against my shaking hands and my flushed cheek. Jonah makes a small sound of satisfaction at my obedience.
His hands slide outward along my shoulder blades, curving down and around just enough for his fingers to brush the sides of my breasts. But when he realizes I’m wearing a strapless bra, he loses interest. Instead he traces my sides, the indentation at my waist, the swell of my hips. His fingertip teases the faint ridge of my panties, tugging it down slightly even through the thin fabric of my dress. Then he begins drawing up the long skirt of the dress, slowly, the rustle of silk the only sound besides our breathing.
As my legs and ass are exposed, I feel the sleek fabric of Jonah’s trousers against my skin. He reaches around to slip his fingers down the front of my underwear, scissoring them just over my clit.
Pleasure arcs through me, and I gasp. Jonah shoves me against the wall again, and now I can feel the long pressure of his cock against my ass, straining through the smooth wool of his suit. He whispers, “You like this, don’t you? I knew you’d like it. I could tell. Because beneath your fancy dress you’re nothing but a whore.” His fingers resume their massage, slow firm circles that spiral upward inside me until I’m dizzy. “I’m going to prove what a whore you are.”
My breaths come sharp and shallow. Jonah knows exactly how to touch a woman—where to bear down, how fast to go. All the blood in my body rushes between my legs as my cunt gets hotter for him.
“Only a whore would let me do this,” Jonah whispers as I start to pant. By now the sensation is almost overwhelming. “You want it now, don’t you? I knew I could make you want it.”
Warmth ripples through me in waves. My body tightens. I’m on the brink.
Jonah’s breath is hot against the side of my face. “Don’t worry. You’re going to get it.”
That’s when he goes faster, presses harder, and I come. My orgasm crashes through me, long and hard and good. I try not to make a sound, but a soft cry escapes my lips.
He growls, “I fucking told you to stay quiet.”