“Is that still bothering you?”
“Yes, that’s still bothering me. It’s worse now, actually.”
I grin. “And why is that?”
“Because now I know what you feel like under that strip of fabric and I don’t want anyone else thinking about it.”
“Get over it, Fent,” I laugh.
He shifts his weight. “I remember having a discussion that you wouldn’t go out like that without me. And then you go off and nullify our agreement.”
“You told me not to wear it,” I say, smiling sweetly. “And that, Mr. Abbott, is not a discussion or an agreement. That’s you being an asshole and me choosing to ignore you.”
That does it. The corner of his mouth twitches. “Is that what happened?”
“I’m a grown woman. If I want to wear a bikini to a pool, I will. I don’t need your approval to do that. And if you want the truth, you telling me not to is probably going to guarantee I do it again just to prove a point. Although,” I tease, “I do kinda like you not wanting anyone else to see me. So I’ll take that under consideration next time.”
“Next time?”
“Yes. Next time.”
“You’re frustrating.”
“So it’s been said. Now,” I say, switching topics, “Let’s discuss why your day was so bad otherwise. What happened?”
Only because I’m paying attention do I see his shoulders drop a touch forward. It’s a sign of defeat—or at least a battle he’s taking a hit in. I have no idea what to say because I have no idea why he’s even here in Vegas. Something about the way he stands, his posture, the distant look in his eye makes him seem lonely.
I move across the room without saying a word and grab his hand. He watches me with uncertain eyes, but lets me usher him to the bedroom.
My heart thumps wildly, his hand so warm and strong against mine. He holds it possessively and I vaguely wonder if this goes back to the bikini conversation—to him asserting his control—but I dismiss it. I’ll think about that later. Right now, I want to make him feel, just like he did to me last night.
“Sit,” I breathe, pointing to the bed. He drops onto the edge, his weight causing the mattress to dip. He rests his hands on his knees and looks up at me through his thick lashes.
Summoning every bit of self-confidence I can find, I lift the hem of my t-shirt and pull it slowly over my head. I toss it to the side, keeping my gaze glued to his. He doesn’t move, doesn’t react except for the swallow I see bobbing in his throat.
I pull my hair into a messy bun at the top of my head and then turn in an unhurried circle. I can hear my heart beating in my ears, my confidence a little shaky. I’ve never done something so forward in front of a man before, least of all a man like Fenton that has probably seen women entirely more beautiful than me. Regardless, I want to do this for him. I want to distract him from his day, make him feel the way he made me feel.
His eyes are wide when I face him again, his mouth hanging slightly open. Silently, I cheer that this is working. On the outside, I try to play it off like I do this all the time.
“Do you see this?” I ask, cocking my head to the side.
“Oh, I fucking see it.”
“Good. Because lots of men might have seen this today.”
His jaw clenches, his eyes burning. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, but you’re—”
“Fenton? Shut. Up.” I saunter towards him with all the nonchalance I can find, and stop right in front of him. I pick up his hand again. His skin is hot, his palm sweaty. It’s dizzying how much this man can push the buttons to my libido without even trying.
I lift his other hand and his brows lift too. He’s unsure what’s happening. Hell, I am too.
I place each of his hands on my sides. His neck rolls around under his tie, his nostrils flaring.
Any attempt at hiding my state of intoxication is futile. If his fingers would only drop a few inches lower, he’d feel how wet I am for him. I can’t let that happen because I know if it does, he’ll take over and I don’t want that. Not yet.
“Do you feel this?”
His fingers press harder into my body. “Yeah. I feel this,” he groans.
I lay my hands over his, holding his palms against my sides. “Good. Because no man touched this today.”
He jerks me forward until his chin is nearly touching my breasts. I can feel his hot breath brushing over my skin. My nipples harden, my pussy clenching as he overtakes all of my senses.
“I cannot tell you how lucky that makes you.” He presses a kiss on my sternum. “And him.”
“I didn’t mean to make you mad.”
He rests his forehead against my chest, his hands sliding down my back, over my ass, and to the backs of my thighs. He holds me in place, virtually wrapping himself around me.