I almost smile. “You wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t pretended to be your girlfriend that night.”
“How do you know?” he asks, losing the smirk. “That woman down there is a fucking bitch. She would’ve found a way to invite me to this shit with or without you. And I would’ve been here, proving to her I didn’t care anymore, with or without you. You were a bonus in all this.”
My skin becomes hot at the base of my neck, and I suddenly wish I had worn my hair up this evening.
A bonus? Has he actually enjoyed being with me tonight, despite everything?
“Fuck,” he says through a groan, drawing my attention back up from where it had wandered. His head hits the wall as he looks over the top of me. “Can’t believe I just stood there. Probably still be standing there if it weren’t for you dragging me away. I bet that bitch is laughing her ass off knowing she got to me.”
“We can leave,” I suggest.
I would completely understand if he wanted to get out of here. Reed’s discomfort isn’t worth proving a point, and I’m not sure I can handle seeing it anymore without hurling a champagne flute in someone’s direction.
He dismisses my suggestion with a jerk of his head. Releasing his hold on me, he scrubs his face again with his hands. He’s rough about it. His palms harsh against his skin. Trying to remove any trace of emotion before we go back down there.
When he lowers his hands, I falter at the hold his eyes have on me. The desperation in them. The worry that he won’t be able to handle this. He’s silent again, but my ears hear the words he’s not saying.
Please, don’t leave my side.
Please, help me through this.
Please, distract me from them.
Our lunch from the other day. The bet.
Distract him.
This man makes me do the craziest things, but I don’t feel foolish moving closer. Something comes over me as my body threatens to form against his. A drive, a need to keep him from feeling anything except what I can control.
Distract him.
Time suspends in that room. Everything seems to happen in the longest second of my life. If there was anything to stop me, his rejection would do it, but as I eliminate all space between us, as my hands run up his chest to his neck, my fingers filtering through his hair, he wraps his hands around my waist and welcomes my assault.
“I want to use my advantage now,” I say, sounding hurried. Frantic. Desperate.
“I was picking up on that.” He stares at my mouth, tilting his head down. “What do you want, sweetheart? You want to kiss me?”
“Mm.”
His breath bursts against my hair. “Mm. Is that a yes? A no? If I remember correctly, you get to do anything you want. Winner’s choice, right?”
I lift my chin, grinning, and he takes that as my decision.
He inches down, pulls me closer, closes his eyes with the tilt of his head. “Been thinking about your mouth since you first gave it to me. Can’t think about anything else.”
I suck in a breath at his admission. A pressure builds between my legs, reminding me of what all I’ve been thinking about. What I specifically thought about when I upped the stakes of the contest.
My head turns and his lips hit my temple.
“Uh . . . okay . . . something else?” he stammers into my hair.
I nod slowly, leaning back to look into his eyes. “Anything I want. This is what I want.”
My hands move down his body and take hold of his belt buckle. He groans at the brush of my fingertips against his erection.
He’s hard already. From almost kissing me?
Wetness pools between my legs as his breathing grows louder above me, as his grip on my waist threatens to bruise.
“Beth,” he moans my name before I even free him. Rousing at the very idea of what’s about to happen.
It’s so hot, so unexpected that my fingers fumble with the clasp and the belt seems to tighten instead of working lose.
“Shit.”
He laughs above me, then his hands leave my waist and take over where mine are failing. I wait, hands fisted against my stomach as he undoes the clasp on his belt and opens his pants. He grabs my wrist, forcing me to reach for him, scratching my knuckles against the zipper.
Hard flesh fills my palm. Smooth and warm.
“Reed?”
He’s staring at me through hooded eyes, his hands now back at my waist, fingers pulling at my dress. He tilts his head down. “Yeah?”
“What . . . what do you like? I want to make this good for you.” My hand explores him with tentative squeezes. Little pulses as I turn my wrist, sliding down his length.
So hard. My God, he’s so hard.
A greedy smile beams down at me. “I’m not going to have any problem with what you’re doing. But maybe a little harder?”
Nodding, I tighten around his base and pull back, watching his mouth fall open. My other hand forms to his hip. “Like that?”
“Mm. Fuck.” He winces through a moan, teeth scraping his bottom lip. “God, I’m so fucking hard. And your hand . . . fuck, Beth.”
“I love how you say my name.”
He straightens, takes his weight off the wall and stares down at me. His lips press against my temple. “Beth,” he whispers, moving to my cheek. “Beth.” His finger lifts my chin, and he groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “God, Beth.”
If he didn’t have his hands on me, I think I could float away. The rhythm I thought I had becomes clumsy. There’s no pattern, nothing predictable to my hand moving on his cock as he continues to work my name with his tongue. It’s so erotic how he gives it to me. Through moans, pressing it against my skin, whispering it into my hair. I’ve never been this turned on by a single word. And it’s my name. My name. Go figure.