Absently he slides a hand along my thigh. My robe’s slid halfway open, and the warm night air actually feels good on my tender skin.
He glances down, then up. “You’ve been very quiet.”
I grin. “I was reflecting.”
“On?”
“The consequences of my behavior.”
He traces the edge of the robe. “Do you think you’ve learned your lesson?”
I shift in his lap, sore and still aching. “Yes, sir. I’d say you were thorough in your explanation.”
He raises a brow. “And you’ll be a good girl in the future?”
“Of course, Mr. Blackwell.” I try to look innocent. “I wouldn’t want a repeat of that.” Liar, liar, skirt on fire. I’m already planning my next thrift store run to fill an entire basket with micro miniskirts.
As if he’s not certain he believes me, his eyes narrow.
“In that case…” He slides his hand between my thighs, fingers stroking gently. “Do you think you’ve earned an orgasm?”
I lean in, mouth at his ear. “If it pleases you, sir.”
He smiles. “You are a good girl.”
His words make me molten.
“Stand up for me, Seraphina.”
“Yes, sir.” Then I head back inside, only to have his voice stop me in my tracks.
Turning back to him, I blink. “Xavier?”
“Get back over here.”
Then, here, outside, he lowers himself to his knees.
Holy shit.
He can’t mean…
Frantically I look around.
The balcony is filled with plenty of foliage for privacy, and no one else seems to be outside or looking in this direction. Almost all window coverings are closed, or lights are off in the rooms.
Still, this is dangerous and dirty.
And so damn arousing.
He licks my pussy. One terrible, perfect stroke.
I moan and arch.
He laughs darkly. “No. Not yet. Not even close.”
He edges me again, right there, fingers stroking slow, tongue flicking wickedly against my clit until I’m trembling, panting, begging.
Then he stops.