Chapter 14

14

L IZ

We leave the restaurant, lacking the answers that would make my life easier and his life a little better.

Meeting his ex-wife has been a setback.

And the timing of it couldn't be worse.

He had just made peace with his past––and whatever that past had done to him––when Samantha reminded him of a time when he was trapped, and the memory of that event is now ablaze.

Trauma has a way of living forever, and its ghost is even more potent than the actual event.

But none of that transpires as we walk across the room. He locks my hand before leading me to the elevator.

"Where are we going?" I ask, watching him push the floor button.

"You'll see."

Soon, I realize we're headed to the last floor.

Cold air wraps around my feet as we exit the elevator and enter the rooftop bar.

Oh. Spooky and nice.

The place is decorated for Halloween with cauldrons, jack–o–lanterns, and giant spiders, the atmospheric fog produced by the machine setting off the glowing lights.

The place is dark and sexy, with people dancing, drinking, and making out.

We no longer have profound conversations as we go straight to the bar and order drinks.

We pick them up and move to a private corner, where two bar stools and a matching table lean against the glass wall.

A lit candle spreads a faint glow over the table, while heated floors make the temperature pleasant.

Perched on my seat, I fuss with my dress, trying not to ruin it as he unbuttons his jacket and sits next to me.

He seems in his element here.

And for a second there, I wonder if he's ever lived differently.

He must've.His life hasn't always been like this.

He scoops up his drink, and I do the same.

We click our glasses and move our focus to the dance floor, yet soon after, I find myself looking out the window.

Drizzling rain makes the skyscrapers look wet and blurry.

He orders more drinks, and we talk about trivial stuff like why I study archaeology and what my plans for the future are.

I can't focus on our conversation, and neither does he.

A slow tune comes on, and we dance, embraced, yet slightly guarded and reserved, different from the two people who flew to New York for dinner and a show, not in this order.

He doesn't seem to be able to snap out of whatever dark mood he's in. But, we get more drinks and sit at the bar this time, and the more alcohol runs through our veins, the more disinhibited we become.

We laugh and flirt with each other, and he drapes his arms around me while I stand in front of him, wedged between his thighs.

"I want to peel your dress off," he says, his gaze tilted down, his eyes unfocused.

"You can do it," I say, the cocktails I've downed obliterating the rational voice inside my head.

"I can?" he tosses at me, smiling, and I laugh, convinced that we're joking.

Yet his hands move to my waist and smoothly travel to the cups of my dress.

My back is turned to the room, blocking the eyes of anyone who might want to watch us.

His back is turned to the bar.

And next to us, a man talks to his friend and has his back turned to us as well.

David rubs my nipples through the fabric of my dress, sending tingles to my legs.

As if that's not enough, and I don't already need to plant my hands on his shoulders to maintain my balance and not be all wobbly on my heels, he pushes the edge of the top down and touches my breasts.

"David…" I murmur, my smile fading.

His eyes bear a glint of hunger, and now I fully grasp that sex can dull any kind of pain, and while the results might be fleeting, that's only an excuse to have more sex.

Sex helps us connect right now, and although I don't think we should do it in public, I still lean into his touch.

"You like it," he says, and I nod only for him to see.

What's not to like?

His hands palm my breasts while his lips hover over the root of my neck.He tenderly kisses his way up my neck while kneading my chest.

My knees turn to butter while his lips reach mine.

Our breaths taste like mint and sugar as we slowly kiss.

Everything happens in slow motion. The kiss, his hands moving against my chest, and his knee pushing between mine.

My full skirt obscures his move, so nothing looks suspicious––and I doubt anyone's looking––when he sneaks his hand under my skirt and runs his fingers up my thigh.

A quiver moves through me as he trails my skin unhindered and touches the apex of my thighs.

"Don't move," he says against my lips while he slowly pulls the band of fabric between my legs to the side and touches my warm, wet flesh.

My chest tilts up and down with a troubled breath.

"You will come for me now," he whispers in my ear while I let my shoulders sag and tilt my head back, my eyes half closed.

Is he serious? No one can do that.

Holding my eyes, he nods a few times in reassurance.

He slowly strokes my clit before moving his touch to my entrance.

I'm so afraid to move and give myself away that I stay rigid, not batting a lash.

"See… You know how it's done."

I don't know how it's done.

I have no idea how it's done. And no matter how skilled he is, my brain won't allow me to enjoy myself and take that ride up before going down and crashing.

His eyes do to me what his fingers do to me.

He's an expert at making me lust after him without remorse, and we might regret this at some point, but that moment is far in the future.

That's how it feels while he teases my clit and spreads the moisture around my entrance.

"David…" I say evenly as if his fingers don't slide between my legs, his hand doesn't cup my left breast, and his lips don't move up my neck.

It all looks normal, as if he's doing nothing to me, despite his fingers on my boob and, more importantly, his other hand under my skirt.

The man to my left glances over his shoulder when he orders another drink and gets a glimpse of us, but his focus doesn't move below my chin.

He seems to get what's going on, though, and I expect him to whisk his friend away, swagger across the room, and leave us exposed to prying eyes, but my fears are totally unfounded.

Not only does he not do that, but he pivots to block his friend's view.

Perfectly aware of that, David presses his hand into my crotch, and I barely stop myself from pushing out a crying moan.

I scold him, my hands wrapped around his shoulders.

"What did I tell you?" he says, fully rubbing the spot between my legs.

"I can't do it here," I say quietly.

"You can, and you will. Think about all these people watching us."

My thighs squeeze his hand, a faint pulse swirling, becoming more daring and demanding.

He reads my face as I tilt my head back, small bursts of air leaving my lips.

The tension soars in my body, and my center throbs.

I may be open to a lot of things, but this is a first even for me. Slowly stroking my clit, he pushes the tension to a new high that threatens to break me.

"Slowly…" he says. "Just don't make any noise."

And that's probably the whole point of this––not being able to scream out my pleasure pushes me to the edge.

A shudder claims my shoulders before I reach that point, and my throbbing quickens when he squeezes a boob.

"Relax and let it come to you," he says, and when I do that, it takes a lot of effort to stop myself from kissing him with abandon, running my fingers through his hair, ripping his clothes off, grabbing his hard cock, and making him come on top of me.

Even with all that effort, the shockwaves ram through me, and I am torn.

On the one hand, I want to hump the air like crazy.

On the other hand, I drown in the unstoppable tide.

Witnessing my transformation, he gives me a smile and slowly retrieves his hand from between my legs.

"All right. Now let's go someplace to fuck," he says, reaching inside his pocket and rising from his seat.

He drops cash on the counter before accidentally bumping into the man beside us.

It turns out they know each other, so they chat for a few moments.

David is relaxed as if nothing happened while I move to his side, as far away as possible from the man's eyes.My effort is useless since the man's eyes never come my way.