“Are you all right, Mr. Ryan?” she asked in feigned concern and I nodded, glaring daggers at her. She shrugged and then looked back over to Joel. “So how about you? Are you from Chicago?”

With the toe of her shoe, she continued to rub gently against me and I tried to keep control of my breathing, keep my expression neutral. As Joel began telling her about his childhood and going to school with us, finally talking about his successful accounting business, I watched her expression morph from one of feigned interest to one of genuine intrigue.

I slid my left hand under the tablecloth and met the skin of her ankle, watching her jump slightly at the contact. I moved my fingertips in light circles, ran my thumb along the arch of her foot, feeling increasingly smug when she had to ask Joel to repeat himself.

But then he mentioned he’d like to meet her for lunch sometime this week. My hand came to cover the top of her foot, pressing it more firmly against my cock.

“You could spare her for a lunch break, couldn’t you, Bennett?” Joel asked with a cheerful smile, his arm resting over the back of Chloe’s chair. It took everything I had not to reach across the table and rip that arm from his body.

“Oh, speaking of lunch dates, Bennett,” Mina interrupted, tapping my arm with her hand. “You remember my friend Megan? You met her last month at the house. Midtwenties, my height, blond hair, blue eyes. Anyway, she asked for your number. You interested?”

I glanced back over to Chloe when I felt the tendons in her foot tighten, and watched her swallow slowly as she waited for my answer. “Sure. You know I prefer blondes. Might make for a nice change of scenery.”

I had to restrain from yelling out as her heel dug down and pinned my balls to my chair. Holding them there for a moment, she lifted the napkin from her lap and dabbed at her mouth. “Excuse me, I need to use the ladies’ room.”

Once she was in the house, my entire family scowled at me.

I grabbed my glass and brought it to my lips. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bennett,” my mother added, “I think you should go apologize.”

“For what?” I asked, setting down my drink a little too roughly.

“Ben!” my father said sharply, leaving no room for argument.

I tossed my napkin onto my plate and pushed away from the table. I stormed through the house, searching the bathrooms on the first two floors, until finally reaching the third floor, where the bathroom door was closed.

Standing outside, my hand resting on the knob, I debated with myself. If I went in there, what would happen? There was only one thing I was interested in, and it sure as hell wasn’t apologizing. I thought about knocking but knew for a fact she wouldn’t invite me in. I listened carefully, waiting for any noise or sign of movement from inside. Nothing. Finally, I turned the knob, surprised to find it unlocked.

I’d only been in this bathroom a few times since my mother had remodeled it. It was a beautiful, modern room with a custom-built marble counter and a wide mirror covering one wall. Above the vanity table was a small window that overlooked the patio and grounds below. She was sitting on the padded bench in front of the table, staring out at the sky.

“Here to grovel?” she asked. She took the cap off her lipstick, which she carefully applied to her lips.

“I was sent to check on your delicate petal feelings.” I reached behind me to turn the lock on the bathroom door, the audible click ringing in the silent room.

She laughed, meeting my eyes in the mirror. She looked completely composed, but I could see the rise and fall of her chest; she was every bit as worked up as I was.

“I assure you, I’m fine.” She put the cap back on her lipstick and shoved it into her purse. She stood and started to move past me to the door. “I’m used to you being a prick. But Joel seems nice. I should get back downstairs.”

I put my hand on the door as I leaned closer to her face. “I don’t think so.” My lips lightly grazed under her ear, and she shuddered with the contact. “You see, he wants something that’s mine, and he can’t have it.”

She glared at me. “What year is it? Two? Let me go. I am not yours.”

“You might think that,” I whispered, my lips ghosting along the column of her neck. “But your body,” I said, running my hands under her skirt and pressing my hand against the damp lace between her legs, “thinks otherwise.”

Her eyes closed and she let out a low moan as my fingers moved in slow circles against her clit. “Screw you.”

“Let me,” I said into her neck.

She let out a shaky laugh, and I pushed her against the bathroom door. Grabbing each of her hands, I raised them above her head, keeping them captive in my own and bending to kiss her. I felt her struggle weakly in my grip and I shook my head, tightening my hold.

“Let me,” I repeated, pressing my hardened c**k against her.

“Oh, God,” she said as her head tilted to the side, allowing me access to her neck. “We can’t do this here.”

I ran my lips down and across her collarbone to her shoulder. Shifting both of her wrists into one hand, I reached down and slowly pulled one of the ribbons holding her top together, kissing along the newly exposed skin. Moving to the other side I repeated the action and was rewarded when the bodice slipped down to reveal a white lace strapless bra. Fuck. Did this woman own anything that didn’t make me nearly come in my pants? I trailed my mouth down to her br**sts while my free hand unfastened the clasp. There was no way I was missing the sight of her bare br**sts this time. It opened easily and the lace fell away, revealing the vision that filled every one of my filthiest fantasies. As I took one pink nipple into my mouth, she moaned and her knees buckled slightly.