. . . or worse, ridding the world of his existence. The man’s a pig, and I’d be doing everyone a favor.
“Thank you for going through all this to protect me. I’m sorry we didn’t get the agreement you wanted from Nikolai,” Emma offers, seeing my tension.
I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, nodding tersely. “Nikolai is a smart man. For all his jumpiness, he runs his family business well. I suspect he came in to our dinner tonight with an agenda, same as me. I had to let his play out before he would allow my questions.”
Her eyes flash and a smile spreads across her mouth. “You got permission?”
I sigh. “No. Not yet. But while you and Maritziana were in the restroom, Nikolai seemed more inclined to discuss it at least. He complimented the sample I gave him, said that the decision is pending though.”
It’d been a bit of a surprise that Nikolai had shared that he wasn’t making the call himself but was following up with his father. Nikolai runs so much of the family mafia himself these days that I’d hoped to keep this between the two of us.
Nikolai is a good businessman, sees the benefit in working together on both sides of the law with a variety of shot callers. But his father is old-school, insular, and believes that the family is everything to the point of eschewing outsiders outright. It doesn’t bode well for me, but I don’t tell Emma that.
“But more importantly, he believed everything about us,” I add, steering the conversation back toward safer waters. “I’m calling it a success on that front alone. And now that that’s done, or at least the immediate threat is no longer hanging over our heads, I can’t wait to get you alone.”
I smile at her, letting the flirtatiousness of the evening come back into my tone. Though it’d been a part of our cover, the touches and eye fucking were based on something much more real. So my honest desire is totally authentic, and Emma’s response is instant, her cheeks pinkening and her breath hitching. But her smile is pure devilment as she winks and says, “Yes, sir!”
Her following giggle makes me smile too, but when I lay my hand on her thigh, all laughter stops. The time for laughter, for teasing, is over . . . and so is the time for pretending that this is just an act for her safety.
Her knees spread ever so slightly, giving me greater access, and I take advantage, running my fingertips up the soft skin of her inner thigh. With one hand on the wheel and one hand inching closer to her heat, I struggle to stay focused enough to keep us on the road when all I want to do is give her my undivided attention.
“Move your skirt for me. Let me see you.”
There’s no room for argument in my command, though we’ve only been playing at her giving me this control. But play time’s finished, and we both know it.
She looks out the window, but only the night reflects back, no headlights around us. And with a shy press of her lips, she lifts her hips against the seatbelt, shimmying her skirt up before sitting back down. Her bare ass against the leather seats gives me all sorts of filthy thoughts, as does the way the seatbelt is restraining her. It’s normally so mundane, but as her hips writhe, the strap limits her sexily, pressing into her soft skin and highlighting her curves.
Sliding my hand back up her thigh, I tease along the edge of her panties, brushing the line where silk meets skin. I stay on the edge of where we both want to be for a breath, teasing us both as she grips her thighs, keeping her hands out of my way. Unrelenting, I trace her mound through her panties, feeling the wetness already drenching through and leaving no doubt that she wants this.
I cup her pussy, grinding my palm against her clit as I press the pedal ever closer to the floorboard and the speedometer creeps even higher. We’re on the highway now, not much around . . . which is good for both of us.
“Do you think I can make you come before we even get home, kitty?” The pet name is intentional, not the lie she told me initially but a morph of it into an endearment.
Her gasp is all the answer I need, and I begin to stroke her