Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“Gives you a reason to punish me.”
“I didn’t know I needed a reason.”
Vic swayed toward him, stretching an arm along the back of the seat, bringing that tempting mouth so close, almost daring Amani to tease that arrogant smirk away from his lips and remind him of every way Amani could coax him to melt. “Saves me a little work, then.”
Temptation pulled strong; everything felt too intense tonight, too much, striking him with such force, and he almost gave in, almost claimed that insolent and wicked mouth and tasted Vic’s every depth…but he reined himself in, pressing his fingertip to Vic’s lips and gently pushing him back.
“I am not kissing you in front of the driver.”
“Privacy window.”
“No.” Amani let his finger slip down, hooking in the little black bowless band fitted to the throat of Vic’s shirt, so much like a collar that it ignited something deep and possessive and wanting in Amani. “You can wait.”
For a moment Vic looked as though he might protest, before he smiled, bowing his head obediently. “As my Master commands,” he murmured, before leaning back to reach into the little area behind the seat back, plucking something out.
A flower. A white vanilla orchid flower, its petals dewed damp—and cool, kissing Amani’s temple as with a gentle touch, Vic tucked it behind his ear, weaving its stem into his hair.
Amani’s heart leaped forward, shuddered back, raced forward again, as the delicate scent of vanilla flooded his senses and he reached up to gingerly feel the petals. “What’s this…?”
“You smelled like vanilla, the first time I met you. You always do,” Vic said, husky, deep, that intensity radiating from him, drawing Amani in. “The flowers make me think of you.”
Swallowing hard, Amani ducked his head. No one ever made him feel like this—soft, overwhelmed, shaky with the sweet rush of surprise, of warmth. “Vic?” he whispered.
“Hm?”
“Stop talking. Stop talking and just…” He leaned over, tucked himself against Vic’s side, curled his hand against the fine fabric over his arm, and just soaked him in. “Hold me.”
l
THEY SAID NOTHING, FOR THE rest of the drive through the city. There was no need, and Amani simply leaned against Vic and breathed in his scent mingled with the scent of vanilla, and tried not to let his heart run wild.
The limo took them through night-lit streets to the Financial District, Broad Street…and a line of limousines clogging the street, trails of red headlights ahead, moving forward one at a time as they deposited people in fine glittering clothing and sharp black edges onto a red carpet rolled all the way from the elegantly column-framed front doors of a tall, stately sandstone building down to the edge of the sidewalk. Amani leaned toward the window, craning to see all the shining people, and the glow of lights from inside the building each time the doors opened and closed.
“What kind of event is this?” he breathed.
“Bit of a banquet mingler, music and dancing, followed by a live orchestra performance. Spending what you would no doubt call obscene amounts of money to raise even more obscene amounts of money for charity,” Vic answered idly, gaze trained out the window, preoccupied, not even watching the cars or guests but instead looking blankly across the street. “This one’s political. Annual drive to raise donations for the ACLU. In two weeks it’s Newcomb Textiles’ turn to host one to end child factory labor overseas.”
Amani studied him, the tight set of his brows, then rested his hand to Vic’s thigh. “You actually don’t like these things, do you?”
Vic smiled tightly. “Not really. Maybe you’re rubbing off on me. Seems like a waste to buy people’s donations with entertainment. Just write the check and do the work.” He muttered under his breath. “And believe it or not, I cannot stand most rich people. I promise you nearly everyone here tonight will be detestable and obnoxious.”
Amani chuckled, leaning over and nudging him with his shoulder. “For once, we agree on something. So is that why you really invited me here? To keep you from suffering too much?”
“Somewhat.” That smile softened. “Maybe I just wanted your company.”
“One day I’ll train you to stop flattering me.”
“That, Master,” Vic said, reaching around him, his entire body enveloping Amani in warmth as they pulled up to the curb and he flicked open the door, “is a rule I will always break.”
With the devil’s smile, then, he slipped out curbside and closed the door before rounding to the streetside and opening the door to let Amani out, reaching in to hand him out lightly. Their hands remained loosely linked as they stepped up onto the sidewalk, and not all of Amani’s shiver was from the cold as their fingertips flirted with every step.
The doors opened to admit them into a small receiving area; Vic conferred briefly with the concierge, before a coat check attendant came for Amani’s cloak. He let himself be swirled out of it, smoothing out the train of his gown, turning back to Vic.