Читать книгу Sins Of The Flesh - J. Margot Critch - Страница 11
ОглавлениеTHE NEXT NIGHT, Rafael walked into Charlie’s Gentleman’s Club, which he’d learned was one of the classier strip clubs in San Francisco. The space was dark, like many nightclubs, and most of the light came from the stage, which was highlighted in yellow-and-red up-lights. A woman was on the stage, naked but for a G-string and a pair of platform heels, dancing to a classic rock song, and he watched her with some interest. He might have enjoyed the show more if he hadn’t been there strictly on business. The woman, though gorgeous and talented, wasn’t the woman he was there to see.
He stopped at the bar and ordered a beer, and turned around on the barstool to watch the stage. Charlie’s was not anywhere near as seedy as he’d imagined it would be. It was clean, hip and filled with mixed patrons who were all respectful and well behaved, as they took in a show and socialized.
From being in the nightclub business himself with Di Terrestres, The Brotherhood’s erotic members-only club, he knew that a safe and clean environment was the most important factor. Their club was a popular Las Vegas gathering place, an erotic playground for its exclusive clientele on every night of the week. They were the only thing like it in the city, and he was glad that he and his friends had clinched the market early on. Di Terrestres was the crown jewel of all their combined ventures and had proven to be their most profitable. In fact, being at Charlie’s in San Francisco felt kind of like being at Di Terrestres in Vegas, except that here, Rafael most certainly did not have the home court advantage. This was Jessica’s turf. But luckily, he had the element of surprise in his favor.
“Is Jessie M working tonight?” he asked the bartender over his shoulder.
She didn’t respond at first, probably not too eager to talk to a random man who was looking for one of the dancers, in particular. She rolled her eyes and went back to her work, serving other thirsty patrons. Rafael slid a fifty across the bar top.
“Is Jessie working?”
The bartender looked at it before picking it up and slipping it under the low neckline of her tank top, which was almost bursting at the seams with ample breasts. “She’s on in five minutes,” she answered.
“Sounds like I’m just in time, then,” he noted, and sipped his beer.
When the music quieted, Rafael turned back to the stage to watch the previous dancer leave, gathering her bills and clothing as she went. The buttery-voiced DJ came over the loudspeaker. “Everybody give Lola another big hand.” After a burst of clapping from the audience, he played some prelude music as he spoke over the beat. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have a special treat for you. We don’t see this lady perform here every day, but we love it every time she comes home. Tonight it is our pleasure to welcome, for one night only, the wonderful, sexy, award-winning, world-champion pole dancer, Jessie M, to our stage.”
World champion? He turned at the sound of the huge round of applause, toward the stage in time to see a Las Vegas councilwoman, his main political opponent, the opinionated thorn in his side, Jessica Morgan, Jessie M, take the stage as her music, with its fast, steady, driving hip-hop beat filled the club.
She was confident and graceful, her movements quick, trained, controlled, completely in time with the music. She was passionate as she moved about the edge of the stage, making eye contact with every patron in the first couple of rows. He knew the look. It was the same she gave when she spoke one-on-one with a person. Sure, her gaze was somehow just as intent, but it was more intimate from the stage than it was when she spoke to her constituents or colleagues. He knew the passion was there no matter what job she undertook. And to Rafael, that was admirable. She gyrated on the stage and removed the top of her stage costume, revealing a rhinestone-covered bra that pushed her already high and full breasts to an unbelievable level.
When she approached the pole in the middle of the stage, Rafael pushed away from the bar and walked closer; then he took a seat at an empty table next to the stage. He almost missed it when, in one quick spin, she was at the top of the pole. She wrapped her legs around it and inverted her body, holding herself aloft with just the strength of her thigh muscles, gripping the metal, while somehow managing to still spin. With careful, deliberate moves, she lowered herself down the pole. He bit back a groan, as she spun again and held herself by her arms as she performed moves of acrobatics and flexibility, as if it were as natural as breathing. Rafael was in great shape himself, but he wasn’t sure if he possessed the sheer strength that Jessica was exhibiting onstage while she worked the pole.
As he watched her, he felt his temperature rise as a flush of desire broke out all over his body. She might be his political rival. He might have gone to San Francisco to bust her. But goddamn, watching her perform was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. She stood in front of the pole and dipped low, spreading her legs. Then pushing herself back up and popping her round, firm ass at the audience, she undid the snap between her breasts with a quick flick of her fingers and shrugged off her bra.
Rafael’s breath stopped in his chest as the article of lingerie hit the floor, the rhinestones clattering on the stage. Now topless, she held the pole and ground against it, her hips moving to the thrum of the music. She reached back and undid the bow that held her skirt together, and it fluttered to the floor, as well. Now wearing only a thong and her high-heeled shoes, she did a few more spins around the pole. Meanwhile, Rafael left his beer untouched, the rest of the room was forgotten, and he watched her as she swayed and swiveled under the spotlight, so comfortable there.
It was impressive, and Rafael sat back as Jessica commanded the crowd. She dropped to her knees on the stage, she crawled slowly over to him. Then, in a controlled movement that involved every muscle of her upper body, she pushed her chest down to the floor, and then arched her back, gracefully pushing herself up. Maintaining eye contact, as she danced for only him at the edge of the stage, Rafael reached into his wallet and pulled out a one-hundred-dollar bill. He stood close enough to slip the bill in the string of her thong over her hip, letting his fingers graze her soft skin. She winked at him and blew a sultry kiss, but the realization dawned in her eyes, followed briefly by panic, then fear. She knew it was him, but somehow schooled her reaction to keep cool, then she sauntered away as the lights dimmed and the music stopped. The crowd erupted in applause for Jessica. But Rafael took a seat, certain that she would come find him.
He sat stunned, his heart pounding, his dick straining against his zipper, as he watched his competitor in the Las Vegas mayoral race, almost naked, gathering her clothing and the various bills that had been thrown across the stage, trying not to look directly at him. He had shaken her. He’d gone to San Francisco to bust her, to make her quit her campaign, which would hand him a tidy victory by default. But something had sparked a change in him. He was no longer quite as interested in outing her, and now he was intrigued, and he wanted to know more about her. More than what she looked like dancing in a thong and high heels, he reasoned.
* * *
Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.
It was him.
Jessica stepped behind the curtain and emerged backstage, where the other dancers were preparing, chatting, lounging between their own performances. She’d danced a great set, and performing always left her with a rush and gloriously fatigued muscles. She relished the lights, the applause, but she’d almost passed out when she saw Rafael Martinez standing next to the stage. The bill he’d slipped into her G-string was still there, wedged between the polyester and her hip. She could still feel the way his fingers had grazed her skin as she pulled it out, frowning when she saw the denomination. A hundred dollars? What is he doing here?
She’d been able to keep her cool out on the stage, when she’d looked down and realized it was him sitting there, front row. Rafael Martinez. He was in her club, he’d seen her dance and now everything was over for her. He was there to bust her, he would tell everyone that she was a dancer, ruin her career, her life, everything she’d worked for. So, she’d maintained eye contact with him when she recognized him, then she’d stood straight and held her head high as she left the stage.
The more she thought about it now, however, her bravado waned. Her hands shook, and she could barely maintain her grip as she fisted her costume, and her money. She had to get dressed and face him. Reminding herself that she had nothing to be embarrassed about, she felt her anxiety diminish. But she knew that in his hands, he held the power to destroy her dreams. She had to see what he was doing there, and somehow try to convince him to keep her secret.
“Hey, great set, Jessie,” one of the other girls said, but she couldn’t be sure who said it. She was too focused on figuring out a way to save everything she stood to lose. She dressed quickly in a skirt and T-shirt, and toyed briefly with cutting out the back door, to get away without seeing Rafael, or even siccing one of the bodyguards on him. But neither of those things would solve her problem. She would have to see him at some point, better here at her regular club than at a debate. Taking a deep breath, Jessica steeled her resolve and stepped out from the back room to find him.
She looked around the club and, ignoring the glances of the patrons who’d just seen her perform, she found Rafael almost immediately, sitting at the table near the stage, casually sipping from his beer bottle and already watching her, his lips curved upward in a smug, amused smirk. Goddamn him. Straightening her shoulders, portraying what she hoped was an air of confidence, she walked toward him.
Taking a seat, she slid his one-hundred-dollar bill across the table to him, then leaned back. “I’m not taking your money,” she told him, crossing her arms.
“Then how will I pay for my private dance?” Rafael asked, his right eyebrow raised. “I’m a customer.”
The man was unbelievable. “You aren’t getting one. And I don’t care who you are. I don’t do private dances. I haven’t in years.”
“This is a good time to break that streak, isn’t it?” he asked with a sly smile.
“If I did, you certainly wouldn’t be the recipient. What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he returned, taking an easy look around the club. She followed his eyes, watching women casually stroll through, wearing skimpy lingerie, if they were dressed at all.
She scowled. A new dancer had come out and the attention of everyone else in the club had turned to the stage as music filled the room. “Are you going to answer any of my questions?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think I need to. I’m the one who’s here for answers.”
She sighed. “What do you want?”
He lifted his wrist, and she saw from the large face of his Hublot watch that it was after 3:00 a.m. She rolled her eyes at him—that watch could pay her mortgage for at least a couple of months. Such pointless luxury. Yeah, he was certainly a man of the people, she thought with scorn.
“What do I want?” he repeated. “Well, right now, I kind of want an early breakfast,” he told her, leaning across the table. “Want to join me?”
She looked at him, in his casual clothing. He looked good in his suits, but in street clothes, he looked great. No, she didn’t want to go anywhere with him, and she was about to tell him as much, but she needed to figure out what his plan was with his new information. It had been a while since she’d eaten, and betraying her, her stomach rumbled loudly. “There’s a twenty-four-hour diner a couple doors down if that suits you. They have a pretty good breakfast menu. Unless you want something fancier, but in this neighborhood, you might be out of luck. And—” she gestured to his watch “—you probably shouldn’t flash that piece around here.”
“I’m not too worried about it. I can defend myself if I need to. But that diner sounds great,” he said with a smile, standing. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Being seated across from Rafael in the diner was a surreal experience for Jessica. She was physically tired from her performance, but she was mentally exhausted trying to figure out a way out of her current predicament, afraid that her secret would ruin her, but she couldn’t help looking at Rafael, regarding him quietly, trying to figure him out.
She had always been attracted to him, since the day she’d first met him. But she’d never let herself get close to him, and on only a few occasions had she ever been one-on-one with him. The reason why? Those dark brown eyes, his deep, low voice that flowed from his lips, effortlessly transitioning between Spanish and English. He was normally so polished, looked every part the well-put-together politician. But at three o’clock in the morning, the dark shadow of a beard colored his strong jaw and his hair was slightly disheveled, and it made her fingers itch with the need to reach across the table and smooth it. He looked rugged in nice but worn jeans and a fitted black V-neck T-shirt. It showed that there might be more to him than the arrogant politician-slash-businessman.
They looked at each other, not saying anything. She imagined that, like her, he was trying to figure out what to make of their current situation. Silent, until the shadow of the waitress fell over their table.
“What can I get for you folks?” she asked them, barely looking up at them from her notepad, seemingly unaware of the tension that radiated between Jessica and Rafael.
“I’ll have a coffee,” Rafael said.
“How do you take that?”
“Black.”
“And you, hun?” She turned to Jessica.
“I’ll have tea. Something herbal, if you got it.”
“Lemon okay?”
“Sounds good.”
“Any food?”
“No.” She shot a pointed look at Rafael. “I’m not hungry.” She was, in fact, starving, but she couldn’t afford to spend any longer in his company than she needed to.
The server turned to Rafael, pen poised to take his order. “Nothing else for me, either. Thanks.”
When the waitress walked away, Jessica folded her arms and leaned across the table. “I thought you wanted breakfast.”
“Well, I don’t want to order food if you aren’t going to have any. I can’t have you seeing my food, getting jealous and stealing any of my bacon.” He said, serious, before flashing a bright smile at her.
Flabbergasted, Jessica shook her head. Rafael had her at his whim, and he sat there joking. “So, what now?” she asked him, ignoring his attempts at humor. She needed to get down to business. “Are you going tell the press? Or leak the fact that I strip online? Or just plain old blackmail me into dropping out of the mayoral race altogether?”
Rafael honestly seemed to consider his response. “That was my first thought. But, you know, it’s not really my style to go to the press. Maybe I’ve had a change of heart. I’m not a snitch. And God knows I’ve got my share of skeletons.”
“Oh, really? So, what then? What are we doing here?”
He shrugged. “Intrigue, maybe? I guess I was curious why a fairly popular city councillor and mayoral candidate has stripping as a side gig.”
“Only fairly popular? Check the latest polls, bud.”
“Polls don’t mean anything,” he said with a wave. “Up, down, whatever. The only thing that matters is election night.”
She sighed. “I’m going to ask once more—what are we doing here? It’s late, and I’m too tired for this.”
“Why do you do it? Is it the money? Councillors make a decent salary.”
The waitress reappeared with her tea and Rafael’s coffee. When she shuffled off again, they both sipped from their cups until Jessica spoke again. “It’s fun, it’s empowering and I’m good at it. And it isn’t a side gig. For a long time, stripping was my full-time job. I know I won’t be able to do it for much longer without being found out, especially not when I’m mayor.”
“You are good at it. One of the best I’ve seen.” He nodded and looked her over. His heated gaze made her breath halt. “You’re still so confident that you’re going to win? I’m also curious what the more conservative Las Vegans would think about your job when they find out?”
She said nothing, bristling at the implication, still unsure of what his plans were. “When they find out? I thought you weren’t going to tell.”
He chuckled, and the sound resonated deep within her, and she realized that she’d never heard him laugh before. Hell, she’d barely even had a conversation with him. And damn him, she was starting to like it. He took a sip of coffee and leaned closer. “Why don’t we get out of here?” he asked, his deep and dark tone told her exactly where he wanted to go with her.
She stilled. And that was it. Angry words bubbled to her mouth. She leaned across the table and pointed her finger in his face. “I’m not going to sleep with you to keep your mouth shut. You can forget that.”
He blinked quickly, and paused, as if he were trying to choose the right words. “Trust me, sweetheart, I’ve never had to resort to blackmail to get a woman into my bed. I’m not about to start now.” His eyes searched her upper body, and she felt the burn from them. “No matter how good of an idea it might be.” She remained unconvinced, and tried to stop herself from thinking about him getting her into his bed. He kept going, and she had to focus her attention to hear what he was saying. “You clearly have the wrong idea about me,” he started. “You don’t seem to like me very much.”
A shocked laugh made its way past her lips. “How fragile are you? Is that what you’re worried about? People not liking you? So what if I don’t? You’re everything I don’t like, everything that’s standing in the way of real change.”
“No, not quite.” He held up his hand, cutting her off. “I know that there are quite a few people around town who don’t like me, and I don’t care. But for some reason, I’m just concerned about you not liking me.” He paused to let it sink in. “I’m not a bad guy, Jessica, really. And even though you think you know a lot about my life and my upbringing, you really don’t. And that’s unfortunate. And seeing as how we’re spending so much time together lately, going to the same events, I think we should get to know each other.”
She rolled her eyes, used to having men propose that they get to know each other. “I’m sure you do.”
“Come on.” He smiled. “My closest friends, at least four people who aren’t blood-related, agree that I’m actually a pretty great guy.”
“And what if I already feel like I know enough about you?”
He yawned. “You know, it is pretty late. We should probably go. My flight leaves in a couple of hours.”
“Wait. We aren’t done discussing what you’re going to do with the information you plan to hold over my head.” His constant switching of gears, changing the conversation, had her experiencing whiplash.
He shrugged. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with it yet. Maybe I’ll give you the opportunity to plead your case. Spend some time with me when we get back to Vegas. I’m sure we can talk through this.”
“I don’t have time to spend with you. I have to work.”
“Stripping or campaigning?”
She seethed. “Campaigning. I don’t strip in Vegas.”
“That’s unfortunate for Vegas.” He frowned, looking her up and down. She was grateful for the table, as it stopped his gaze from lighting the rest of her on fire.
Jessica looked across the table at him. His dark brown eyes were warm, disarming and held the slightest bit of humor. Part of her knew all she needed to know about Rafael Martinez—that he was a self-interested businessman. It wasn’t common knowledge just how deeply lined his pockets were, or just how well connected he was in the local business scene, but she’d learned enough in her time working with him to know he wasn’t what Las Vegas needed right now. But she was attracted to him, there was no denying that. Just looking at him stirred the interest between her thighs. Maybe the other part of her wanted to get to know him in a physical way. Either way, she was too exhausted to put up much of a fight. She wanted to sleep, and she would let her brain and her loins fight it out tomorrow. She blew out an impatient breath. “Fine. What do you have in mind?”
“I don’t know. How about dinner tomorrow night? A drink or two. We’ll talk.”
“We can talk now.”
He looked around the restaurant. “Nah,” he told her, shaking his head. “Let’s do it when we get back to Vegas.”
“I get it. You want the hometown advantage, hey?”
He grinned again. “Maybe you know me better than I thought.”
Her energy was flagging, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to stand up to him much longer. “Okay, fine, I’ll have dinner with you.” She could spare at least an hour, to talk to him and keep her secret life exactly that. She paused. “This sounds an awful lot like blackmail, though.” He was sipping his coffee, but his eyes smiled at her from behind the mug. “So, how did you find out I was here?”
“I don’t know how that matters.” He shrugged. “I found you, either way.”
Unbelievable. His reluctance to tell her made her angry. “Are you not going to tell me anything? How dare you just waltz into my personal life and completely turn it upside down by holding this over my head, and then not even explain how you found out?” She watched him, noting how sure and confident he was, sitting in the booth. She rolled her eyes, put down her mug of tea and stood. She threw a twenty-dollar bill on the table for the tab—she didn’t want to owe him anything. “I don’t have time for your mind games, Rafael. I’m tired, and I just want to go back to my hotel.”
He stood after her. “Jessica, wait. I’m not letting you leave alone in a neighborhood like this.”
Feeling the rage rise from her core, she huffed out a breath. “You know, I feel safer in a neighborhood like this, than I do in your world,” she sneered, then turned away from him and headed for the door. “Where a man can just steamroll over another person, with no warning, no reason. You know what? I’m done with you. Tell people whatever you’d like.” She just wanted to get away from him.
“Jessica, wait,” he called again, and she turned in time to see him also throw a twenty on the table. At least their waitress would have a good tip. He caught up to her. “At least let me get you a cab.”
“I can get my own cab.”
He looked up and down the street, and saw the road was empty but for a lone taxi coming toward them. It stopped, and Rafael opened the back door for her. “Mind if I share? There don’t seem to be any others around.”
Jessica thought about refusing, but she looked him over in his designer jeans and her gaze snagged on that watch. Pretty boy wouldn’t last a second. No matter what she thought of him, any harm that befell him would be on her hands for leaving him there. “Whatever. Come on.” She shuffled inside the cab, but she found herself against the hard plastic of a child’s car seat that was strapped into place behind the driver, unable to move beyond the middle seat. Rafael then got in after her, firmly trapping her in her place.
* * *
Rafael was surprised by the lack of space in the back seat of the car, and the closed confines made him squeeze his body against hers so he could shut the door. His arm and thigh pressed against hers. Her skin was warm and smooth against his, and interest stirred deeply inside of him. The crackle of electricity that danced between them was like a live wire. He looked over at her, and she sat rod-straight, looking directly out the windshield, ignoring him entirely. He wondered briefly if she’d felt it, too. He shifted again, just to see, brushing her arm as he moved. He got his answer when she drew in a quick breath between her teeth, like a gasp, and she quickly shifted away from him, putting as much distance between them as she could. Which wasn’t much.
“Where to?” the cabdriver asked. Rafael looked in the mirror and saw the eyes of the driver. Jessica gave him the address of her hotel.
“And you, buddy?”
“Drop the lady off first, then we’ll worry about me,” he said, not taking the chance that the driver would drop him off first. Rafael’s protective nature pulled at him. This late at night, well, early in the morning, he wanted to make sure Jessica got to her hotel safely before he got out of the car. The driver shrugged, indifferent to Rafael’s answer, and pulled away from the curb.
They drove in the tense silence of the car, their bodies pressed together. Every time Jessica tried to shift away from him, he felt her soft skin rub against his own, and the contact caused a familiar stirring in his groin. He’d always thought she was gorgeous, but Jesus, since seeing her performance on the stage, there was no fucking doubt that he wanted her. As his dick came to life in his lap, he tried to think of anything that would dissipate his desire. Baseball, Antiques Roadshow, Monopoly, the three-hour Easter vigils his mother dragged him to as a child. Nothing worked. He coughed to clear the lump in his throat.
Jessica was facing forward, looking out the windshield of the car as they made their way to her hotel. But Rafael kept his eyes on her. He’d harbored at least one or two (dozen) fantasies about the woman beside him, most of them capturing his imagination at the duller moments during their city council meetings, or during mind-numbing political dinners and fund-raisers. She was intelligent, tough, articulate, goddamn sexy. Since campaigning had begun, she always had an opinion about something he proposed, and she was a continual thorn in his fucking side. They were political opponents, and she took potshots at him any chance she got, while he did the same. But pressed against her in the back seat of a San Francisco taxi, all he wanted to do was kiss her. But he had to stop himself; he couldn’t let on what he was feeling, and he hoped that the bulge of his stiffening dick wasn’t plainly obvious to her. He looked down at her, her features highlighted in the light of the dash. She was beautiful, soft, vulnerable. As a man who was so normally in control of his desires, he tried to fight his need. But he wasn’t sure he would win.
Perhaps feeling his eyes on her, Jessica turned her head and they locked eyes. The air between them was still charged. Jessica said nothing, but her lips parted; the movement was small, but he caught it. Before he knew he was doing, Rafael reached for her and, putting his palms on either side of her face, brought her lips to his.
She was hot, sweet, and the moment his lips hit hers, he knew she would either reciprocate, fall into his kiss, or smack him with rejection. At first, she was stiff, but when he took her bottom lip between his own, nibbling her lightly, she sighed and softened, yielding to him. She lifted her hands and fisted them in the front of his T-shirt as her lips parted with his. She tasted like lemon from the tea she’d had at the diner, and her tongue dueled with his as he tried to maintain control of the kiss.
He reached across her, unsnapped her seatbelt and pulled her into his lap, so that both of her legs draped over one of his thighs and his dick, rock hard, drove into her lush ass. The low ceiling of the car didn’t give them a lot of room, and she had to duck her head. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers fisting his hair, and he kissed her harder as she lowered them, running her hands over her shoulders, down his chest. Rafael was harder than he’d ever been in his life, and he needed to be inside of her.
He knew that they were in the back of a cab, and that they had an audience in the driver, but he didn’t care, and from the way her lithe fingers made their way under his shirt, and up his chest, she didn’t, either. The hand that rested on her bare thigh skimmed upward, until he was under her skirt. Her legs parted slightly, and he took it as an invitation to go further. When his fingers hit the satin barrier of her panties, he slipped past them and, again, she offered no resistance. He about shook with desire as his fingers found her hot flesh, already slick with her need. His fingers circled her clit, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, clutching him, pulling him closer. She cried into his mouth. Oblivious to the driver in the front seat, Rafael slid one finger and then another inside of her. She gripped his fingers from the inside, and he began to slide them in and out, as the heel of his hand pressed against her clit, his movement almost made effortless by how wet she was. He imagined that it was his dick, and he groaned into her mouth. Jessica’s breathing quickened. Her every physical response, her shallow breath, the way she spread her legs wider, allowing him greater access, the small desperate sounds that she made in his mouth, told him that she was coming.
He considered taking her then and there, as his cock about threatened to burst through his jeans, and he would have, if not for the sound of a throat clearing from the front seat. The driver, requiring their attention. He pulled away from her long enough to look at the other man. “Fuck,” Rafael muttered.
“Miss, we’re at your hotel,” the driver announced, looking straight out the windshield.
“Oh, right,” she said, her voice shaking, with her impending release, and his hand still between her legs, neither of them making any effort to move.
With one hand at the back of her head, he pulled her to him again, not letting her get away that quickly. He kissed her again. “Invite me up,” he told her, just a breath of electric air was all that separated them, his lips skimming hers with every word.
She said nothing, as he held his breath, waiting for the okay to go up with her and continue the night. But as the haze of desire cleared from her eyes, a look of shock replacing it, she gave him a soft “no” and pushed herself from his lap. “I can’t.”
His need for her numbed the surprise he felt by her refusal. Most women didn’t refuse him, especially after he made them feel the way he just had. But Jessica was different. She disengaged from him, taking her seat next to him. He immediately missed her heat, her slight weight against his dick. And they both remembered that because of the car seat that blocked the door nearest her, he had to get out to release her. “Move, please,” she said, her breath still heavy and matching his own.
He could have remained seated, insist again that they spend the night together. But she was right, and he knew it. They couldn’t. They shouldn’t. So, he nodded and got out of the car, adjusting the near-painful erection that threatened the integrity of his jeans zipper. She stood and opened her purse and withdrew her wallet.
“I’ve got the taxi,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I pay for my own ride,” she told him, putting some money on the back seat of the car, and before he could insist she take it back, she was already halfway to the hotel door. Rafael got back into the cab and blew out a breath. Jessica might pay for her own ride, but he knew that he would pay dearly for it, as well.
