Instagram ellopiageenos: hope you don't look back,always do what you decide


hope you don't look back,always do what you decide

He gazes at me and his face darkens. “Are you flirting with me?”“Yes, I am. What are you going to do about it?”“I’m sure I can think of something,” he says, his voice low. “Come—our table’s ready.”As we approach the table, he stops me, his hand on my elbow.“Go and take your panties off,” he whispers.
Oh? A delicious tingle runs down my spine.“Go,” he commands quietly.Whoa, what? I blink up at him. He’s not smiling—he’s dead serious. Every muscle below my waistline tightens. I hand him my glass of champagne, turn sharply on my heel, and head for the restroom.Shit. What’s he going to do? Perhaps this club is aptly named.The restrooms are the height of modern design—all dark wood, black granite, and pools of light from strategically placed halogens. In the privacy of the stall, I smirk as I divest myself of my underwear. Again I’m grateful I changed into the navy blue shift dress.
I am excited already. Why does he affect me so? I slightly resent how easily I fall under his spell. I know now that we won’t be spending the evening talking through all our issues and recent events . . . but how can I resist him?Checking my appearance in the mirror, I am bright-eyed and flushed with excitement. Issues schmissues.I take a deep breath and head back out into the club. I mean, it’s not as if I haven’t gone panty less before. My inner goddess is draped in a pink feather boa and diamonds, strutting her stuff in fuck-me shoes.
Christian stands politely when I return to the table, his expression unreadable. He looks his usual perfect, cool, calm, and collected self. Of course, I now know differently.“Sit beside me,” he says. I slide into the seat and he sits. “I’ve ordered for you. I hope you don’t mind.” He hands me my half-finished glass of champagne, regarding me intently and under his scrutiny, my blood heats anew. He rests his hands on his thighs. I tense and part my legs slightly.

He puts his hand casually on his own thigh again, and I melt. Now. Please. Touch me. My inner goddess is on her knees, naked except for her  panties—begging. He runs his hand up and down his thigh, lifts it, then places it back where it was.His hand moves up and down his thigh. My breathing spikes, but still he doesn’t touch me. It’s so frustrating. I try to concentrate on our conversation.“I seem to remember we were in a private dining room then, discussing contracts.”“Happy days,” he says, smirking. “This time I hope to get to fuck you.” He moves his hand to pick up his knife.Gah!He takes a bite out of his sea bass. He’s doing this on purpose.

His eyes light up. “I’m very glad you’re wearing a dress,” he murmurs. And bam—desire courses through my already  overheated blood.“Why haven’t you touched me, then?” I hiss.“Missing my touch?” he asks grinning. He’s amused . . . the bastard.“Yes,” I seethe.
“You’re not going to touch me, are you?”“No.” He shakes his head.What? I gasp out loud.“Just imagine how you’ll feel when we’re home,” he whispers. “I can’t wait to get you home.”“It will be your fault if I combust here on the seventy-sixth floor,” I mutter through gritted teeth.
“ We’d find a way to put the fire out,” he says, grinning salaciously at me.Fuming, I dig into my sea bass, and my inner goddess narrows her eyes in quiet, devious contemplation. We can play this game, too. I learned the basics during our meal at the Heathman. I take a bite out of my sea bass. It is melt-in-the-mouth delicious. I close my eyes, savoring the taste. When I open them, I begin my seduction, very slowly hitching my skirt up, exposing more of my thighs.He pauses momentarily, a forkful of fish suspended midair.
Touch me.After a beat, he resumes eating. I take another bite of sea bass, ignoring him. Then, putting down my knife, I run my fingers up the inside of my lower thigh, lightly tapping my skin with my fingertips. It’s distracting even to me, especially as I am craving his touch. He pauses once more.“I know what you’re doing.” His voice is low and husky.“I know that you know” I reply softly. “That’s the point.” I pick up an asparagus stalk, gaze sideways at him from beneath my lashes, then dip the asparagus into the hollandaise sauce, swirling the tip round and round.
“You’re not turning the tables on me” Smirking he reaches over and takes the spear from me—amazingly and annoyingly managing not to touch me again. No, this isn’t right—this is not going according to plan. Gah!“Open your mouth,” he commands.I am losing this battle of wills. I glance up at him again, and his eyes blaze bright gray. Parting my lips a  fraction I run my tongue across my lower lip.He  smiles and his eyes darken further.“Wider,” he breathes, his lips parting so that I can see his tongue. I groan inwardly and bite my bottom lip, then do as he asks.I hear his sharp intake of breath—he’s not so immune. Good, I am finally getting to him. My inner goddess fist-pumps the air above her chaise longue.
Keeping my eyes locked on his, I take the spear in my mouth, and suck, gently . . . delicately . . . on the end. The hollandaise sauce is mouthwatering. I bite down, moaning quietly in appreciation.He closes his eyes. Yes! When he opens them again, his pupils have dilated. The effect on me is immediate. I groan and reach out to touch his thigh. To my surprise, he uses his other hand to grab my wrist.“Oh, no you don’t” he murmurs softly. Raising my hand to his mouth, he gently brushes my knuckles with his lips, and I squirm. Finally! More, please.“Don’t touch,” he scolds me quietly, and places my hand back on my knee.
“Eat, or I’ll put you across my knee, right here, and we’ll entertain the other diners.”His words make me squirm. He wouldn’t dare! He and his twitchy palm. I press my mouth into a hard line and stare at him. Picking up an asparagus stalk, he dips the head into the hollandaise.“Eat this,” he murmurs, his voice low and seductive.I willingly comply.“You really don’t eat enough. You’ve lost weight since I’ve known you.” His tone is gentle.I don’t want to think about my weigth; truth is, I like being this slim. I swallow the asparagus.“I just want to go home and make love,” I mutter disconsolately. He grins.“So do I, and we will. Eat up.”Reluctantly, I turn back to my food and start to eat. Honestly, I’ve taken my panties off and everything. I feel like a child who has been denied candy. He is such a tease, a delicious, hot, naughty tease, and all mine.
The carnal anticipation is unfurling between us. He’s so good at this. Making me wait. Setting the scene. Between bites, he places his hand on his thigh, so close to mine, but still doesn’t touch me just to tease me further.Bastard! Finally I finish my food, and place my knife and fork on the plate.“Good girl,” he murmurs, and those two words hold so much promise.I frown at him. “What now?” I ask, desire clawing at my belly. Oh, I want this man.“Now? We leave. I believe you have certain expectations . Which I intend to fulfill to the best of my ability.”Whoa!“The best . . . of your a . . . bil . . . ity?” I stutter. Holy shit.He grins and stands.
He gazes at me darkly, like he’s undressing me, and I glory in his carnal appraisal. It just makes me feel so sexy—this beautiful man desires me. Will I always get a kick out of this? Deliberately stopping in front of him, I smooth my dress over my hips.He whispers in my ear, “I can’t wait to get you home.” But he still doesn’t touch me.
As the doors close, he briefly stoops down beside me to tie his shoelace. Odd, his shoelaces aren’t undone. Discreetly he places his hand on my ankle, startling me, and as he stands his hand travels swiftly up my leg, skating deliciously over my skin—whoa—right up. I have to stifle my gasp of surprise as his hand reaches my backside. He moves behind me.Oh my. I gape at the people in front of us, staring at the backs of their heads. They have no idea what we’re up to.Wrapping  his free arm around my waist,he pulls me to him, holding me in place as his fingers explore. Holy fucking shit . . . in here? The elevatortravels smoothly down, stopping at the fifty-third floor to let some more people on, but I am not paying attention. I am focused on every little move his fingers make. Circling around . . . now moving forward, questing, as we shuffle back.
Again I stifle a groan when his fingers find their goal.“Always so ready” he whispers as he slips a long finger inside me. I squirm and gasp. How can he do this with all these people here?“Keep still and quiet,” he warns, murmuring in my ear.I’m flushed, warm, wanting, trapped in an elevator with seven people, six of them oblivious to what’s occurring in the corner. His finger slides in and out of me, again and again. My breathing. Jeez, it’s embarrassing. I want to tell him to stop . . . and continue . . . and stop. I sag against him, and he tightens his arm around me, his erection against my hip.
Oh . . . how long is this torture going to continue? In . . . out . . . in . . . out . . . Subtly I grind myself against his persistent finger. After all this time of not touching me, he chooses now! Here! And it makes me feel so—wanton.“Hush,” he breathes, seemingly unaffected as yet two more people come aboard. Theelevator is getting crowded. Christian moves us both farther back so that we’re now pressed into the corner, holding me in place and torturing me further. He nuzzles my hair. I’m sure we look like a young couple in love, canoodling in the corner, if anyone could be bothered to turn round and see what we’re doing . . . And he eases a second finger inside me.Fuck! I groan, and I’m thankful that the gaggle of people in front of us are still chatting away, totally oblivious.
Oh, you, what you do to me. I lean my head against his chest, closing my eyes and surrendering to his unrelenting fingers.“Don’t come,” he whispers. “I want that later.” He splays his hand out on my belly, pressing down slightly, as he continues his sweet persecution. The feeling  is exquisite.Finally the elevator reaches the first floor. With a loud ping the doors open, and almost instantly  the passegers start exiting.He slowly slips his fingers out of me and kisses the back of my head. I glance round at him, and he smiles, then nods again at Mr. Badly-fitted-brown-suit who returns his nod of acknowledgment as he shuffles out of the elevator with his wife. I barely notice, concentrating instead on staying upright and trying to manage my panting. Jeez, I feel aching and bereft. He releases me, leaving me to stand on my own two feet without leaning on him.Turning, I gaze up at him. He looks cool and unruffled, his usual composed self. Hmm . . . This is so not fair.“Ready?” he asks. His eyes gleam wickedly as he slips first his index, then his middle finger into his mouth and sucks on them. “Mighty fine” he whispers. I nearly convulse on the spot.“I can’t believe you just did that,” I murmur, and I’m practically coming apart at the seams.
“You’d be surprised what I can do” he says. Reaching out, he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, a slight smile betraying his amusement.“I want to get you home, but maybe we’ll only make it as far as the car .” He grins down at me as he takes my hand and leads me out of the elevator.What! Sex in the car? Can’t we just do it here on the cool  marble of the lobby floor . . . please?“Come.”“Yes, I want to.”

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