Millie

If I had thought Lochlan was delicious in gray sweats and a Henley, then he was irresistible in a Tom Ford tux. Every so often, I forced myself to glance out the tinted windows of the limousine and pretend like I was enjoying the glow of New York City in the dark when really all I wanted to do was stare at the perfect specimen of a man sitting on the plush leather seat beside me.

This is not where I saw things going after returning to him yesterday. My lady parts clenched at the memory, and I hoped Lochlan was looking out his own window so he didn't witness me squeezing my thighs together to ease the ache. It was an ache I'd desperately wanted him to address last night, but something had shifted between us—or for him, at least. It would seem he was intent on being the perfect gentleman, and if we weren't currently on what I could only describe as a date, I might think he was no longer interested in me.

This morning, I woke to a note on my bedroom door this morning telling me he had to run into work for a few hours. He taped a credit card to the note with instructions to pick up accessories for the present he'd left for me on the sofa. A giddy thrill ran through me—not because of the future shopping spree—but because being allowed to leave the apartment without him spoke of a tenuous trust forming between us.

That thrill tapered out the moment my eyes fell on the door to his office, reminding me that everything between us was an illusion. Attempting to look casual, I twisted the knob on the door, and as I suspected, it was locked. I would be lying if I said it upset me. Every delay meant more time with Lochlan and more time to figure a way out of this mess without hurting a man who was beginning to mean something to me.

Lochlan's gift was a stunning cocktail dress. In red, of course. I grinned, enjoying the idea that this was the color he thought of when he thought of me. It was a one shoulder satin piece with an asymmetrical sleeve drape and a thigh slit sure to make him regret his choice. But perhaps my favorite part of the dress was how it gathered at the hip to enhance my curves and make my waist look narrower.

I found myself hesitant to put it on because it felt too much like my old life—dressing for the con. Every single detail carefully considered for its impact. Did this man like a bolder look? Was he more conservative? Did I need to blend in or stand out? And even though it really wasn't, tonight felt different. Lochlan was different. So when I went shopping for shoes and jewelry, I did something I'd never done before. I picked items I liked.

I also looked at other dresses while I shopped in case I found something I liked better. Lochlan wouldn't be upset. Of that, I was certain, but nothing spoke to me the way his dress did, and when I put the outfit together later in the evening, I looked in the mirror and saw a woman I recognized for the first time in a long time.

Unsurprisingly, the dress fit perfectly.

"Millie? You okay?"

Blinking, I recoiled from the window and frowned. When had we stopped? Lochlan pressed two fingers to the top of my exposed thigh. I turned and found him watching me with a concerned expression.

"We've stopped."

He laughed. God, seeing him laugh was like seeing him in the tux. Prickles spread across my skin, and tension coiled in my gut. It was nearly too much to bear, but was so was the thought of ever seeing him frown again. Lochlan Sloan was made to laugh.

"Sorry. I must have zoned out."

"Always an ego booster for a man on a date."

"So, this is a date."

"Ouch. But that makes me wonder what dates you're used to if you have to ask."

A bit of guilt speared through me. Ones not so very dissimilar to this one. Lots of glam and flash. Only the emotions and sexual tension churning between us made this feel very, very real.

The fingers on my leg moved in circles, inching up until the only place left to go was beneath the dress. My breathing quickened, and my breasts threatened to pop out of the low cut dress. Thin silk fabric coupled by the lack of a bra did nothing to disguise my hardening nipples, and from the increase in pressure on my leg, my body's reaction was not escaping his notice.

"Millie—" He withdrew his hand and shoved it through his hair, messing up the perfectly styled waves. A single strand fell over his forehead. "Fuck."

"You don't have to stop." My voice was strained. Nearly all the rasp was gone, but it cracked at the end. Lochlan looked through the privacy screen, the dip of his brow suggesting that he was seriously considering my offer.

At last, he exhaled and opened his door. I fell back against the seat and blew an unladylike raspberry before adjusting my clothes to make sure everything was properly covered. There was nothing to be done about my wet panties.

My door opened, and I took Lochlan's hand, making sure the slit of the dress went as high as possible while I climbed out of the car. If I had to contend with damp underwear all evening, then the least he could do was have to hide a hard on.

"Play fair," he whispered in my ear as he wound his arm around my waist and ushered me toward a building. "I'm trying to be a gentleman."

Feeling emboldened by the desire coursing through me, I whispered, "If you were a gentleman, I wouldn't know what your tongue feels like between my legs."

Our pace quickened, and a sea of brightly smiling faces went by in a blur. He politely turned down several offers of assistance—for what I couldn't be certain because a roaring in my ears drowned out nearly all sounds. Having him this close to me, pulling me with such obvious intention toward a darkened, secluded space... The world faded to almost nothing, and in the space between almost it was just him and me.

Lochlan pushed me against the wall and when I tried to curl my arms around his neck, he caught them and pinned them above my head. Hips flush against mine, his erection pressed into me, but before I could grin victoriously, my mouth became busy with other things.

Whimpering, I surrendered to his assault, completely at his mercy. He needed only one hand to restrain me. With his other, he gripped my neck—not hard enough to scare me, but enough to make me gasp against him in surprise. Like the spanking, I didn't expect being so turned on by this type of domination, and a need to be possessed filled me as his tongue tangled with mine, caressing and retreating in a sensuous rhythm that had me shamelessly bucking against him to get some relief.

We went on like that until my lips felt raw and pins began falling out of my hair. I thrashed against his hold—partly to rile him up more, to delight in the pain of his body pinning me down, and partly because if I only could only get free, I knew I could push him over the edge. One well placed touch, or a zipper pulled down, and he would ignite like paper put to flame.

A slight shift in his stance put friction where I needed it, and as if sensing I might come, Lochlan broke the kiss and stepped away. He steadied me as I pitched forward, and with a touch as gentle as it was rough before, he kept me upright while adjusting my dress and fixing my hair.

"And you," I said when I could draw a lungful of air again, "had the audacity to accuse me of being a tease."

"Let me make one thing very clear, Millie. If this thing between us was just about fucking, I would have bent you over until you touched your toes, pushed that dress over your head, and drilled you until the only thing holding you up was my hands on your hips."

"Holy s-shit."

That earned another chuckle. "Now, if you're done tempting me and don't want another unsatisfying—" Lochlan glanced down at the tent receding in his pants. "Lesson—then perhaps you'll behave yourself for the rest of the evening?"

We linked arms and made our way back into the lobby, the bright lights making me blink. A few knowing glances pulled my fingers toward my face, and I wished desperately for a mirror.

"You look gorgeous. Like you've been thoroughly fucked—"

"Which I have not," I said with bitterness. "Where are we? This doesn't look like a restaurant."

He touched his chest in mock offense. "Give me a little more credit than that. I may or may not have taken another look at your social media and noticed that a photographer you followed had an exhibition here."

I bounced up on my toes and grabbed his jacket. "Who?"

"Jene Green?"

"Are you serious?"

Tears threatened to ruin the rest of my makeup, and the last thread linking this evening to my old life unravelled. Just like the clothes, never had a date been about my interests. We went where they wanted to go, ate what they wanted to eat, and talked to who they wanted to talk to. I was just arm candy.

Lochlan could have taken me to dinner, shown me the sights of New York City, and then taken me back to the apartment. I would have enjoyed our time together. It would become a pleasant memory, likely muddled among other similar nights, but as we walked up the grand staircase leading to the exhibition, a knot grew in my stomach—one of hope and horror—because I was certain this man and this night would be unforgettable.