Exposed: A British Bad Boy Romance (6 page)

Still, my hand glides over him. I can’t resist.

Jasper sucks in a breath at my hesitant touch and shakes his head, “The director’s made some changes recently. Corrupting a good girl is one of my favorite pastimes.”

My body tenses and he seems to sense that he said something wrong because he’s withdrawing his hand, leaving it on my thigh.

“I don’t know where you got this idea that I’m some good girl. I know how to have fun and be
wild
,” I say, sounding unconvincing even to myself.

I’m sure my definition of ‘wild’ and his vary vastly.

“Alright, bad girl, then tell me what kind of panties you’re wearing.”

“I—” My face is hot with embarrassment, but my body is hot with something else altogether. Then he gives me that fucking smirk that says he’s won because he knows he’s backed me up against a wall I don’t want to climb.

Fuck that
. I’m not letting him win. I’m not going to let him make me uncomfortable just for his entertainment. Two can play that game and I’m just drunk enough to think that it sounds like fun.

“I need to go to the ladies’ room,” I finally announce, removing myself from his grip and sliding away from him as fast as if he were covered with a swarm of bees.

Jasper’s expression falls, though there’s still something playful in his eyes. Something satisfied and hungry that has me muttering insults all the way to the restroom.

Arrogant prick. He thinks he’s backed me into a corner.

I’ll show him.

By the time I come back, my stomach’s in knots and I don’t know if I can actually go through with it.

“There you are. I was worried you’d gone and ditched me,” he says, though his easy posture says he’s never been less worried about anything.

At my side, my hand’s balled into a fist, trembling. I slip back into the booth and grab his wrist, “Here, I brought you something,” I say, pressing the fabric into his palm.

My stomach does this nervous little trapeze act and in the moment between that action and Jasper’s next words, I’m absolutely certain I’ve lost my Goddamned mind.

CHAPTER TEN

Jasper

W
hile Susie’s gone, I have time to ponder my good luck this evening. What had started out as a shitshow was made infinitely better by Susie’s influence.

Though I’m certain my night could have been made infinitely better by fingering just about
any
girl under the table, there’s a small part of me that’s glad it was Susie.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table, lacing my fingers together to support my chin. Instantly, Suzette’s spicy musk lingering on my fingers invades my senses and I can’t help but think of sliding my hand between her legs, stroking her velvety lips, parting them with a digit and plunging inside her welcoming depths.

Fuck.

I groan, shifting the nearly painful erection I’ve been sporting all fucking day around Susie. It’s like my cock’s a dowsing rod seeking her wetness, ever alert.

I spot her heading back towards the table, her cheeks furiously pink, her posture tight. I can’t rip my eyes away from her. There’s a subtle inebriated sway to her steps that accentuates the curve of her luscious hips and the bounce of her incredible fucking tits.

I could bury my face in those tits, suffocate, and die the happiest sodding bastard on the planet.

She slinks into the booth next to me and I swear I can
smell
her arousal like a perfume — my mouth waters at the thought of tasting her. Throwing her knees over my shoulders, her thighs clamped around my head as I make her come again and again and again.

I lean back and tease her about being gone so long, but she doesn’t laugh or even crack a smile.

She’s reaching for my hand and pressing something soft and damp into my palm.

“I brought you something,” she says, her voice this sexy little whisper that turns my blood to fucking lava.

“Wha—” but before I can even get a full syllable out, I’m unraveling the bundle and my heart damn near stops.

Her fucking panties.

I have to admit, I’m stunned for a moment. Frozen in time, just staring at the simple black thong, the drone of a billion locusts in my head.

She sees my reaction and her nervous fidgeting gives way to a sly satisfied grin, “Not such a good girl after all, huh?” she boasts, her chest expanding with pride.

“Susie Q’s got a naughty streak, eh?” I finally manage, pulling my wits together enough to make a long elaborate show of bringing her panties up to my nose and
inhaling
.

In a flash, her smug grin is replaced by fresh shock and horror and she’s smacking my wrist, “Someone’s going to see!” she cries, now thinking better of her little escapade as she’s trying to snatch the scrap of fabric back from me.

“Little late to be modest now dear,” I taunt her, extending my arm in the opposite direction.

She crawls over me, reaching. Then my hand’s on her hip, settling her in place as she unwittingly straddles me.

“Mmm,” I lean forward to press a kiss against her neck as my free hand slides up her outer thigh. “Excellent choice in seating, luv.”

She’s wriggling, trying to grab her panties as my hand slides around the back of her thighs, over the soft globes of her ass before they wander further.

My fingertips just barely brush against her lips before she’s crimson again, climbing off of me, “Fine, keep them.”

“Oh, I will,” I chuckle, shoving her panties in my pocket, “I might even frame them. Could look nice hanging above the mantle, don’t you think?”

She rolls her eyes, “You’re really ridiculous, you know?”

“Says the girl that just handed me her underwear.”

“Ugh, can you let that go already?” She groans and reaches for her drink, “Aren’t I supposed to be asking you questions?”

“Sure. That counts as one,” I say, trying my best to wipe that sour look from her face.

It only gets sourer, her mouth screwed up in an expression of distaste for me.

“Okay, fine, I think I owe you a few still. Go ahead.”

“How many women have you slept with?”

I frown, “Is this Suzette Quincy, journalist asking, or soaking wet for me and pantiless Susie asking?”

She narrows her eyes, “I’m not…
wet
… for you,” she mutters.

I quirk a skeptical brow and finger the little bit of silk still hanging from my pocket, “You’re a terrible liar.”

“More than ten?” she asks and I’m indelicate enough to laugh out loud.

“At once?”

She purses her lips, but doesn’t comment.

Then she’s leaning over, her fingers tracing the medieval-looking lion on my bicep with an exploratory touch, “Why’d you get this?”

Her gentle grazing finger makes the hairs on my arm stand on end, but there’s no way in hell I want her to stop touching me.

“I thought it looked cool,” I say.

She looks disappointed and nods, “It does. Did it hurt?”

She’s leaning in so close to me now. It would be so easy. Too easy.

Before I can stop myself, my hand cups her jaw and I pull her in for a kiss. I’m not sure how she’ll respond, so at first, I barely brush my lips against her.

She doesn’t pull away.

Fucking hell
, she’s leaning in, her eyes closed.

I suck her bottom lip and trace the seam of her mouth with my tongue as my hand slides around the back of her neck, holding her there.

There’s nothing else. This whole posh restaurant, the crowd of revelers, the whole goddamn
world
ceases to exist.

Her lips part just a hair when she lets go of this sexy little sigh that drives me fucking
wild
and I slide my tongue into her mouth, tasting her, teasing her, making her squirm.

My hand slides down her spine, under her shirt and then I’ve got a handful of her creamy tits and she moans into my mouth.

Suddenly, she seems to remember that we’re in public and she breaks away from me, leaving my cock hard as granite.

Her lips are red and swollen, her cheeks flushed with excitement, desire, embarrassment? Probably all of the above.

She licks her lips and presses them together, unable to make eye contact with me.

“You wanna get out of here?” I ask and her eyes go wide.

She’s already shaking her head when I hold up my hands in supplication, “Just a walk around the block or something. I think we could both use the fresh air.”

Her wide-eyed horror fades to relief and she nods with a sigh, “Sounds great.”

We stand and I guide her towards the exit with a hand on her lower back. She looks like she wants to say something about it, but I’d never hear her over the din of the restaurant and I think secretly she likes the little bit of possessive contact.

The gesture comes so instinctively that it has me worried about my mental health.

As we walk towards the door, I find the host and press a wad of bills into his hand, “Be a good lad and settle our tab, won’t you?”

He gives me a stiff nod, “Of course,” and we’re on our merry way.

The city streets are really only just coming to life — streetlamps have come on and the buildings towering all around us twinkle with light from within, palm trees sway with the damp evening breeze and I catch the faintest hint of salt in the air.

We start walking and Susie adopts a pace that pulls her out of my embrace; I can take a hint and let my hand fall.

“You never did answer me,” she says, “did your tattoo hurt?”

She trips over her own feet and I steady her with a hand on her arm.

“The lion? Nah. Just a little sting. Others were a little more sensitive.”

She turns with a question sparkling in her eyes and I lift my shirt to show her the
Bon Appetit
that dips low under my waistband.

Her hand instantly goes out to trace the letters and I’m hard as steel all over again — just from that simple touch.

What the hell is this woman doing to me?

When her eyes lock with mine, her face flushes with color, “I guess I never paid attention to what it said.”

“Feel free to have a taste, luv,” I say, giving her a big goofy grin.

Susie snatches her hand away like my abs are a hot iron and then she smacks me on the arm, “You’re such a
perv
. My god, do you ever turn off?”

I slip an arm around her waist, “That’s hard to say. Do you have any plans to stop turning me
on
?” She takes hold of my hand and drops it from her hip, replacing the distance between us once more.

Her ankle turns in those ridiculous fucking high heels and she wobbles, catching herself on my shoulder with a curse, “Stupid shoes,” she growls, kicking the heels off right there on the sidewalk.

“Maybe you should come sit down for a minute,” I say, picking her shoes up in one hand as I steer her toward a nearby shop with flashing neon signs.

“‘M fine. Don’t be such a dick,” she says, stumbling her way to a chair in the little sitting area at the front of the shop.

I’m realizing now that maybe we should’ve left Jeremy’s sooner. Maybe Suzette could’ve done without a couple of those drinks.

Hell,
I
could’ve gone without some of those drinks, but I’ve never claimed I make smart decisions around attractive women.

I’ve been so occupied making sure that she doesn’t fall flat on her face that I’m only just realizing that we’ve wandered into a tattoo parlor.

Of course
.

The woman that emerges from the back of the shop is unlike anything I’ve ever seen: her hair is stark white, her head shaved on one side. She has holes large enough to fit my thumb through in her ear lobes and a dozen different barbs, studs and rings adorning the rest of her face. From the neck-down, she’s completely tattooed, wearing a skimpy little tank top and denim cut-off shorts.

Though somewhat scary, the alternative look is kinda sexy on her. She somehow manages to
own
it and when she spots Susie clutching her head, the woman frowns.

“Hey, is she alright?”

“Yeah, I’m—” Susie looks up and her eyes go wide, “
whoa
.”

“I think she could do with a bit of water if you don’t mind?” I ask, reaching deep down for every last scrap of roguish British charm I can muster.

The shop girl makes a face, but then sees Susie looking at the images on the walls with her doe-eyed innocent enthusiasm and she rolls her eyes, “Yeah, just a sec.” She goes to the back and I’m sure I hear a fridge open.

Meanwhile, Susie’s loudly whispering at me for some reason, “Jasper!” she hisses, “Jasper!” Her whisper is louder than her speaking voice and it makes me laugh.

I make sure there’s no trace of a smirk on my face when I turn to look at her, an unamused expression greeting her, “What?”

“D’ya think this is a tattoo parlor?”

That fucking cracks me and I grin, “No, luv. I think it’s a dentist’s office.”

She pouts and I’m so tempted to kiss her senseless right there.

Shut the fuck up
, I tell that voice. Romantic notions like that have no place in my perverted mind.

“Yes, it’s a tattoo parlor, darling.”

She gives a drunken giggle, “You know when you say ‘tattoo’ it sounds like tah-oo,” she says, elongating the ‘oo’ with her lips pushed out ludicrously.

The shop girl comes back with a bottle of water for Susie and she opens it, sitting down next to me once more before taking tentative sips and thanking the woman.

“You guys can’t just sit in here; it’s not a bus station.”

Susie’s eyes go wide, “We’re customers!”

My jaw goes slack for a moment and then I shake my head with a smirk playing on my lips, “Are we now? Thinking of getting inked, luv?”

She clearly didn’t think this through because now she’s the one slack-jawed and gaping, struggling over her words, “Uh… um… I— That is…”

“Not such a badass afterall, eh?” I prod, even knowing I shouldn’t.

Hey, I’m pretty fucking tanked too and she’s so damn
adorable
when she turns red.

She looks angry and then the gears are turning in her head and she says “Are you gonna get one with me?”

I laugh, “You wanna get matching tattoos, luv? Isn’t it a bit premature to be falling in love with me?”

There’s that angry flush that spreads all the way to the tops of her breasts — the one that makes me wonder if it spreads lower, if her nipples are hard under that low-cut blouse.

“I didn’t say
matching
. I’m just… Nevermind.” She takes a long drink of water and shakes her head.

“What?” I ask, surprising myself with the sincerity I hear.

Apparently, I’ve surprised her as well, because she looks less angry — more open.