Incapable (Love Triumphs Book 3) (28 page)

“I’m wearing lingerie.”

“Haah.” His chin tipped up, his face to the ceiling, arms hanging at his sides. It was game on.

“Red and black, lacy, edged in satin.” She pressed a finger to her lip. Was this going to work?

“More.”

Apparently. “The bra is connected to the panties by a lace panel, but everything else is bare. I’ve got suspenders.” Inspired, she flicked the strap of her bra under her dress and it slapped on her skin.

His smile was crooked, wicked. He brought his legs under him and sat forward. “More.”

“Black stockings, lace top, a red bow on the garter clip. There’s a seam up the back of the stocking, very straight.”

“I want my hands on that seam.”

“You’ll keep your hands to yourself.”

His eyes popped at her tone. “Yes, ma’am.” He tipped an imaginary hat, somewhere near his nose.

“I have red heels on, very high. My hair is up, but there are pins and if you’re good you might get to pull them out.” That at least was true. He liked undoing her hair.

“The bra is a little small. It pushes everything up.” She said that in a pouty voice and he groaned, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, eyes closed. He was in the moment so easily and so was she now. If anyone tried to come through that door they were getting an earful.

“The panties are g-string style.”

“Hot.” His voice had gone smoky. “More.”

She went for it. “Crotchless.” Did that combo even exist? By the look on his face it didn’t matter.

“Fuck.” His thigh muscles flared as he put weight onto his feet. “I want to touch you.”

“You keep your very fine arse in that chair.”

He grunted and sat upright, one hand reaching for her. He said, “Mercy,” as Roy Orbison in
Pretty Woman
, all growly, lusty goodness.

“Poor baby, want me to stop?”

“Fuck no.” The same growl in his own voice.

She had him swearing. Bonus points. He was only an occasional swear word user, because he could never be sure who was around to hear him and he didn’t want to offend.

It was time to up the tension. If only she was wearing something remotely similar to what she’d described. She’d had basic everyday comfy underwear on, a simple black dress and flatties. She circled around him thinking about where to take this. If she let him touch her would the fantasy come undone? If she described a striptease, would he?

“I’m going to touch you. But you can’t touch me. If you try I’ll leave you here all alone and you don’t want that, do you?” He knew she’d never do that so it was safe to say. He shook his head while trying to track her movements. She stood behind him, pushed her hand through his hair and dragged his head back. “You let someone rip your shirt open. Someone who wasn’t me.”

His hands came up defensively. “You were late.”

She tightened her grip and he squeezed his eyes closed. “Excuses. I’m the one who gets to do that. No one else. Understand me.” She shook his head and breathed on his face. She had no idea where all this was coming from.

He lifted a hand higher, trying to find her arm, and she broke contact and stepped away. “Slow learner. I warned you.”

“Georgia!”

She circled him again and he tracked her, turning his head about. “You can’t be trusted, Damon Donovan.”

“I can. I promise.”

“Hands to the base of the chair. Let go and it’s all over.” He shut his mouth with a snap of teeth.

Georgia slapped a hand over her own mouth. She’d messed this up, shifted it from fairly tame live in person phone sex to something darker, but Damon complied immediately, hands gripping the edge of the seat either side of his thighs.

She relaxed, coming to stand in front of him. “Good boy.” He was still hers to play with and this little show planned for him was starting to get to her in a big way, in a sweet ache between her legs way.

He bounced a heel on the floor, a beat like the pulse in her body. “For you, always.”

She nudged his knee aside with hers. He made room for her to stand between them, but was careful not to let his legs touch hers. He wanted this as much as she did.

“How did your shirt get ripped?”

“Taylor.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Good God, if her engineering career ended maybe she could find work as a phone sex worker.

“No lie. Taylor did it. They were shouting, get it off. I didn’t know they meant me.” He shrugged. “She did it to me, just part of the show.”

“That’s all right then.”

He cleared his throat, coughed out the words with a dollop of surprise, “It is?”

“Yes. I’ll allow that.” He was telling the truth and it was a Taylor thing to do. She trailed a hand over his shoulder, staying on the damp cotton of his shirt. “But no one else touches you like that.”

He cleared his throat again, turning his head away, rather than using a hand to cover it. “No, ma’am.”

“I’d kiss you, but I don’t think you deserve it.”

Head tipped up to look at her, seeing something that wasn’t there, but liking it anyway. “Please.”

“All those women groping you and you didn’t try to get away.” She bit her lip. That was a little unfair, he wouldn’t have risked knocking someone over, or pushing them off the stage and she was harping, she needed to move this along or she’d break the spell.

“I was waiting for you to rescue me.”

“I did rescue you.”

“And then you brought me to hell.” He lifted a heel and slammed it back on the floor in punctuation. “This is hell. Fucking kiss me, now.”

She put her hands on his bare chest and he hissed, jumping from the sudden contact. She leaned in and nuzzled his cheek. “No.”

“What do I have to do?”

“You’re not doing anything. I’m the one doing.”

He laughed. “Well, shit, get on with it then. Make me any harder and I might not be responsible for what happens.”

She looked straight at the front of his jeans. Dear Lord. She was a genius. She put her hand over him and he jerked, his chin lifting, one foot coming right off the floor. “Christ, Georgia.”

She almost praised him again; he’d kept hold of the chair, but better to keep him guessing. She moved her hand over his length. “Listen to me and no more talking.” He grunted an acknowledgement. “I’m going to let you take my hair down, but if you try to touch me anywhere else, this stops. Nod if you understand.”

He nodded, looking directly at her, seeing her as his demanding lingerie-clad mistress. She moved her hand and stepped out from between his knees and he groaned at the loss of contact. She hitched her dress up and told him to bring his knees together then straddled them, sitting safely on his thighs, laying her forearms over his shoulders.

He brought his hands up, cheating in a way she couldn’t resist letting him get away with. He could’ve gone to her head with an orienting touch or two, but he started with hands on her thighs, scooting under her dress, palms hot and sliding, then around, over her underwear, he took two hands full of her butt and squeezed, forcing a gasp out of her. He stared into her face and ran his hands slowly back outside her dress, to her waist, over her ribs and around to cup her breasts, making her eyes flutter and her body hum, before he stepped his hands one at a time to her head.

He didn’t have to say anything; everything he felt was in his face. He loved her, he loved her, he loved her. Right now, that’s what he was drunk with.

He pulled the hair stick out and found the pins in her twist easily. They pinged on the cement floor as he dropped them. He made her feel like she was the wanton sex kitten she’d described. When the last one was out she shook her head, shaking her hair out over her shoulders and letting him tunnel both hands through the tousled strands to her skull, pulling her to him, stopping when their noses bumped and their panted breath collided.
Oh God.

Technically he was in breach, practically she was shattered and he knew it, her whole body was trembling. She could not have stood if the building was collapsing. But she could shift forward and press against him, filling the room with their moans. He gave her long seconds to decide who was in control and then he decided, bringing their lips together for one of those kisses to end all kisses that stopped time and rewrote history. Rewrote hers for certain. She was heart and soul, past, present and future his.

He tasted of the beer and the smoke and the need he had for her, and the kiss was deep and long and tangled with emotion, but pure like the finest alcohol is distilled to its essential elements. They were earth, air and fire. He was shelter, belonging and esteem, and she was her best self in this life with him.

“Fuck, Georgia, fuck,” he said raggedly against her neck, where he coughed heat and breathed tension. And then his lips were on hers, his hands rolling her hips, working to turn her into liquid and burn her off like fuel. But this was supposed to be for him. She broke the kiss and took it to his neck, his throat, his chest, scooting back on his legs to get her fingers to his zipper.

“Jesus, baby.” His hips lifted to her hands and she unhooked the stud. His eyes slammed closed and his chin tipped up, and the door opened.

Angus said, “I’m getting a tattoo tonight and you’re coming with me.” He locked eyes with Georgia in shock.

Both men said, “Fuck.” Damon through clenched teeth.

Angus added a sorry, but he kept coming towards them. “No sex in the green room, unless it’s a free show.”

Georgia pressed her face into Damon’s neck to hide. She was hot, her whole body aflame with arousal and embarrassment. Damon folded around her, trying to catch his breath.

Heather was behind Angus saying, “No, you’re not.”

“I’m not that drunk, I’m getting a tattoo,” Angus said, reasonably. Though it was utterly unreasonable he was in the room at all. She shifted to stand, but Damon wasn’t letting her go. He relaxed his grip on her enough so she could pull her dress down.

“I’m getting a tattoo too.” That was Jamie, amusement in his voice that changed tenor, he must’ve seen them. “We’re all getting drilled by the looks of it.”

Damon’s laugh began as a huff of air, but by the time they heard Sam say, “I’m in,” he was shaking with it. Lust gone the way of lunacy.

He lifted his head from Georgia’s shoulder and kissed her forehead. “I hate these people.”

Heather looked worried. Angus had the devil in him tonight too. “Damon, you in, or are you a pussy-whipped blind boy who wouldn’t appreciate a tattoo anyway?”

“That,” Damon said, laughing.

“At least someone has sense,” said Heather.

“No one has any sense tonight. There was something in the beer,” said Jamie.

“Alcohol,” said Sam, straight up.

Everyone in the room looked at him except Damon who’d gone silent, choking with laughter, his face in Georgia’s shoulder, his body shaking.

Sam said, “What?” with raised hands, but he was clowning, laughing at himself. “Damon needs a tattoo.”

“No, he does not,” said Heather. “None of you do.”

“Too late,” said Jamie.

“I need one bad and I’m doing it tonight. We’re all doing it,” said Angus. “Come on Dame, you have to be in. You can get a cartoon of bloody Captain Vox on your willy and no one will have to see it except Georgia.”

Damon straightened up, hand over his mouth coughing, laughing. “I’ll get a tatt, but it won’t be Vox and it won’t be there.”

Georgia put her palm to his face. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Sense,” said Heather.

Angus said, “Yeah, he does. It’s a rite of passage.”

Damon leaned his face into her hand. His eyes were wet and glistening. “Yeah, I do.”

“One in, all in,” said Jamie. “Where’s Taylor?”

“I’m not getting another tatt. I’ve had too much to drink.”

“Best time to,” said Jamie.

Heather said, “No. God, no. It’ll be something stupid you’ll all regret. Anyway, at this time of night, it’s almost morning, there won’t be anywhere open.”

“I know a twenty-four hour place,” said Taylor.

“‘Course you do,” said Jamie.

“Give me the number. I’ll call a cab,” said Sam.

“I’m not getting a tattoo,” said Heather.

Georgia gave Damon a last kiss. She didn’t care about having an audience, they’d almost seen a lot worse. “I’m not getting one either.” She climbed off his lap and gave him a hand up.

Despite her hand he stumbled. “Whoa. Who moved the room?”

She made a grab for him, but Angus got there first, steadying him with both hands to Damon’s shoulders. “Not on the willy then.”

Damon leaned into Angus. “Not unless you do.”

Heather’s, “No,” was a shout.

Georgia touched his forearm. “You’re really drunk. Are you sure?”

“I’ve had too much to drink, but I look worse than I am. My proprioception’s gone to the dogs. My balance is bollocksed, but I can still drive.”

She slapped his arm and they all laughed. It was only a tattoo. He could afford to get it lasered off if it was too bad.

“You try saying proprioception when you’re shit-faced,” he said.

“What the hell is that?” said Sam.

“He’s lost his sea legs,” said Angus.

“Oh that,” said Sam. “Happens to me frequently and I don’t even like sailing.”

“It’s got nothing to do with sailing,” said Jamie, then smacked his forehead, because Sam made a face. He clearly knew that, he was trading off his alcohol quip.

Damon pulled her into his side. “I’m not too drunk to dance with my girl.”

“Now he wants to dance,” said Angus. He flapped a hand on his leg, mock exasperation. He elbowed Damon. “Didn’t get enough bump and grind tonight, eh?”

“Let him dance,” said Jamie.

“Least you can do, you fuckers. I’d be a very happy boy right now if you’d all stayed outside.”

“Come dance with me, babe,” said Heather to Angus, but strategy was written across her blonde brows and Angus read it.

“Dance, then tattoo.”

“Slow dance,” she held her arms open, “maybe you’ll be interested in something else instead.”

Angus took her hand and wrapped it over his neck. “The things I do for you. I’m still getting a tatt.”

Jamie groaned. “What was in the beer?”

He looked at Sam who said, “Dance with me, baby,” held his arms open like Heather had done and earned himself a slap to the back of the head.