Page 57 of Beneath the Blue Moon

***Casey***

“Champagne, ma’am?”

“Yes, please, and a scotch on the rocks,” I tell the

bartender. I hand Ethan his drink as he walks up to me. “You look like you

should be drinking a martini, shaken, not stirred.”

He does look gorgeous in his tux. I can see why the

sharks are circling—there’s blood in the water. The way they’re looking at me,

I should be dead already. He downs the drink in one gulp and orders another.

“My, my… What’s this?”

Is he going to drink away his discomfort? He takes my elbow

and leads me to a table in the far corner of the room. It’s one of the few

tables that only seats two, and is flanked by two huge potted plants. He pulls

out my chair and, looking miserable, plops down in his, to my right.

“What’s wrong?”

“You win,” he concedes.

With a triumphant smile, I lean back in my chair. My mind

wanders, a shiver of excitement running down my spine at the thought of

collecting my reward. To calm my thudding heart, I take in our

surroundings. The room is abuzz with chatter, scattered laughter, and the

clinking of glasses. The air smells of money—champagne, designer clothes, and

perfume. Gold-colored chandeliers hang from the beams on the ceiling, giving

the room a golden hue. Each table is covered with a floor-length white cloth,

embroidered with an intricate, gold design, topped with centerpieces of white calla

lilies. I note that the chairs are also gold, with white cushions. It’s all

very fitting for a hotel called Mount Olympus.

Someone taps a champagne glass with a fork, and a gentleman

steps up to the podium. Ethan moves closer to me, draping his arm over the back

of my chair.

Under the table, he places his hand on my knee. He seems

totally involved in the man’s speech, so I think nothing of it. When the guests

laugh at a joke, which I didn’t get, his hand slowly glides north. His face

gives absolutely no indication of what he’s doing. When he slides to the inside

of my thigh, I have to fight back a moan. He leans toward me, his face void of

emotion.

“Open.”

His voice is a different story. It comes out gravelly, thick

with desire. Thanking the heavens for the floor-length tablecloth, I do as he

instructed. His fingers crawl up my thigh like a spider on a wall. Thanks to

the slit, my dress doesn’t even move. I shiver as he massages my thigh, slowly

moving up. He brushes his fingers across my pussy, testing if I was telling the

truth. With his fingers pointing downward, he presses the side of his index

finger down on me. He caresses me, his knuckle rubbing against my clit.

Nervously, I glance at the people seated at the closest table. Their backs are

turned, and they’re totally oblivious to what’s taking place behind them. The

struggle to keep calm is killing me. Ethan’s sitting there looking cool and

collected while my insides are slowly unraveling. He turns his palm to face me

and slides his middle finger inside me. His thumb presses on my clit as he

leans in again.

“Enjoying your victory?”

“Yes…” I gasp. “Very much.”

Too much. The excitement of being in a public place,

surrounded by dozens of people, is extremely erotic.

“Look at me.”

I turn my head toward him, slightly shaking. He inserts

another finger, slowly fucking me under the table while his thumb makes small

circles on my clit.

“Do you want to come, or should I stop?”

He could have been commenting on the weather for all anyone

knows. I can’t speak because if I open my mouth, we’ll surely be discovered. After

one last look around, I nod slowly.

“Yes you want to come, or yes I should stop?”

I shake my head.

“No, you don’t want to?”

Ugh! He knows what I mean. He just wants to hear me say it.

I lean in, placing my left cheek on his so no one can see my face.

“I want… you… to make me come.”

The rhythm of his fingers changes and doubles the sensations

flowing through my body. I sink my nails into his thigh, fighting the urge to

cry out.

“When I tell you to, kiss me.” Applause rings out from the crowd,

and he whispers against my cheek. “Now.”

The moment he says the word, I press my lips to his. My mind

knows he was talking about the kiss, but my body still answers the call. As my

muscles begin to contract, he withdraws his fingers and slides his arm around

my waist. The applause drowns out my whimper, and he holds me against him to

mediate my tremors. I wrap my arms around his neck, totally forgetting where we

are. It is he who finally ends our kiss.

“That’s one,” he mutters.

“Are we boring you, McKenzie?”

He breaks away, turning to the mayor. “Not at all, Mr.

Mayor. Miss Bryan is just more enticing.”

“I agree.” He chuckles. “If my wife looked like her, I’d

probably be doing the same thing.”

I doubt it. I reach for Ethan’s napkin and wipe the lipstick

from his lips. He gives me a conspiratorial smile before turning back to the mayor.

“Will you gentlemen excuse me, please?” He looks over at me curiously,

and I smile. “I have to repair the damage you did to my makeup.”

And clean myself up. He nods in understanding,

stands, and helps me up.

“I’ll come with you.”

“That’s not necessary, Ethan,” I say with a smile. What’s he

going to do, stand guard outside the door? Jeez. His disappointment is obvious,

but he says nothing. “Mr. Mayor.”

“Hurry back before he sends out a search party.”

I giggle at the mayor’s funny and totally correct

assessment. On the way to the bathroom, I acknowledge a few appreciative glances

with a smile. Ethan’s not the only hot commodity here. One guy grabs my hand as

I pass by his table.

“Save me a dance, beautiful?”

Oh, please. I execute an Olympics-worthy eye roll in my

mind.

“I would, but my dance card’s full. Sorry.”

“My loss.”

I pull my hand from his and continue on my way, ignoring the

death stares from a few women. That guy was cute, definitely the type of guy I

usually go for, but I wasn’t even mildly interested. I freeze in my tracks at

the bathroom door as realization dawns on me. Shit. I’m in a relationship.

Shaking my head, I step through the door. How the hell did this happen? Not

only did I not want one, but I thought I was doing everything possible to avoid

one. The sneaky bastard crept up on me and made himself a fixture in my life.

Fuck.

The bathroom, as expensively appointed as the rest of this

place, is empty, thank God. I can collect my frazzled thoughts in quiet. I’m

also wet and uncomfortable. As I turn to head into a stall, he walks in.

“Ethan!” I exclaim.

I can’t believe he followed me in here! He turns the lock on

the door, staring into my eyes. As he walks toward me, he brings his fingers up

to his nose—the same two fingers he just had inside me. He backs me up against

the counter, and his proximity increases my heart rate. I look up into his

intense chocolate eyes, my breathing shallow. How the hell does he do this to

me?

“You smell so good. I decided I just have to get a taste.” Grabbing

my waist, he deposits me on the sink, stepping between my legs. “This dress

turned out to be a good thing after all,” he says with a smile.

Slipping his hand beneath it, he pushes the sides apart and

kneels before me. Over his shoulder goes my leg and between my legs goes his

head. When his tongue touches my clit, it rips a moan from my throat. He

answers with one of his own, the sound sending little bursts of pleasure

through my body. I press my palm into the mirror as he sucks on my clit.

“Ethan….”

His fingers sink into my thigh, and I cover his hand with

mine. He interlaces our fingers, doing terribly sinful things with his tongue. Catching

my lips between his, he pulls gently then releases them. He moves down, his stiff

tongue sliding inside me as he pulls me forward.

“Oh, my God!”

“Not God,” he growls.

I moan, squeezing his fingers between mine. “Ethan!”

“That’s right.”

I feel that familiar, heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach

and thrust my hips toward him. He intensifies his movements, licking harder,

faster.

“Fuck!”

He swirls his tongue, prolonging my orgasm. Giving in to the

tenderness of my clit, I slide back on the counter, retreating from his tongue.

Breathing heavily, I stare at him in astonishment as he rises, wiping his lips.

He stands before the mirror, smooths his hair, and straightens his bow tie.

“That’s two.”

He walks out, leaving me staring at the door in disbelief. What

the hell did I get myself into?