Page 27 of Exiled

“Don’t need any. You’re fucking sexy just like that. And I guarantee you’ll be the most beautiful woman there, makeup or no.”

“I can’t go to the Met without makeup on, Logan. It isn’t done.”

“Dinner is in forty, and we’ll be pushing it with traffic like it is.”

“I can be quick.”

Another knock.

“Grab some stuff and bring it with. Do it in the car.”

“I’m not ready, Logan. I—a quiet dinner, maybe. But the opera? The Met? People will be watching. You can’t just—just spring this on me.”

He moves past me, into the bathroom. I hear makeup cases and tubes clattering, a zipper closing. And then he’s hustling me out the door, a black leather case in his hands. I glance behind me as he’s closing the door. The last thing I see are my panties on the floor of his living room, a pile of gray cotton, abandoned.

My core aches. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to sit through a dinner and an opera. I want Logan. I want him to finish what he started.

There’s a long black limousine waiting, a driver at the open passenger door.

Logan waits while I lower myself in, and then he’s beside me.

I lean close, whisper in his ear. “Logan. I’m not wearing any panties.”

He nips at my earlobe. “I know.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You will.”

“I haven’t done my hair.”

“Don’t need to.”

“I don’t have any makeup.”

He hands me the case, unzips it. My makeup, all of it, including my compact mirror. “Gotcha covered. Anything else?”

I take a moment. Breathe. Focus on applying makeup, just a little. Lipstick, blush, mascara. Check it in the mirror, and then close the leather case, set it aside. Breathe in silence for—I don’t know how long, trying to gather myself.

“You stopped,” I say, at last.

He checks that the privacy glass is in place, and then turns to me. Faces me. Leans against me. Presses his face into my cleavage and inhales. Tugs the straps of the dress off my shoulder, pulls the bodice down to bare my breasts.

“Logan!”

“Keep quiet, Isabel.”

His fingers slide into the slit of the dress at my thigh, steal inward.

God, here?

Oh God.

I slide lower in the seat, spread my legs. I want it. I don’t care. I can’t think of anything but the orgasm I almost had, of getting there.

There’s no toying, no hesitation. He slides his finger into me, and I gasp.

“Hush, baby.” His breath is warm on my nipple. “No sounds.”