Page 88 of Pandora's Pleasure

He let go and sipped his drink. “Just two more weeks of this, Bardot. Then you’re free.”

“I imagine you’re counting down the days. I know I am.”

“I’m proud of so many of my achievements. But I’m especially proud of the fact that I’ve captured the famed debutante Pandora Bardot’s cunt.”

I slapped him hard across the face.

He didn’t even blink.

“Are people looking?”

I meant the press…and the senators, and the Vice President and his wife. I wondered if the world might soon be seeing a photograph of me striking Gregor Godman’s son.

Damien reached around my waist and yanked me toward him, pressing his lips to mine, forcing my mouth open to accommodate his lashing tongue exploring and pillaging and warring with mine. He stirred up all the same feelings that had surged through me in the restroom.

I was hyper-aware of each sensation, including the feel of those spheres in my pussy. His ferocious kiss sparked arousal as he battled with my tongue; soaking my trepidation in confusion. Yet I surrendered to him anyway, desirous of the affection I’d been deprived of, wanting to love him again like I’d once believed I had.

His hostile takeover of my mouth continued vigorous and full of vitriol, a merciless attack that made my body quake and relent to his—both of us still holding our glasses and not spilling a drop—like consummate professionals who knew how to endure a disaster with grace.

Damien pulled away. “And now you smile, like your goddamned life depends on it.”

Because it did.

Anyone would be thrilled to be in the back of a chauffeur-driven car that was parked beside an enormous Dreamliner at Reagan National Airport, ready to fly first class to a private resort on a sunny Saturday morning. Unless of course that person was me, because my travel companion was none other than Damien G. Godman.

I’d once read the G stood for George, because Damien’s mom had a thing for British royalty, and their empire building ways. That entire family was fucked-up.

If he thought I was stubborn before, my refusing to leave the car and board that plane would really piss him off. My suitcase had already been carried on to the flight and I was mulling over ways I could reclaim it.

Despite me telling Damien I didn’t want to go, he’d picked me up from home. My parents had literally shoved me out of the house and into the back of his waiting car. I’d been greeted by a surly Damien in the backseat. He’d ignored me for the entire journey here.

Apparently, I’d brought this unexpected out of state jaunt on myself. There was the embarrassing matter of Washington D. C.’s journalists printing snapshots of yesterday’s garden party. Note to self: Don’t fuck up when the entire press core have their cameras trained on you and your beau.

“Here comes the persuader,” I mumbled to myself.

Theo Tamer had just climbed out of the car ahead of us, the same one that had escorted us to the airport. Proving Damien’s father wanted us out of the city and wasn’t willing to risk one of us bailing, since this trip had probably been arranged to correct yesterday’s “optics.”

The car door flew open and Theo gestured. “Don’t keep Mr. Godman waiting.”

“I’m not going.”

“Then why did you get in the car?”

“Why do you think?”

Because Damien knew full well my parents wouldn’t have accepted me missing out on this opportunity for us to spend more time together.

I stared at Theo. “Did you enjoy the other night?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I flashed a wary glance at the chauffeur then focused back on Theo. “Our private time at The Ritz.”

He shrugged. “What happens at Fight Club stays at Fight Club.”

Great, he’d used a Chuck Palahniuk reference, one of Damien’s favorite authors.

His eyes narrowed on me. “I need you out of the car.”