Mr. Dade’s before me, holding a single drink.
“You’re not joining me?” I ask.
Mr. Dade’s smile widens as he places the glass in my hand. “Oh, I’ll be joining you.”
I sip the scotch and then sip again. It’s beautiful. Just like this room, with its warm gold hues and notes of luxury.
He takes back the glass. “My turn.”
He extracts an ice cube, uses it to trace a path along the neckline of my dress. As the cool, wet surface touches my breasts, I feel my nipples harden as they reach out to him, begging him to go further. He responds by tasting the hints of scotch on my skin — light kisses filled with heat, his hands now on my hips. I’m breathing again but each breath is shallow as I struggle to stay still.
