“You never introduced me to your fiancée before!” said the beaming man, who appeared out of nowhere.
Rafe held Margaux closer, as she buried her face in his shoulder.
She was happy that they were at least going to the upscale restaurant where they had had dinner several times before…as opposed to their upscale hotel for this faux pas.
“This is Margaux,” Rafe said, holding her even closer. “She is a good friend, but not my fiancée. You have embarrassed her!”
Margaux looked up at the man that stared at her now with a new purpose. He took her hand, even as Rafe held her close and pressed his lips to her cool fingers.
“I did not mean to embarrass you Margaux,” he said, still leering at her. “I was just about to have dinner by myself. Unless of course you two do not mind…”
Margaux wished that Rafe would have declined his tactless invite, but she knew that it would look weird. His arrangement with Eliza was not for public consumption, she knew.
Dinner was awkward, fortunately, she was easily distracted by the sumptuous feast served. But the blood from her medium rare steak grew cold as their dinner companion—whose name she had not requested—stared at her. Margaux savored the cold blood, if it meant that she did not have to engage with the man. She felt that he lingered, because he hoped to find out that she was not just simply a friend to Rafe.
Rafe astutely steered the conversation in the direction of business since it was apparent they were business associates, but not close. Margaux was impressed at how abruptly he dismissed his associate without it seeming like anything.
Like magic.
Not unlike the magic he had worked on her.
What else could she think moments later, sitting astride a hotel chair naked looking at him? Not for sex, but because he wanted to sketch her?
Margaux could not say no to that, who could say no to an artist? How many artists had made her drop her panties? She dropped her chin into her folded arms, and sighed.
“You promised you could stay still,” he said quietly, not looking up from his sketch pad.
It was mildly offensive that he had not looked at her like his business associate. She was used to being looked at.
But that was why Rafe was special. They had been spending a lot of time together, and it was all with the premise of getting to know one another. They had not had sex, even though she wanted it. But she loved this too, that she could literally naked with him and it did not have to mean that they were going to have sex. The space of not having sex in a relationship was like another galaxy, when kisses were like water on a desert…
“You ruined this picture, I cannot finish it…” He pulled the sheet out of the sketch pad, and was going to rip it when she jumped up. Her naked breasts bounced against her.
“No! Let me see!” she cried.
Rafe stood up, holding the sketch pad up over his head. She reached for it with both hands, and he captured both of her wrists with his hand. He kissed her, and the steam of it reached her other set of lips. Margaux parted her legs to cool the heat there, as he let go of her hands. He pulled her close to him with force, the scent of him permeated his crisp white shirt and she pulled at his tie. She gnawed at the tip of it, before she flung it over his shoulder. He slapped her backside and the heat rushed between her legs again as she kissed him sloppily. Their mouths moved like weapons of pleasure and destruction, as they caressed and bit each other.
Out of the corner of her eye, she briefly caught his sketch of her straddling the chair, chewing on her lip—a mixture of amusement and nerves. She looked something like that infamous photograph of Christine Keeler, except entirely like herself.
A perfect rendering.
She kissed his throat, and the lump there that made him make her think otherwise….
More introductions here:
More kisses here:
christine keeler via wikipedia