Page 171 of Sexting His Assistant

This is reckless.

I know that. I still do it.

Because she is nervous, because she’s mine in a way I’m not allowed to say in public, because she will walk into that gala in a few minutes and have to stand beside me under lights, cameras, and the eyes of people who would love to turn her into a story.

I want her loose before that happens.

I want her remembering my hand instead of their stares.

I want her walking in knowing exactly who brought her there.

I add a second finger at the next slow turn.

She makes a soft sound and immediately bites it back.

My voice stays low. “Good girl.”

Her eyes fly to mine. “That is not fair,” she whispers.

“No.”

“You can’t say that while⁠—”

I curl my fingers.

She stops speaking.

The reaction is immediate. Her hips shift slightly toward my hand, and her knees part as much as the dress allows. I keep my pace steady, slow enough that she can stay quiet, firm enough that she starts to tremble despite herself.

The gala venue is still ten minutes away.

Enough time.

My thumb finds her clit again while my fingers move inside her. She clamps a hand over her mouth for a second, then lowers it because she knows it looks suspicious from outside. Good girl. Smart even when I’m undoing her.

Her voice shakes. “We’re five minutes away.”

“Seven.”

“You timed this?”

“I know the route.”

“You are unbelievable.”

I curl my fingers again.

Her thighs tighten around my hand. “Luka,” she gasps.

“Almost there?”

She gives me a furious look, but it falls apart before she can hold it. Pleasure takes the shape out of her anger. Her lashes lower, her lips part, and her hand slides from my wrist to my forearm, gripping hard enough to leave marks.

I want those marks.

I want more than I have any right to want.

The car slows with traffic near the venue road. Cameras are not visible yet, but the buildings are brighter here, the traffic more controlled, the security posts more frequent. I keep my face calm and my hand hidden beneath her dress.