Page 172 of Sexting His Assistant

She’s close.

I can feel it in the way her body tightens, in the pulsing around my fingers, in the small broken breaths she tries to smooth into silence.

“Look at me,” I say.

She shakes her head once.

“Nina.”

She turns her face toward me.

Her eyes are dark, desperate, annoyed with both of us.

I keep driving with one hand, slow through the traffic, and rub her clit with my thumb until her breath catches and holds.

“Come now,” I say.

Her grip on my arm tightens.

She comes quietly, because she has to, body trembling in the passenger seat, mouth pressed shut, eyes locked on mine while her pussy clenches around my fingers. I keep my hand steady through it, watching the road, watching her, keeping the car smooth as she falls apart beside me in complete silence.

It's one of the most controlled things I have ever done.

It’s also one of the filthiest.

When she finally exhales, it’s shaky and soft.

I ease my fingers out and fix her underwear carefully beneath her dress.

She sits there flushed, breathing hard, hair still perfect enough for the gala but eyes ruined.

I bring my hand back to the wheel.

She looks at me. Then at my hand.

Then back at me.

“You are a menace,” she says, voice low.

“Yes.”

“I have to walk into a gala now.”

“Yes.”

“With your security behind us.”

“Yes.”

“And your hand was just⁠—”

“You look calmer.”

Her mouth opens. Then closes.

She stares at me like she wants to hit me and kiss me at the same time. “You’re lucky I can’t ruin my makeup,” she says.

“You look beautiful.”