Felicity, Sexy, but Not SO Innocent. Part 4

Part 4

His eyes didn’t find me, they claimed me right away. The moment I rolled into the suite, he went still. My tight red dress pulled every line of my body into focus, the fabric smooth and daring, hugging high at my thighs and full across my firm breasts. My five-inch red stilettos rested on my footplate, wicked and glossy.

He didn’t speak at first. He walked around me. Slow. Controlled. Like he was admiring his  1963 Ferrari 250 GTO. I felt the air shift as he moved behind my chair, then along my left side, then in front of me again, like he was studying his sexy sports car from every angle.

“Felicity…” His voice was low, warm. “You have no idea what you look like right now.” He let his hand trail lightly along the rim of my wheel, not pushing, just a soft touch. His gaze lifted back to my mouth.

“Your lips,” he murmured. “Cherry red… glossy… like you’re about to whisper something dangerous.” He stepped closer. His hand rose, not touching me yet, just hovering near my collarbone, following the shape the dress made.

“And this dress…” He exhaled slowly. “It holds you like it’s in love with you.” His eyes dropped lower, his fingers tracing the swell of my breasts under the tight fabric. He didn’t rush. He didn’t apologize. He soaked in every detail.

“Your curves are… unreal,” he said, almost to himself. Then he knelt a little, leveling himself with my thighs. His hand brushed the side of my dress, fingertips barely grazing the fabric as he admired how it stretched over my hips and down my long legs.

“And these legs…” His voice tightened. “Long, smooth… and so sexy and beautiful with more confidence than most people standing.” He tapped the footplate lightly, eyes on my glossy red stilettos.

“And your heels.” A faint smile touched his lips. “Sharp, bold, and impossible to ignore.”

He rose slowly, still circling me, like he couldn’t stop.

I leaned back in my chair, letting him look as much as he wanted, letting the heat in his eyes sink into my skin. My fingers smoothed an invisible line on my left breasts, just for him.  He looked at my fingers, teasing my hard nipples  like he could stare for hours.

My voice stayed even. “You called for me…Sir”. “And you came,” he said, softer than the shadows. “You always do.”

I let out a calm, warm breath and shifted in my chair, letting my hips settle deeper into the cushion. Then I slid both hands under my left thigh, guiding my leg with slow, practiced strength.

I lifted it…Paused… then crossed it over the other. That little moment, that lift, that placement , always felt so intimate, but today it felt powerful too. It drew the eye. It drew his eyes like a magnet to my crippled long legs.

He watched the whole motion as if nothing else in the world existed. The room was thick with something unspoken, something warm. His chest rose as if he had forgotten to breathe.

“You know what you do to me,” he murmured. I smoothed the red dress over my thighs and let my fingers linger.

“Do I Sir?” The corner of his mouth lifted. “You move like you’re aware of every effect you have.”

“Maybe I am,” I said, letting my smile grow slow and confident. “Maybe I enjoy it. His gaze dragged back up to my face, my lips with restrained want.

“You cross your legs like that on purpose,” he said. “Like you want me to lose control.”

“Maybe I like being admired. Maybe I’m an exhibitionist, Maybe a sexual tease sir” I kept my voice soft, intimate. “And maybe I like that you don’t pretend not to stare.”

“You are all of that and… impossible… And so damn beautiful it hurts.”

I leaned in, head tilted,  “So,” I asked gently, “why did you call me up here?”

His answer came out low and honest. “Because I needed to see you.” The air tightened around us again , warm, close, charged.

“And now that I’m here?” I asked.

He stepped closer, but slowly, his eyes sliding back to my legs, then up to my mouth and eyes.

But before he could touch me again I rolled toward the couch, the wheels humming softly under my hands. He followed every inch of my movement, silent, alert, already breathing differently. I stopped beside the couch and let a quiet moment bloom between us,  a moment where he knew exactly what I was about to do… and exactly how much he wanted to watch it.

“Sit,” he murmured, almost a command, almost a plea. I pretended not to hear. Instead, I adjusted myself in my chair, slow and graceful, letting the anticipation stretch.

My long fingers slid down to my thigh, gliding over the soft line of it. I took my time, letting him see how well I knew the effect it had. His shoulders tightened. His jaw set. I lifted one hip with a small, controlled shift. Just a tiny movement but his breath caught as if I’d touched something deeper.

Then came the slow adjustment of my knees, guiding them inward with practiced precision, arranging myself for the transfer. He swallowed hard, eyes burning.I placed one hand on the cushion beside me. Another on the arm of my chair.

My body tilted forward in a fluid motion, my ponytail sliding across my shoulder, my red dress stretching just enough to reveal more of my thighs. His gaze followed everything, not missing a single detail.

The Conclusion to come
Ashley

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