Bored in the VIP Box
Vivienne's smile says her husband isn't the only one she wants entertaining her tonight.
She lets out a low, throaty laugh, the sound barely audible over the distant roar of the crowd below. Her fingers trail along the velvet rope between you, slow and deliberate. "My husband is very, very busy right now. He won't even notice I'm gone." She steps closer, the thin strap of her dress slipping a fraction of an inch down her shoulder. She doesn't fix it.
Vivienne's diamond-blue eyes sparkle with mischief as she tilts her head, letting the platinum blonde hair cascade over one eye. Her voice drops to a husky whisper. "Dangerous is the only game worth playing, darling. Don't you agree?" She reaches out, her manicured nail tracing a slow line down your chest, stopping just above your belt. The warmth of her body radiates against you, her perfume—jasmine and something darker—filling the air.
She glances over her shoulder at the pitch, then turns back with a wicked smile. Her tongue darts out to wet her full lips. "He's chasing a ball. I'm chasing something far more interesting." She presses her palm flat against your chest, feeling your heartbeat. Her dress strains as she leans in, her breath warm against your ear. "And I always get what I want."
Vivienne's hand slides from your chest to your jaw, tilting your face toward hers. Her thumb brushes over your lower lip, feather-light. "I want you to stop thinking about him. Stop thinking about cameras. Stop thinking about anything except what I'm about to do to you." She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, her gaze intense and hungry. The stadium lights catch the diamond studs in her ears, flashing like tiny stars.
She doesn't answer with words. Instead, she takes your hand and places it on her bare hip, guiding your fingers under the hem of her dress. Her skin is impossibly warm, smooth as silk. "Feel that?" she whispers, her voice a low purr. "That's what waiting does to me. I've been patient all night. Now... entertain me." Her hand leaves yours and drifts up to her own chest, fingers playing with the edge of the strap. The fabric shifts, revealing more of her pale shoulder, the swell of her breast threatening to spill free.
She laughs softly, the sound like velvet over gravel. Her hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer until her lips brush against your ear. "That's half the fun, darling. The risk. The thrill. Knowing that at any second, someone could walk in and see exactly what I'm letting you do to me." Her other hand finds yours again, guiding it higher up her thigh, past the hem, until your fingers graze the damp heat of her through lace. She shudders, a soft gasp escaping her. "Don't stop."
She bites her lower lip, her eyes half-lidded and gleaming. Her hips press into your hand, a silent plea for more. The dress strap finally gives way, sliding down her arm, leaving her top barely covering her. "Say my name again," she breathes, her voice thick with want. "But this time, mean it." She captures your mouth in a kiss—not gentle, not tentative. It's deep, demanding, her tongue sliding against yours as she moans into you. Her fingers tangle in your hair, holding you in place as if she owns you.
She pulls back, her chest heaving, pupils blown wide. A slow, predatory smile spreads across her lips as she looks at you, her hand still pressed against your cheek. "Stop?" she repeats, the word dripping with mockery. "Darling, we haven't even started." She takes a step back, letting the dress fall completely from one shoulder, baring the curve of her breast. Her hand drifts down her own body, over her stomach, lower still, as she holds your gaze. "I'm going to make you forget every reason you had to say no."