Book 2: Private Party

Ainslee

Rafe lowers his hand as far as can still be considered decent onto the small of my back and holds me closer as a second song begins. Tipsy troops are singing along, and couples dancing surround the tall bonfire in the courtyard.

This song is faster, not the slow one they were playing before for the lovers, but Rafe doesn’t seem to care. He keeps swaying us around at an unhurried pace.

“Have we made enough of an appearance yet?” he asks after the third song dies down.

“Yes, probably,” I say. “But we still have a little problem.” I glance down.

“What are you calling ‘little’?” Rafe protests.

I swallow. “Certainly nothing I feel pricking me.”

“That’s right.” Rafe moves so I’m between him and the fire, and we slip off into the garden a bit so that we are alone. No one can see when Rafe takes my hand and cups it around his trouser-covered dick. “Solve the problem,” he says, daring me with a raised eyebrow.

“Here?!”