She sobbed in air on a moan, and he turned his attention to her neck.
“I hope you don’t like this dress,” he murmured, and before she could ask what he meant, he grasped it between his hands, and shredded it, from neckline to hem so that it sagged open. Ripping her clothes from her excited him, and he drew in an unsteady breath. “Oh, f-k,” he groaned, his eyes smouldering as he took in the barely-there underwear and lack of bra. “Emily.”
“Owen,” she whimpered as his mouth fastened over her breast, sucking the nipple against his tongue. “Oh, f-k. Owen, the driver…”
“What?” He was bewildered, the driver’s presence having not cross his mind, and he glanced over his shoulder automatically to where the driver was hidden behind a partial wall. “He is driving, Em, not concentrating on the porn show.”
“Owen,” she protested. They would have the same drivers throughout the tour, and she didn’t want them gossiping about having seen Emily and Owen f-king.