Fingers trace the rim of her martini glass, teasing, daring. Their gazes linger, dark with promises, as her leg brushes against one, then another, beneath the pristine white tablecloth. A whispered challenge, a barely contained smirk—are they really about to test the limits of high society’s patience?
Their hands find her the moment she’s seated—one brushes her knee, another traces her wrist, the third tugs her just a little closer. Heat simmers beneath the surface, tension thick enough to taste. With every lingering touch, every whispered promise, dinner becomes an afterthought.
Because Crista knows exactly what’s on the menu tonight—and it’s not just the filet mignon.
XOXO Ashleigh
Gary Campbell
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