Chapter 151
[ 499 words ]
Chapter 151:
Mrs. Thompson had practically shoved the largest, most perfectly cooked piece of tomahawk steak onto Jarrod’s plate. She had brought out the antique silver cutlery that she normally saved for Thanksgiving. Caroline’s plate held a small, overcooked edge piece of meat.
Mr. Thompson kept refilling Jarrod’s bourbon glass, eagerly asking him questions about the Pentagon’s budget allocations.
Jarrod played his role with terrifying perfection. He answered the questions with deep, insightful political knowledge, making her father feel incredibly important. He complimented her mother’s cooking with a charming smile.
Caroline sat across from him, gripping her silver fork so hard her knuckles turned white. She violently stabbed a piece of mashed potato, imagining it was Jarrod’s smug face.
𝖲𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗀𝖺𝗅𝗇𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗌.𝖼𝗈𝗆
Suddenly, a heavy, warm pressure pressed against her right calf.
Caroline’s chewing stopped instantly. Her spine locked.
It was the hard leather toe of Jarrod’s expensive dress shoe.
She snapped her head up. She glared across the table.
Jarrod was looking directly at her father, nodding thoughtfully at a boring story about the neighborhood association. His face was a mask of polite, respectful attention.
Beneath the thick oak table, his shoe slowly slid upward. The smooth leather dragged deliberately along the curve of her calf, sending a shocking jolt of electricity straight up her leg.
Caroline’s face flushed a deep, angry red. She quickly swung her left foot under the table and kicked his shin hard.
Jarrod didn’t even flinch. His leg felt like a concrete pillar.
Instead of retreating, he shifted his weight. He smoothly hooked his ankle around hers, the subtle pressure an undeniable chain, locking her leg completely in place.
“Caroline, dear,” Mrs. Thompson frowned, noticing her daughter’s red face. “Are you coming down with a fever? Your face is completely flushed.”
Caroline’s heart hammered in her throat. She gripped the linen napkin in her lap with sweaty palms.
“No,” Caroline stammered, her voice tight. “It’s just… very warm in here.”
Jarrod finally turned his head to look at her. A dark, wicked gleam flashed in his gray eyes.
“It is a bit warm,” Jarrod agreed smoothly. “You should drink some water, sweetheart.”
Under the table, the toe of his shoe slid higher. It pressed directly into the incredibly sensitive hollow behind her knee. He began to trace slow, agonizing circles against her skin.
A violent shiver ripped through Caroline’s body. Her breath hitched audibly. The silver fork slipped from her fingers and clattered loudly against the porcelain plate.
The extreme contrast was driving her insane. He was discussing tax policy with her father while simultaneously subjecting her to a relentless, deeply intimate physical assault under the table. The sheer taboo of the situation sent a terrifying rush of adrenaline and heat straight to her core.
She couldn’t take it for another second.
Caroline grabbed the edge of the table and shoved her chair back. The wooden legs screeched horribly against the floor.
Her sudden movement broke Jarrod’s trap.
“I’m full,” Caroline gasped, her chest heaving. “I need to use the restroom.”
She didn’t wait for a response. She spun around and practically sprinted out of the dining room.
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