someone else's feet taking her around the table to Draken. Charli certainly didn't will it. She tripped once and looked up quickly, as if daring anybody to laugh at her. But though there were smothered smiles, nobody made a sound. But she saw where their gazes were fixed, and again, had to fight not to shield her breasts.
Twenty thousand dollars.
"Yeah," said Draken. And his voice was husky now. "The rest of your body might feel hot, but your nipples look pretty chilled to me. Are you sure they're warm? Ms. Fontina? Are you listening?"
"N-no," she said stiffly. "I mean yes. I mean no, not chilled."
He smiled slowly. "Then that must mean they're uncomfortably warm. This should feel good. Hold still now, Ms. Fontina."
She watched, horrified, as he scooped up a piece of ice from the glass on the tray and brought it up to rub one of her nipples.
She jerked and cried, "Oh!" Rigidly she stood there, drop-jawed, as Draken scraped both her nipples with the ice, sending shards of frozen heat through her directly to her core.
"You're right," Draken said thoughtfully. "Now they're shriveling with cold and I see you're flinching. We don't want that, do we? Let me warm them up for you."
He ran his palms under her breasts, then hoisted the undersides until they overflowed his large hands and graphically squeezed the bulging flesh.
She made a muffled sound.
"What was that, Ms. Fontina?" he said politely.
"N-nothing."
"Mm, was it raining outside, by the way? I heard there was a forty percent chance of thunderstorms today." He started drawing on the nipples, pulling them, elongating them to an exaggerated length.
He was asking her the question. She shook her head wordlessly.
Aside from Draken's soft voice, there was dead silence. Around her, she sensed some of the men loosening their collars and shifting in their seats. She had no idea what to do. Yank away? Stop him? She wanted to. But it wasn't. Happening.
She was stuck in a horrible limbo between pleasure and depravity. Letting everyone see what Draken Almatto was doing—just allowing it—was mortifying. These people had to know from the way her hips were twitching what was happening to her. And that was before the whimpers escaping her throat made her sound like a trapped kitten.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to derail your speech, Ms. Fontina," Draken murmured, tugging hard on both nipples. "Please go on."
"Wh-what?" she said foggily.
"With your proposal," the blond guy said from off to the side, his voice deep. "Get on with it, babe."
Draken shot him a laser-sharp look. "Jude, please treat Ms. Fontina as you'd like to be treated if you were giving a formal presentation to an important client."
Charli bit down on a yelp of shocked pleasure as he gave her nipples a firm twist.
"Specifically, she would appreciate being addressed by her name," Draken went on.
"Oh—right," the guy said hastily. "If you don't mind, Ms. Fontina, go on with what you were saying."
"Yes, please, Ms. Fontina," someone else chimed in. "We're definitely keen to hear more."
Suddenly all the guys seemed earnest and supportive.
She gave a mental snort. While I stand here pretending your boss isn't tormenting my nipples in front of you, making me wet my panties.
"Ms. Fontina? Is there a problem?" Draken said softly.
"No," she swallowed. "No."
She drew courage from the depths of her reserves. This public handling of her was not in their agreement. But Charli was terrible at making spontaneous decisions; it was one reason she wasn't sure if she was true management material. Already her day had changed course too radically; now she felt vested in finishing the hour out. She would walk away from Draken Almatto and never see him again, and hopefully none of these other men, too, but at least she'd be twenty thousand richer.
"Go on," Draken reminded her. "You were cataloging the terms. If you could just do us the courtesy of repeating that last part..."
Charli took a deep breath, then began blathering