“If you wear that dress for dinner, all I’m going to be able to think about is how good it looked around your waist when I was fingering you.”
Her knees almost buckled. Crude and sexy at the same time. His wicked smile said he knew exactly how he affected her.
Which might have been why she was saucy enough to say, “It felt even better than you can imagine.”
Then she sauntered past him, cheeks hot as he chuckled. “I can’t wait for dinner.”
Neither could she, which meant the car ride back was torture. Especially since he placed a hand on her leg. Nothing more, yet its weight only served to remind her what he’d done. How it felt.
What would he say if she pulled the car to the side of the road and mauled him?
At his direction, she dropped him off at his hotel, blushed, and said no thanks at his offer to come upstairs. She couldn’t, not knowing the hairy state of her body. She called the office and told them she’d ripped her tights when she slipped in the snow. Not the first time it had happened, so no one would question why she went home.
She took a long shower and used a lot of soap. Made a note to get some drain cleaner, too, given the pelt she mowed off.
When she emerged, bare-legged, clean underarms, and very trimmed pubes, it was to see her cat staring at her.
Judging her.
“Don’t start, Fluff.” Yes, she was that crazy lady who talked to her cat. “You didn’t see this guy. He’s like sex on a stick.”
She just wanted to lick and bite, which had never happened before. Just like she’d never slept with a guy so quickly. Hell, if she was going to be honest, she’d never had a fling.
And here she was, getting ready for sex with an almost veritable stranger.
Assuming dinner would lead to sex. Perhaps he’d cancel. Or he’d claim he was tired. Maybe find someone better. Skinnier. Prettier.
She shook her head at the negative thought. Since when did she care? He hadn’t seemed to mind her shape earlier. And it wasn’t as if this was anything more than two people hooking up for some fun.
Which meant no regrets.
Given her legs were sensitive, she vetoed the stockings and put on some pants paired with a pink cashmere sweater threaded with silver snowflakes. She also shoved extra undies into her purse. A good thing because she spent the rest of that day thinking about him. How he’d made her feel. What would happen tonight?
She’d already broken so many rules. And honestly didn’t care. She’d never felt so on fire for a man before. Needy. Wanton. Sexy.
He had to be using her. No way was he overcome with lust. Believing that would make it easier to keep her heart out of it. This was just sex. Pleasure.
In a few days he’d be gone. No one hurt.
But she’d be doing a lot of laundry because there went another pair of panties. Seven o’clock took forever to arrive and then came too soon.
Ready. Not ready. She’d never been so nervous before. It didn’t help that she’d convinced herself on the walk over that he wouldn’t show up.
While she’d chosen the restaurant because of its delicious food, it never occurred to her that the bistro might be romantic with its tablecloths and rounded booths, the lighting dim.
And he was already there. Arbuckle stood as she slid into the booth. He then sat across from her, doing nothing but being elegant and charming. She was the one with her mind in the gutter, constantly staring at his hand. The one that pleasured her.
He growled. “Stop it.”
“What?” She cast him a startled glance.
“You make me forget we’re in a crowded place. All I want to do is get under that table and enjoy some dessert.”
She squirmed. “I don’t think that’s allowed in public.”
“I know,” he grumbled. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”
“About this afternoon…”
“If you say you regret it, I will stab myself with this butter knife.” He held it poised.
Her lips curved. “I was going to say I don’t usually do that.”
“I should hope you don’t fool around with all your clients.”
“Never. But that’s not the only first.” The wine loosened her tongue, and she almost slapped a hand on her mouth.
“What else was a first for you, Blake?” He purred her name.
She blushed and ducked her head. “Nothing.”
“You’ve never been fingered?”
She shuddered. “I have.” She didn’t add not as well as he’d managed. “I meant doing that in someone’s house. Standing up,” she stammered.
He chuckled. “Don’t tell me you’re usually in the bed in the dark.”
“Isn’t that standard?”
“If you can wait that long.” He slid over on the seat. His hand landed on her thigh. “Personally, if we make it out of this restaurant without you coming, I’ll be surprised.”
Her lips parted. “Mr. Arbuckle.”
“Call me Matt.”
“Isn’t your name Larry?”
“I prefer my middle name with my friends.”
“I didn’t know we were friends.” Her breathing hitched as his hand traveled to the pulsing spot between her thighs.
“Oh, I’d say we are good friends.” He pressed, and she shuddered.
But she couldn’t let him control the situation this time. She placed her hand on his thigh. Squeezed it. His gaze locked onto hers.
“I have your salad,” the waiter interrupted.
She thought it was over, but Matt’s right hand stayed where it was. He ate with his left.
Her left hand stayed on his thigh and crept over. She ate with her right. She couldn’t hold his stare, so she concentrated on her food. The salad disappeared.
The main course took two hands, and she only ate a little before pushing it away. Her hand was back on his lap, hidden by the table and its cloth. His hand was buried between her thighs.
The cake with whipped cream and fresh berries arrived. Not that she tasted anything when he slid down her zipper, slipped his hand into her pants, and fingered her directly.
Her eyes lost focus as he kept rubbing. The forkful of dessert dangled in front of her mouth, and it took him whispering, “Eat or people will see you coming,” for her to climax.
She might have cried out if he’d not taken that moment to kiss her, swallowing any noise she might have made as her orgasm trembled through her, pulsing around the finger he’d inserted.
The cock she held through his slacks throbbed in her grip.
She wanted nothing more than to be somewhere she could have him inside her. She opened her mouth and whispered, “Let’s go back to my place.”
As he said, “My hotel is closer.”
That was when her phone with its usual great timing went off.
Chapter Seven
Winters the Iceman was confused and so horny. He could flirt all day, even laugh and play, but admitting feelings was corny.
“Whoever that is has shit timing,” Mathias grumbled, more blue-balled than ever. Only the Iceman didn’t feel cold. He ran a fever.
“It’s actually the alarm for the office. Sorry, I’m going to have to cut our date short.”