When I didn’t hear the tell-tell sound of the boards sighing under his feet, I turned back and arched a brow. I didn’t know why but that was a catalyst for him to toe out of his sneakers. Then, I waved a hand, beckoning him to me.
With each step, I wanted to pounce.
With each step, I wanted to take him on my floor, have him fuck me so hard the parquet didn’t just sigh with us, it screamed.
Instead, nostrils flaring, I headed into the kitchen, poured myself and him a glass of wine then, holding it out for him to take, I inhaled a gulpful, regretting that I’d likened this to his flavor.
Nothing tasted like him.
Nothing compared, which was why I found myself standing here, awkward as hell.
I was no fool. I saw something in him I didn’t necessarily understand, but any shark who scented blood didn’t veer off course, did they? They headed straight for the scene of carnage...
Micah was that scene of carnage just waiting to happen.
Whether that would be my personal or professional life was something I couldn’t know yet.
Maybe it would be both.
And maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t give a damn.
Only time would tell.
Eleven
Micah
My first date had been with Grace Knoxley. Cheerleader, future sorority sister, and a desperate housewife in the making.
She’d been exactly what I needed to shield the fact I wanted Hunter Jaxson—the QB of my football team. We’d gone to a movie together where she’d given me a blowjob, and I’d thought of Hunter and his tight ass to get off.
That was six years ago, before Chelsea, my fiancée, but obviously, I was Grace to Devlin.
His first date. Adult-style.
It was actually kind of cute.
“Do you want more?” he asked gruffly, shoving the bowl at me and nearly tossing it on my lap.
My lips twitched into a smile as I sat back at his kitchen table. “I’m good, thanks.”
His gaze drifted to my mouth, and he stared at it like he’d been doing for the past forty minutes as we ate, then when my smile widened into a grin, he cleared his throat and reached for his wine glass.
Whenever he looked at me too long, he’d take a deep gulp of wine—wine I knew was expensive just from the bouquet. Something that really shouldn’t be tossed back like cheap tequila. Just saying.
The kitchen was so impersonal that I wondered if he even called it his, what with all the stainless steel in here that made it more industrial than for a home cook.
I’d seen the fridge, seen that it was full of food but, for the life of me, I couldn’t see Devlin cooking in here. He looked awkward and uncomfortable, and not just because I was sharing the dining table with him either.
I’d hoped that the half-bottle of Merlot he’d just downed would ease his nerves, but it hadn’t. To the point where I wasn’t sure what would. And because this was my first date with a guy, I wasn’t exactly at ease. But my unease was a whole ocean apart from Devlin’s.
“Do you want to fuck?” I asked simply, curious why he was going to all this effort when he didn’t seem to want to be here.
His eyes widened and he choked on the sip of wine he’d just taken. For a second, I thought he was going to spray it over me and the tablecloth then, when his face turned red, and he swallowed, he managed to rasp out, “I beg your pardon?”
“You can beg me for many things, but not that,” I teased softly, head tipping to the side as I stared at him. “It’s okay, Devlin. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. It can just be about the sex.”
His frown darkened. “I asked you here to talk.”
“Not to fuck?” I arched a disbelieving brow. “So why haven’t you talked to me?”
He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t know what to say?” I repeated cautiously. “Seriously?”
“No. Usually the women I take to events don’t require a running commentary to the shit they spew about make-up and dresses.”
Though I scowled at that, the stupid possessiveness he inspired in me rearing its bizarre head again, I muttered, “Well, I don’t know much about dresses. I’m not into drag.”
“Good. I’m not either.” He heaved a relieved sigh. “Although, from VICE, only God knows who I’ve fucked. Could have been John from Albuquerque on a trip to the big city looking to screw a guy before he goes clean and marries Mary-Sue, or Marilyn Monroe in full costume. They all look the same in the dark.”
I snorted at that. “The legend herself, huh? No less for Devlin Astley.”
“She could turn any man straight, I think,” he teased back as his fingers drifted to the bowl of the glass in his hand. Running his finger around the rim, the notes as the crystal sang permeated the air. “I—”
“What is it?”
“No one knows this, but maybe it’s wise to get this out of the way.”
Not more STD talk…
“I own VICE.”
My brows rose. “Good to know.”
He pulled a face. “I just…” He sighed. “Never mind. Anyway, it isn’t that I wouldn’t like to fuck.” His gaze remained firmly on his glass. “But I just don’t want you to think that’s all I want.”
I refused to feel hopeful. Not just from that, but his full disclosure about VICE. “Blowjobs come with no strings attached,” I said wryly.
“Stop doing that,” he snapped, glowering at me. “I wouldn’t have—” The glower darkened. “I don’t know why but I just want to talk to you. Is that a problem?”
Softly, I shook my head. “No, it’s not. I’m sorry. I’m new to all this as well, don’t forget.”
He heaved a sigh. “I just wish it wasn’t so fucking awkward. I look at you and all the words escape me. It’s like 1995 again when I had a crush on Kylie Minogue.” He rubbed his eyes. “I should be so fucking lucky,” he muttered grimly.
So, he was bi. Guesstimating his age back then, I reckoned he was fourteen. At fourteen, I’d crushed on Zac Efron in a big way.
But what had me biting my lip was his earlier remark.
When he looked at me, he lost all his words?
It was nice to know I wasn’t the only one feeling thunderstruck even if this date was underwhelming.
I reached for my wine glass and, after taking a sip, murmured, “Why haven’t you gone on a date before?”
He shrugged. “Wasn’t necessary.”
I had to laugh. “They just jumped into bed with you?”
“Well, no, I gave them something.”
“Like what?” I asked curiously.
“A necklace, a bracelet.” He waved a hand. “You know, jewelry. Clothes. Meals at the best restaurants, trips to five-star resorts...”
“And they all showed their appreciation between the sheets?”
Another shrug. “I suppose. They were waiting on a ring.” His lips twisted. “Like being my wife would be a joy.”
His sniff told me he thought it would be hell.
“Why wouldn’t it be a joy?”