“Venice, Italy? Was it beautiful? I’d love to go there someday.”
He shakes his head. “Venice, California. He does business in the states, too. But I do have to fly back to Italy to do another shoot over spring break.” He looks up at me. “I want you to go with me.”
My heart drops. “Go with you? To Italy?”
He nods. “It’ll be like a vacation. I have to do the shoot, but after that, we’ll still be in Italy. The shoot’s in Capri, but we can go anywhere we want. I could show you my father’s house in Umbria. We could do some sightseeing in Rome. If your heart’s set on Venice, we could do Venice instead. It is better to go to Venice in spring than summer. Venice is hot as balls and just as smelly in the summertime.”
“You want me to go with you to Italy,” I echo.
“You can even bring your mom, if you want to,” he offers. “I mean, I’d like to spend most of the time exploring with you alone, but I know you said she never got to travel because of having you so young. We can fix that. My dad’s flying me over on his jet, so it makes no difference if it’s just you and me on the plane, or we bring one more.”
“I…” My head is spinning a little. “She has a boyfriend now.”
Hunter shrugs. “He can come, too.”
“I can’t go to Italy with you,” I say, frowning even as the words leave my mouth.
“Why not?”
Yeah, why not?
“Well… I don’t have a passport.”
Hunter smiles at me. “Spring break is a ways off yet. You’ve got time to get one. I want to take you to New York in December, too. Not for a photo shoot, but my dad has this gala ball every year in Manhattan. It’s the next time he’ll be in the states, and I’d like you to meet him.”
“You are throwing a lot of things at me right now.”
“Don’t say you can’t go because you don’t have a ballgown, either,” he says wryly, spearing a piece of steak.
“There are a lot of reasons. I feel like a lack of ballgown is pretty low on the list, actually.”
“Name one—a good one.”
“Um… I’m not your girlfriend. These are girlfriend activities. Meeting your family at a ball, flying to Italy with you for a romantic getaway. These are girlfriend activities, Hunter. Like, a serious girlfriend.”
“Well, I am serious about you,” he states.
“I can’t…”
“You keep using that word. I don’t think it means what you think it means.”
I look at him and cock an eyebrow.
“What?” he tosses back. “You think Sherlock’s the only fucking guy who’s ever seen The Princess Bride?”
I reach for my wine glass and take a big, greedy gulp. “You’re gonna have to give me a minute to process all this. I don’t want to say no out of hand, but…”
Hunter reaches for his own wine glass. “Take all the time you need. In the meantime, let’s get you a passport and a pretty blue ballgown.” His gaze slides to me, a glint of amusement in his deep brown eyes. “You know, just in case.”
Chapter Forty Seven
Riley
After dinner, I insist on cleaning up.
Hunter offers to help, but I tell him I have it under control. We’re planning to head to his media room and watch a movie once dinner is all cleaned up, so I suggested he go pick a movie.
Instead, he stays and “keeps me company.”
Maybe I should’ve let him help.
Denying him seems to have left his hands idle and looking for trouble.
I’m trying to concentrate on washing the dishes while he stands behind me, his strong arms wrapped around my waist.
That’s nice, but then as I’m scrubbing a dinner plate, his hands creep up and start to caress my breasts.
My heart beats extra hard, but I try not to let my interest show. “I’m going to finish these dishes, mister, regardless of your attempts to distract me.”
He pushes his hips forward and his bulge strains against my ass. “Are you sure?”
My heart rate picks up even more. “We’re supposed to watch a movie together before we go to bed,” I remind him.
“Who said anything about bed?” He moves my hair aside so he can kiss the back of my neck.
I try to focus as his soft lips move across my intensely sensitive skin, scrubbing the plate extra hard.
One of Hunter’s hands remains on my left breast, but the other slides down to my ass. He runs his hand over it, then squeezes.
I’m wearing leggings instead of jeans tonight, so I feel his touch more acutely through the thin fabric. When he slides his hand forward and cups my pussy in his hands, I feel that more intensely, too.
“Hunter…”
“I want these off.” It’s the only warning I get, then he’s pushing his fingers into the waistband of my leggings and shoving my pants down.
My heart jumps as cool air hits my suddenly bare legs. I look around on instinct, even knowing we’re in the house alone. It doesn’t seem right to get naked in the living room. I still feel like someone will see, but… I guess it is just us…
My heart still flutters, but I step out of the leggings so Hunter can pull them off me.
I’m more conscious of the pounding in my chest as I stand here in front of him, washing the dishes in my T-shirt and a pair of black panties that I bought just for this weekend. They’re black and lacy, not quite a thong, but they don’t cover much of my ass. I bought the panties because I thought Hunter would like them, but I didn’t consider how it would feel for him to actually look at me in them.
He’s certainly looking at me now. He stands back so he can look at my ass and legs. I can feel him looking me over, but he’s not touching me.
Even not touching me, knowing he’s staring at me with that hungry gaze of his makes my heart work harder, my breaths come a little shorter, a little faster.
Then I feel his warm hand on the bare flesh of my ass and I jump a little.
“Your ass is perfect,” he says, moving up behind me, pressing me closer to the counter. He keeps his body at my back and slides a hand in so he can cup my pussy again, this time with only a bit of flimsy lace in the way. “So is this,” he murmurs lowly in my ear.
I swallow, inching my legs open just a little so he can hold it in his hand.
With two fingers, he begins to rub me.
I put down the dish and my scrubber, grasping the edge of the countertop. “Hunter, you can’t do that if I’m ever going to finish the dishes.”
“As long as you keep scrubbing, I’ll behave. I won’t make you come until you’re finished,” he says, voice low, his breath hot on my ear. “But if you keep letting me distract you from your work… well, you’ll still finish, but the dishes probably won’t get cleaned,” he says, his tone a mix of amusement and arousal.
How am I supposed to focus on doing the dishes with him touching me like that?
I close my eyes for a few seconds and try to regroup. It’s hard to even breathe with him teasing me the way he is, but finally, taking a slow, deep breath, I pick up the scrubby and the dish again.