There's something about her. As she frowns at the screen of her phone, I want to know more. I want to know her as I've never wanted to know anyone before.
What makes this blue-eyed beauty tick?
Watching her pink lower lip disappear behind her white teeth, I wonder what she's thinking. At the same time, I miss how close we were at the bar. I miss the sensation of her shoulder against mine.
When she looks back up, she says, “Thank you, but you didn't need to buy my drink.”
I just smile. It's not her sweet voice that makes me happy, though the sound of it is like a melody. It's the way she appears to have relaxed. We're too far apart to touch, but by the calm liquid in her glass, I can tell her trembling from before has stopped.
“You can get the next round,” I offer.
Her long lashes flutter over her eyes as pink fills her cheeks. “I-I probably should go. This was supposed to be...well, my friend just texted again. Her boyfriend has a work emergency. She can’t make it, so the blind date is off. I guess my night is a bust.”
I lean closer. “On the contrary, you, beautiful lady, owe me a drink. You can't leave with a debt unpaid.”
Her smile grows. “Then I better pay up.”
“Do you always fulfill all your obligations?”
She nods, making her dark hair move and flow in long waves over her shoulders. “Always.”
“Tell me something about you,” I pry, wanting to know it all.
“Tonight was supposed to be my reintroduction into learning how to have fun. I guess it fizzled.”
I reach out. As the tips of my fingers contact the warmth of her arm, I pause. Our connection sizzles and crackles. It’s so strong I can practically hear it over the din of the bar. When I look up, I wonder if she's feeling the same thing. Her eyes are wide, but just as quickly the long lashes veil her true thoughts.
Whether she sensed it or not, I’m pleased that she doesn't pull away.
“I don't know about you, but neither fizzle nor bust is a word I'd use to describe my night.” I continue, “Like I said, I was dreading this evening. That isn't a pickup line. I was supposed to meet a friend here, a person I knew a long time ago, a person who knew me a long time ago. I recently moved to town and other than work, I've been kind of a hermit. My friend and I were close once, but until recently I hadn't seen him in years. I've changed a lot since then.” I shrug. “I'm not sure if he understands that about me...he wanted me to meet someone nice who he knows.” I cringe. “You know how blind dates can be?”
She shakes her head.
“You don't?”
“No.” The word comes out more as a sigh. “I've never officially been on one.”
“Consider yourself lucky. They never pan out. When someone is described as nice, that’s code for uglier than shit. I’m a little afraid to look around in case there’s a nice woman looking for me.”
Her laughter fills the booth as she shrugs. “Tonight was supposed to be my first.” Her eyes spring open wide as she clarifies, “My first blind date. But, well, my friend warned me that the guy has issues.”
“Ew.” My nose scrunches. “That's even worse. You didn't get the nice guy speech?”
“I think she was taking it easy on me. You know, easing me in slowly.”
I scoot closer and nudge my shoulder against hers. “Go ahead. Spill. What is the guy's problem?”
Her head moves rapidly back and forth. “I-I haven't had enough wine for that.”
It's all the encouragement I need. My hand flies into the air catching the waitress's attention. “Two more drinks and...” I look my companion's way. “...menus?”
There's but a second of hesitation. “Yes,” she says, “but I'm buying my own meal.”
“You heard the lady,” I say to the waitress. “Menus and she's buying.”
“I-I...”
I've officially fallen for her little stutter. If I have her pegged correctly, it comes right before a burst of confidence.
“Sure,” she proclaims. “Why the hell not?”
Bingo!
“I plan to learn the issues with the guy you were supposed to meet before the night is through.”
“I plan to learn your name.”
I lean back. How do I not know her name and yet the conversation has been anything but uncomfortable? It's been fun and relaxed.
I extend my hand and she takes it. “Malcolm Peppernick, and you?”
“Mandy,” she says with a grin. “Mandy Wells.”
Her hand lingers in mine. It’s just like before: when helping her from her chair, I touched her arm and there was a pull—a magnetic force drawing me closer to her.
Still holding her hand, my gaze goes to her lips. They're pink and plump. The shimmer is light and not obnoxious. It's like the hint of perfume that lingers around Mandy: sweet while not overpowering but still incredibly intoxicating.
My willpower is waning by the second as I move even closer. I want to taste her lips and probe her warm mouth. I want to capture the lingering sips of wine and drink them down.
Instead of pulling away, she allows her gaze to follow suit, dropping to my lips, intent on watching their next move.
It's when her tongue darts to the surface that I know I can’t let this pass. I lean toward her. “Mandy, I want to kiss you.”
She doesn't say yes, and she doesn't say no.
Another inch and our lips unite. I capture hers, tasting her shiny gloss as we kiss. It's the first kiss I've experienced in months, and I'm instantly a man deprived, wanting more—no, needing more.
Like lightning to a dry grassy field, as our breath mingles, a fire ignites, rushing through me straight from my lips to my dick. It too has been on hiatus. No longer. Like Frankenstein’s lifeless body, Mandy’s bolt of lightning zaps my cock back to life. First with a twitch, but as our kiss lingers, it is growing by the second.
This beautiful lady is the power and energy I hadn't realized I was missing.
The restaurant disappears as we move closer, the front of her dress brushing against my chest. I reach for her arms, turning her until both of her perfect tits are smashed against me, until nothing but our clothes separates us.
Chapter Six
Mandy
My nipples harden to painful nubs as they flatten against Malcolm's hard chest.
Words aren't forming. They've been replaced with moans and whimpers as I squirm against the seat.
Who the hell am I? What is happening?
As heat and wetness flood my core, I contemplate how I went from nun to slut in a matter of forty minutes. This isn't the Amanda Wells my mother knows: the responsible mother and daughter, the hard worker and caring sister, the good friend.
Who is this?
I know the answer. This is a grown woman who’s been held captive in life and sees a chance for a small reprieve.
No—not sees. This is a woman who feels that reprieve with everything in her.
I push the thoughts of everyday life from my mind. I can’t think about the person I usually am. If I did, I’d feel a responsibility to ask Sally if Brian’s friend is here. I don’t want to. I want to live in the now.