"W-what? Why?" she asks.
"PR. My agent said we've got work to do to make it look like I've settled down. No one's buying it," I lie, hopefully convincingly.
"Oh," she mutters, lowering her eyes. "It'd probably help if you weren't a complete prick to me out in public."
"Whatever. Hurry up and be ready to go in fifteen," I reply over my shoulder as I head to my room before she notices my raging boner that's desperate to bury itself in her.
After I shower and dress in khakis, I roll up the sleeves of my white dress shirt and go look for Addison to see if she's ready. I'm not trying to catch her changing to sneak a peek or anything like that. Nope. Not at all
And, oh hell, I find her sitting on the edge of the guest bed, her lean leg lifted in the air as she rubs lotion up and down it, flashing just a hint of black panties underneath her little black, strapless dress.
"Where are we going?" she asks without looking up at me.
"The Capital Grille. I want steak," I reply, entranced by the up and down motion of her hands caressing each of her legs.
I grab onto the top of the door frame to stretch my sore back muscles, trying to find something to do with my hands other than reach for those damn legs to pry them apart and taste her. She doesn't know it yet, but she's in for it tonight.
"That's one of my favorite restaurants." She shocks the hell out of me by replying sweetly instead of complaining. Then her penetrating gaze finally swings my way. Whoa. Her bright red lipstick jumps out at me in sharp contrast to her black dress and hair. Her long eyelashes flutter over golden eyes as she sits all arched back, ivory legs stretched out in front of her. I feel like I should be paying admission for an old school naughty film or pin-up girl photoshoot. When her front teeth bite down on her plump bottom lip, my hips reflexively rock forward, my cock trying to call next. But then I realize...she's actually checking me out, from my fingers grasping the frame all the way down to the toes of my brown dress shoes.
"Like what you see, sweet cheeks?" I tease.
Her eyes narrow just before she looks away and combs her fingers through her wavy hair. "Your belt and shoes don't match."
I glance down at myself in surprise at her statement. Brown shoes, black belt. Who gives a fuck? She does apparently.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were an enforcement officer for the fashion police," I snap in annoyance at her critique. I reach down and unfasten my belt while she watches my hands work. I yank the leather free from all the loops and fold it in half, slapping my other palm with it a few times. "I can think of a few better uses for this anyway. Why don't you bend over, so I can give you something to really bitch about?"
Her eyes widen with her gasp before she grumbles, "Ugh. Now I've lost my appetite."
"You can nibble crackers the whole time for all I care, but we are going out, so get your ass in the car!" Infuriating fucking woman. I turn around and storm through the house, tossing the belt on the sofa when I pass by it.
After I sit down in the driver seat of my Challenger, there's several moments when I think she may actually refuse to go with me. But then the door opens and she steps out, locks up, and strolls slowly and sensually, swaying her hips the whole way until she reaches the car. When she climbs into the passenger seat she's sitting close enough that I can smell her fresh, citrusy scent that makes my damn mouth water. Probably just my hunger.
"Well, are we going to eat or not?" she huffs. Shifting in the leather seat, she tugs on the hem of her short dress like that's going to make it magically lengthen to cover the abundance of thigh exposed. Yes, we need to get out in public, because PDAs are my new best friends.
I drive us downtown and luck up finding a close parking spot on a side street. Of course the restaurant is packed this time of night, and since I didn't make a reservation, we're directed to wait at the bar. Watching Addison mount the bar stool, I decide exactly how I'm going to spend the time until a table's ready.
"Let me get a Jack and coke," I tell the frat boy bartender as I take the stool on the left of her. "And what would you like sweet-ie?" I barely catch myself before saying cheeks or tits because I'm distracted, stroking my palm up Addison's bare leg, my thumb running along her inner thigh. Her jaw drops as her hand covers mine to stop my forward progress. Then she picks my hand up and slaps it down high on my thigh. Oh God. If I squirm even a few inches our overlapping palms will brush my cock.
"Just a water is fine," she says sweetly, flashing a perfect smile at the bartender.
"My pleasure," the asshole says with an answering grin, staring at Addison with obvious male appreciate before going to work on our drinks. The dickwad probably spent more time perfecting his floppy, Justin Bieber hair than the woman with waist-length hair did beside me. Fucker. Doesn't he see her practically grabbing my junk?