He gave me a look that would have melted the face off a lesser opponent, and I grinned, leaning to kiss his neck and whispering, “I can’t wait for you to come in my mouth later.”
He coughed, practically dropping his vodka gimlet onto the tabletop, and earning a few curious looks from Will and Max across the table.
“You okay over there, Bennett?” Will asked, knowing grin in place. Had Bennett told the men about his newly donned chastity belt? I hoped he had; no one would be happier to help me in my plan to derail Bennett’s determination than Will and Max.
“Just went down the wrong pipe,” Bennett explained.
“He’s usually much better when he’s aiming it down mine,” I said in a stage whisper, and both Will and Max burst into laughter across the table. Will leaned forward to give me a high-five.
“Has he told you about his new virginity?” I asked.
“He mentioned he’s enjoying the sport of keeping you waiting,” Max said. “But for the record, Chloe, I’d like to say that those heels are fucking smashing.”
“I agree!” I said, grinning over at my fiancé.
The booth was large enough for several people, and after they’d ordered their drinks, Brian and Bull joined the four of us. For several quiet moments we sipped our cocktails, and Max and I shared an amused grin when we heard Sara’s cackle across the room.
“That’s your girl over there,” I said.
He raised his glass to me, cheeks flushed, and murmured, “Indeed it is,” before taking a sip.
I looked over at Sara and laughed. “Actually, that’s your girl over there with a big belly . . . carrying a tray of shots.”
He looked up and groaned, standing to walk over. His words drifted out of earshot after we heard him say, “Sare, love, that’s too heavy . . .”
“He is whipped,” Will murmured.
“Don’t even start on that, Sumner,” Bennett said with a shake of his head. “You can barely keep your tongue in your mouth around Hanna.”
Will shrugged and leaned back in the booth, not even hiding the way he looked over at his girlfriend and studied every inch of her exposed legs.
I let my eyes move around the men at the table and wondered if they were being relatively quiet because they wanted me to leave so they could discuss guy things, like penises and basketballs and toilets. But I was so comfortable, and the weight of Bennett’s arm around my shoulder was too perfect to want to move. The only way I would move is if it was to climb into his lap and wiggle a little.
I started to execute this brilliant idea, but he stopped me with a tight grip on my shoulder. “Don’t you dare.”
“Are you hard?” I asked quietly, just loud enough for him to hear.
He shot me a look. “No.”
I licked my lips and felt my pulse take off when his eyes dropped to my mouth and he leaned a little closer. “How about now?”
“You’re impossible, woman.” He moved away, reaching for his drink.
A large tattoo of a woman’s face on Bull’s arm caught my eye and I leaned close to Bennett again, but he leaned away.
“No, come here,” I said, pulling at his T-shirt. “I have a question. I swear I’m not going to lick your ear.” Reluctantly he leaned close enough for me to quickly lick his ear before asking, “Who is that on Bull’s arm?”
He studied it for a second before turning to whisper, “I think that’s his girlfriend—or ex-girlfriend?—Maisie. They’ve been on-again, off-again since they were teenagers.”