As Dylan caught Laura stealing shy looks at him, his money problems (twenty nine million of them per year) faded and he started to wonder if she could keep them happy for the rest of their—
“Dylan? Ready to go?” The waitress had taken the check, cleared the table, and was practically pulling out the vacuum to clean their spot.
The meal paid for, they stood and he put his arm around her waist. She leaned into him just enough to finally send him a signal that told him, Oh, yeah, and off they went outside. He reached for her hand, intertwining his fingers in hers. As they walked toward the boardwalk, he realized they weren’t going on that cruise.
Her scent was intoxicating. He couldn’t believe that her unique mixture of perfume, musk, and soap fused together to produce this. Even better—he knew that there were other scents, other tastes that would be even more divine if he could get there tonight.
Dylan stopped, finally, bursting at the seams with his own internal dialogue, his own body’s cravings, and just looked at her and decided that he needed to be as forthright with her as he had been with most people throughout his life, because these games weren’t cutting it anymore.
Time to make his move.
He leaned down, caressed her jawline with his right hand, and brought his lips to hers. She responded, pressing her body against his until everything, from breast to hip, was his, pushed into him, and anything he felt for her was extremely obvious right now.
They definitely were not going on that cruise.
Cruise, what cruise? She had no intentions of going on a cruise. As his kiss deepened, lips parted, as their tongues danced, she found herself roiling in ecstasy inside, going so far as to be twisted into a cliché, one leg lifting up as she stood on her tiptoes, even in high heels needing to stand on tiptoes to match him in his kiss.
His hands roamed her back. She returned the motion, her fingers splayed across the broad, muscular expanse of his shoulders, his hands cupping her jaw now, pushing, needing, craving....
“Ah,” he said, his voice gravely and thick with desire, “Can we take a pass on that cruise?”#p#分页标题#e#
She dipped her head down and laughed softly. “Yeah —good thing you didn’t buy those tickets after all.”
Cocking his head, he looked at her with smoky eyes and asked, “Do you have a car parked nearby?” She knew what he was asking, his words code for Can I take you home and fuck you without worrying about your car getting ticketed or towed?
How sweet. Most guys didn’t care.
“No car. I took the train today.”
Nodding, his smile widened. “I drove, so let’s take my car to my place? For drinks?”
Whoo—eee. Laura swallowed hard, knowing that this was really it. He wanted to sleep with her, was inviting her back to his place for it, and she ran through her mental inventory. Clean lingerie? Yes. Shaved legs? Yes—she’d been optimistic. No car? Yes.
Birth control?
Oh, shit. She was on the pill, but had forgotten to take it a few days ago. Missing one day shouldn’t hurt, right?
Hopefully he had a condom.
His puzzled look told her she was taking too long to think. “I would love a drink.” And then he leaned in for another kiss, the move more certain now, his hands on her more demanding and visceral, claiming her and marking her arms, her neck, her lips and ass with his hands, his touch, his caress.
She was his tonight, and that had to be enough for her. He was hers for whatever he gave, and as the kiss heated she felt her core warm, clit throbbing and eager for what his tongue was promising right now, exploring her as his hands roamed her back and neck.
People were staring now; as she opened her eyes the onlookers tittered. She pulled back and wiped her mouth, embarrassed.
Dylan just grinned, leaned in and said, “Let’s stop giving the jealous bastards a show.” Her laughter rang down the street to the parking lot where his Audi sat.
When she climbed in it smelled like a campfire.
Blasting the local 80s station on the radio, they rode back to his place in silence, his hand planted on her knee whenever he wasn’t shifting, the fingers playing a melody of lust and creeping higher up her thigh until they arrived at his apartment complex. It was a skyscraper made of glass and steel and screamed money.
How in the hell did a firefighter afford this? As if he heard her thoughts, Dylan muttered, “I have a roommate.”
“Oh.” Disappointment flooded her. Maybe he really did just want to have drinks? No guy ever, ever invited her to his place to share some vodka and Coke, though. Not even the true assholes who beer goggled their way to fucking a fat chick they despised in the morning.