The smile that breaks out on his face is blinding, and I find myself smiling back as he leans down to kiss me. It tingles through me all the way to my toes, and I feel the desire for him rise from deep within. “I’ll send the limo for you,” he says.
“Are we going out?”
“No.” He winks. “We’re staying in.” As he pushes open the door he looks back at me. “Have you used the glass dildo?” He grins when I shake my head. “Bring it with you.”
I dampen at his words. I know that tonight is going to be one to remember, and whether or not I’ve just made a huge mistake is something only time will tell. I walk back to Ella, and she’s giving me a look that basically says ‘I-told-you-so.’ “I guess I’m not setting you up with Darren until tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” I say, trying to stifle my grin and failing. “I think I should see how tonight goes.”
She shakes her head. “You are in so much trouble.”
“I know.” That’s the part that excites me.
11
By the time the limo pulls up to my apartment at seven o’clock, I’m more than ready. Ella covered me so I could leave early, and I went shopping. If it’s going to be just one night, then it’s going to be a night that both of us remember. I bought clothes that makes me feel utterly sexy, a deep blue bra and panty set that’s more straps than fabric, and a little black dress that has more than its share of slink. The heels I bought are high enough to hurt, but I hope I won’t be wearing them that long anyway. I spent a long time on my hair going for the blonde bombshell look, with a smoky make-up look that makes my green eyes stand out. My goal is to make his mouth drop open, or to make him hard. Either one will do.
It’s the same limo driver as before, and even though he tries to hide it, I see him look me up and down. I hide my smile as I duck inside the car. It’s a good sign for the reaction I’m hoping to elicit from Jet. The glass dildo—I never even took it out of the box—is in my bag as he requested.
The limo takes a different path this time, up the eastern side of the city. We actually pass within a couple blocks of the store itself, continuing to the Upper East Side. I never asked Jet where he lived, but if he lives up here, whatever company he’s CEO of is certainly working out well for him. The limo pulls up to a gorgeous building, and the doorman runs to open the car door. He takes my hand as I step out, making sure I don’t trip in my heels, which I appreciate.
“Ms. Bishop?” he asks.
“That’s me.”
“Mr. Kincaid is expecting you.”
I struggle not to laugh, because it all seems so formal. But if Jet goes to places like Masa, then this is his kind of world. The doorman escorts me inside and over to the elevator, where he presses the button for me. It’s the top floor, number sixteen. Jet lives in a penthouse.
The elevator rises quickly, and when I reach sixteen, it stops, but the doors don’t open. There’s a sound like a doorbell, and I wait. After just a minute or so, the doors slide open to reveal Jet standing in the entrance of an open plan apartment that’s fucking gorgeous, all dark wood and silver finishes, with a view over the city that might be better than the one from our rooftop escapade. Jet is dressed in slacks and a button down, with the sleeves rolled up to see those tempting tattoos. We stare at each other for a moment, and I watch his eyes travel all the way to my shoes and back. His mouth doesn’t drop, but his eyes do widen, and it takes him longer than it should to say hello. I’ll take it.
“Hi,” I say, breaking the silence.
“Hey,” he says, gesturing behind him. “Please, come in.”
I come out of the elevator, into the foyer. He takes the little jacket I have on, and I hand him the box containing the dildo. “You wanted this?”
“I did.” There’s a gleam in his eye. “Thank you.” He disappears around the corner for a moment, and he calls back, “Are you hungry?”
“Starving,” I say, and it’s not a lie. I’ve barely eaten anything today in my frenzy to buy clothes and get ready.
“I ordered in enough Italian food for about ten people,” he says, reappearing and taking my hand. He leads me through the apartment, which is just as gorgeous as I thought it would be, with splashes of color here and there that draw the eye, and beautiful art. Jet has very good taste. The dining area has an impressive wall of slanted, paned windows that let you see a good portion of the skyline but also the sky. It must be a breathtaking room to be in when it’s fully dark.
True to his word, the table is heaped with enough Italian food to feed a small army. Enough that we’ll never be able to eat it all. “Don’t worry,” he says, “whatever we don’t eat will be eaten by someone. I don’t let food like this go to waste.”
“Good,” I say, a little relieved. I’m not sure how he knew that’s what I was thinking, but I’m glad of the reassurance.
His thumb runs along my knuckles, and I’m suddenly very aware of how close we’re standing together. Jet brushes a curl away from my face, leaning down. I think he might kiss me, but I’m not ready for it yet. Once we start, I know that we won’t be able to stop ourselves. I turn my head, and his lips press against my temple. In a soft voice he says, “I’m glad you decided to come tonight.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Does that sentence have a double meaning.”
“I guess we’ll find out.” I can hear the smile in his voice.
There are two plates waiting on the table, and I pick one up, circling the food. He really has almost anything you could order from an Italian restaurant, and it all looks and smells amazing. I put a little of everything on my plate from fettuccini alfredo to baked ziti to shrimp scampi. Once both our plates are full, he guides me to the living area, which is populated by plush couches and armchairs. He pours us each a glass of white wine, and I curl up in the corner of the couch with my plate, already kicking off my shoes.
“Those did look painful,” he says, “but hot.”
“They weren’t comfortable, but the look on your face when the door opened was worth it,” I admit.
He smirks at me. “You know, that’s a really beautiful dress. Italian food has a tendency to be messy, and I would hate for you to ruin something that looks so sexy on you.”
I lean forward and put my plate on the coffee table. “Mr. Kincaid,” I say in mock horror, “are you asking me to take my clothes off?”
“No, not at all. I’m merely trying to look out for your dry cleaning expenses. You know those can be really outrageous.”
Finding my glass, I take a sip of wine. “Hmm. You’re right. But you know, I hear the expense for cleaning dress shirts as nice as yours is even more expensive. Something about the amount of buttons involved.”
“Damn it,” he smiles, “you’re right. I should have thought of that.” He puts down his plate, reaching for his buttons, and I drink him in as his body appears. It’s so much better than a memory, something about seeing it in person that makes me want to touch him, explore him with my mouth in a way I didn’t get to last time. I want to trace his tattoos and ask the meaning of each, maybe see if the ink makes his skin more sensitive. But not yet. He shrugs out of the shirt, and tosses it on a nearby chair. I don’t stop looking at him though. If this is going to be the last night—and I’m not anywhere close to deciding if it will be—I want to take advantage of this chance to memorize him.
He lifts an eyebrow at me, and I sigh. “Well, I guess we should both save ourselves some money. You’ll have to help me with the clasp.”
Jet is on his feet before I even finish the words, and I turn. He slowly unzips the back of the dress, and I hear a soft intake of breath as he sees my lingerie. His lips press softly against the back of my neck, and I lean into the feeling for just a moment. It feels like that warmth spreads through me, and I’m so tempted to let this go further now, to go where we both know it’s going. I step away from him, and he backs away to his seat.
“I want to enjoy this delicious Italian food,” I say. “So thanks for helping with that so I can eat.” I pull the dress off my shoulders, letting it pool at my feet before I scoop it up and drape it over the nearby chair, giving him a perfect view of my ass. It’s here that I get the reaction that I’m looking for. His mouth is so far open it might as well be on the ground. This lingerie is little more than strategically placed blue ribbons, laced and sewn together to cover the essentials, but just barely. They show more skin than not, and the way Jet is looking at me now, I’ve never felt hotter in my life. He clears his throat. “That is very, very sexy.”
I sit down again, grabbing my wine glass and crossing my legs, letting him look at me. “I’m glad you noticed.”
“I think I would find it very hard not to notice that.”
Retrieving my plate, I balance it on my fingers and start in on the ziti. It’s awesome, as I expected. “This is amazing.”
Jet doesn’t answer because his own mouth is full of the same delicious food. I’ve always thought that the best sign of a good meal is silence, and silent we are. Though it doesn’t feel like silence. We make eye contact every few seconds, followed by an exploration of each other’s bodies. It’s almost like I can feel his eyes on me, how they wander across my collar bone and down to my breasts, continuing down to where my legs are crossed, and back up to my eyes. Every glance is a bigger turn on. I work my way from his eyes and down across the planes of his chest, getting lost in the lines of his abs, and lower to where I can see the line of his cock through his pants.