From the look in his eyes, he was in the same place mentally, too. Hopefully physically. They both seemed to sort of hurry through their meal and the conversation finally resumed after they had finished eating.
“Do you want another drink?” he asked, reaching for her hand again, now that it was free from eating dinner.
She wiped her mouth with the napkin using her other hand, set it down, and said “Um, I’m still too full. Maybe we could go for a walk?”
“Actually,” he said, looking away, “I had planned something else, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, really? What’s that?” Breakfast? She stifled the thought, terrified she had actually blurted that aloud.
“Turns out there’s a really a nice cruise here in town that I was hoping we could go on.”
“Oh.” She looked at her watch, trying to hide her churning emotions. Oh, man, it was already late. A cruise. She did some quick mental math. A couple of hours on a cruise meant there was going to be no down time – she had to work, had to get up at 6:00 in the morning, and that meant blowing out the whole night. First date. Calm down Laura, don’t be a slut, don’t be a slut, don’t be a slut, she told herself.
Don’t sleep with him on the first date, don’t sleep with him on the first date if you want a second date. OK, OK. OK. Josie’s voice entered in her mind. ‘Don’t sleep with him, Laura. Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it. Unless he’s incredibly hot.’
Oh, yeah he is. Oh, yeah he is.
She had this entire conversation in the period of about three seconds with herself, with Dylan looking at her with a very puzzled expression. Angel Josie and Devil Laura argued inside her head until she realized she needed to respond to Dylan’s comment.
“OK, yeah, sure! A cruise sounds great. Did you already get tickets?”
He squinted and furrowed his brow, confused. And then his face went neutral. “Oh, no, actually, not yet. I just figured we’d go there, and, you know, climb on.”
You can climb on me, she thought. Her eyes widened. Hopefully, those words hadn’t actually come out of her mouth, because at this point, she didn’t know the difference between thought and spoken word as she squirmed and straightened her shirt again. The black lace seemed to jumped pop out like an erection. Which, if she could have seen his package from across the table – she suspected that he had his own little version of the black lace pokin’ out somewhere in his pants.
The waitress brought the check and she had that internal dialogue that all single women have when going out on new dates. Do I offer to pick up the check? Do I offer to go halfsies? Do I…
He didn’t even give her a chance. He grabbed the check, handed a credit card to the woman, and waved it off. Turning to her, reaching for her hand, he said, “Thank you for a lovely date. Or, thank you for a lovely meal.”
“Oh, well, my goodness!” she said, a little taken aback that she didn’t even have an opportunity to fight for the check.”Well, thank you so much! I mean, I, really, I, can I, I’d like to offer to the…”
He nodded. “You can get the next date.”
“Oh! Oh!” she said, his words sinking in, finally. “Next date.”
He couldn’t read her. It was driving him nuts. He just couldn’t read her. Had he gone too far with the next date thing? Was she offended that he was suggesting she pay for the next date? Mike had suggested that there was a great way to handle women who tended to have good solid careers; you didn’t know exactly how to handle the awkwardness of who paid for first dates. He had his own thing about paying.
When he took women on dates, he had more than enough money these days now that he had come into his trust fund, which he had always viewed as a bit of curse. Now he viewed the money as one hell of a blessing, because if it meant that he could treat a woman like Laura right, then maybe he and Mike could have the future that he had hoped for. Then it wasn’t just a blessing.
It was everything.
Discomfort gnawed away at him. How he had come into his trust fund was an issue he had not begun to explore, he and Mike the recipients of an annual income equal to approximately 2.7 percent of the $2.2 billion in the massive trust, split in half. The trust manager had laid it out in such clinical terms that Dylan had nearly vomited on the spot, the words twenty-nine million and change per year for life, minus management fees, pinging around his skull like a racquetball that never stops.
And that was two months ago. He still drove the same car, still worked his full shifts, but splurged in little ways, the enormity of his new-found – literally! – fortune not quite sinking in.
Mike had bought a cabin on the slopes. Cabin wasn’t quite the right word. Haven was more like it, a four bedroom ski palace that he knew would keep Mike happy for the rest of his life. The ski resort, too – which had been almost an after thought. Oh, yeah, I can save the struggling ski mountain I love, because I have more money than God now. Well, almost.
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.
God, 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 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 cliche, 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, needing….
“Ah,” he said, his voice gravely and thick with desire, “Can we take a pass on that cruise?”
She dipped her head down and laughed softly. “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 f**k 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, cl*t 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 it 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 a**holes who beer goggled their way to f**king a fat chick they despised in the morning.
Relief took over her disappointment when he smiled a wicked grin and said, “But he’s gone for the night.”
Getting out of the car, walking up two flights of stairs and wandering down Dylan’s hallway was a blur. Laura vaguely heard his keys rattling and then a fierce, hot mouth was on hers, Dylan’s thick forearms scraping her shoulders as his hands slid up her jawline, behind her ears, fingers nestling in her hair and pulling her blond curls loose.
His tongue explored her mouth with such precision and his h*ps pressed into hers with intent. Gasping, she inhaled sharply as he pushed her up against his open door and took her mouth greedily.
Without a word he maneuvered their entangled bodies, closed the front door, tossed his keys on the floor and had her in his bedroom in seconds. No complaints here, Laura thought, and that was the last rational idea she had as he went straight for her clit.
No pretense, no artsy coyness.
“What are you – ?” she gasped. And then, oh wow, he went right for the center of her heat, the briefest of touches so profound she nearly came all over his lips, in an instant. Her thong slid down her legs as if an unseen force stripped it off and then –
“Ahhhhhh,” she groaned, practiced arms reaching under her hips, establishing his power. Using his forearms, he guided himself to her clit, freeing one hand to touch her there, slipping a finger into her p**sy and caressing so that it set off unexpected waves of pleasure.
It was like a dream come true. She had resigned herself to guys who went down on her like their Novocaine was wearing off. Lips flapping and trying to do one thing but accomplishing nothing more than drooling. Who was this man? This? This was like being made love to by a silk mouth.