After Hours (InterMix)(40)
“Jesus, you’re sexy when you eat.”
I had to stifle a laugh to keep from spitting out my food. I swallowed and took a drink of beer. “It’s a hell of a burger. It’s literally the most delicious thing I’ve eaten in months.”
Kelly licked his lips again, gaze falling to my lap for the briefest moment. The gestures murmured words his lips withheld. Bet you taste just as good. Why not come home with me and spread those pretty legs and let me find out? And for a few seconds the burger turned to cardboard, all my focus lost in imagining being devoured by Kelly’s brazen mouth. That first evening we shared a drink at this bar, I’d probably have assumed he was of a douchey persuasion that didn’t reciprocate, downtown. But that night in my bedroom had taught me Kelly would be only too happy to contradict any assumptions I was tempted to make about his sexual agenda.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I warned him, the beer making me bold.
“Look at you how?”
“Like I’m wearing edible underwear, and there’s a place card in my panties with your name on it.”
He leaned in closer, and God help me, I could smell him. He smelled like beer and sin and rumpled sheets, like every bad decision I’d never made, with a whiskey chaser. His eyes were steady. Cold as ice, hot and dangerous as a brush fire.
“What?”
“Come to my place, some weekend.” His voice was low and deadly serious.
“What for?”
“Sex.”
I snorted. “Don’t be coy now, Kel. Spell it out for me.”
“Come to my place and be mine. For a weekend.”
“What? Like a carpet shampooer? You’ll have to put down a deposit.” I reached for my beer, but he took the glass and set it back down. “Jeez.”
“I’m not kidding. I’m asking.”
“Asking, or ordering?”
“I’m inviting you. Come over. We’ll scratch whatever this itch is we’re both dealing with.”
Itch scratched, curiosity satisfied, waning interest imminent the second he comes . . . and my soft female heart still invested, no matter how much detachment I swore to myself I’d muster.
Was that such a high price to pay, though—a minor broken heart? In exchange for possibly mind-blowing sex? I’d never had mind-blowing sex before. I’d had good sex, romantic and tender and occasionally pretty passionate, but I knew just from looking in his eyes that it had been the minor leagues. And I hadn’t been called off the bench in ages . . .
Still. “No, thank you. We don’t even get real weekends. We both work Saturdays.”
“Next time we got two days off in a row, I mean.” That would be this coming Thursday and Friday. “And why not?”
“I’m not as simple as you. I don’t want to have a one-night stand with someone I have to see twelve hours a day at work.”
Stony faced, he wiggled a pair of fingers. “Two nights.”
I sighed, and this time, he let me sip my beer.
He leaned on the bar, arm flexed, head resting on his hand. “I know you feel this, too.”
“If everyone acted on every impulse they had, we’d all be obese and syphilitic and a hundred grand in debt from the home-shopping channel.”
“When’s the last time you spent a whole weekend just f*cking?”
I laughed. “Never. Who does that?”
“We could.”
“That sounds very . . . abrasive.”
“Sex doesn’t have to be some chore you do on Saturday nights after your husband rubs your feet. Come over, and let me show you a good time. Lemme have my way with you, like in your bed the other night. Was that really so bad?”
My traitorous lady-parts gave an eager squeeze, and for a split second, I felt my gaze turn glassy and unfocused as I remembered the mean, rough thrust of Kelly’s thick cock between my thighs. He caught me.
“See?”
I wasn’t sold yet, but I was curious. “Have your way with me, you said?”
He nodded. “Just let me be my bossy, demanding self, and I swear you won’t regret a second of it.”
“Bossy how, exactly?” He’d been that way when we’d messed around and I couldn’t say I hadn’t enjoyed it . . . but he meant something else, I could tell. Something more. “Like, rough me up?”
“No, not really. I like it rough, but not any more than a woman wants. I just like doing what I want, when I want. Without permission, in the moment.”