Indigo Nights (Nights #3)(7)

A pulse gained force between my thighs. “You didn’t hear me earlier—” Had he forgotten that I’d told him I’d not had sober sex? Ever? I couldn’t even remember a sober kiss since high school.

“I heard everything you said.” He tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at him. He bent down and pressed his full lips against mine. “That lipstick is driving me insane,” he growled and kissed me again, more forcefully this time. He pushed my lips open with his and my breath hitched at the sensation of his tongue skirting under my top lip. Jesus, each movement sent shock waves across my body and lit me up, as if I were Frankenstein’s monster being plugged in for the first time.

He slid his hands up my back and my knees wobbled, made unstable by his touch. He caught me before I could fall, wrapping his arm around my waist. “Oh baby, if you like how my tongue does that, I can’t wait to show you what else it’s capable of.”

The pulsing between my thighs grew stronger.

By agreeing to have dinner with him, had I effectively agreed to get naked and dirty? And if so, was there anything wrong with that? That toe in the water could be just a quick swim. My sister-in-law had called it a palate cleanser before I went on to find Mr. Right. I was never going to have to see Mr. 8A again after tonight. Maybe he was what I needed to find out what I liked these days, and get the embarrassing sober virginity out of the way before I started dating properly.

He kissed my forehead. “Come inside. I’ve arranged for dinner to be set up, and don’t worry, I won’t f*ck you until you need me to.”

Need him to? I shook my head. He was pretty sure of himself, but I wasn’t going to bet on him being wrong.

The door must have been ajar as he pushed it open and urged me inside.

His suite was huge—a seating area on one side with two large white sofas opposite each other and a dining area on the other side. The lighting was low and moody, and music played softly in the background.

“Let’s eat.” He took my hand and headed toward the table. There were a number of silver-domed platters spotted across the table for six. He pulled out a chair and sat, pulling me into his lap. “I ordered for us.”

He lifted the lid on the plate nearest to him and revealed a huge slice of chocolate cake covered in fresh whipped cream.

“Cake?” I watched him as he took a forkful.

“You like it, right?”

Like it? I could eat dessert morning, noon and night. “I do.”

“I thought we’d start as we mean to carry on. After all, tonight’s all about pleasure.” He held the fork up to my mouth. “Open wide for me.” The pulsing between my thighs was back as I opened my lips.

The cake was delicious and obviously homemade.

“How is it?”

I opened my eyes. I had a tendency to want to block out all my other senses when tasting something great. For a second, I’d forgotten I was sitting on Dylan’s lap. “It’s good, really good.”

He cupped my neck, pulling me toward him, and licked across my lips. “Hmmm, you do taste good. There was a little something on the corner of your mouth there. I thought I’d help you out.”

I grinned and took the fork out of his hand, then reached for the cake. “You should have a bite for yourself. It really is good.”

I held the fork up to his lips. His beautiful indigo eyes bored into me as he hungrily took the mouthful I offered him. He groaned, the sound an echo of the dam bursting inside of me.

I wanted him.

My desire sliced through any embarrassment I had at being so close to a man totally sober.

I dropped the fork and threaded my hands through his hair, watching him watching me. I dipped my head, sliding my tongue along his lips, in the same way he’d done to me. He growled again and pushed his tongue against mine—the chocolate, cream and him mixing together in perfect combination.



Dylan

My cock was used to beautiful women, but the one perched on my lap with swollen lips from what felt like hours of kissing was more beautiful than most. My cock agreed as I was uncomfortably hard. Her heavy breasts weren’t helping—neither were the small movements she made against my thigh. Fuck, if I didn’t get myself under control, I was going to come like a teenager as soon as I saw her naked. I growled and reached into her cleavage, pushing my fingers between her breasts, relishing the soft flesh. I wanted my dick to take the place of my hand, but it was too soon. She wasn’t ready. I plunged my hand into her bra and fingered her already hard nipple. She tipped her head back and grabbed my knee.

“Dylan . . . I . . .”

She was nervous and it was adorable. The women I was used to had bigger balls than most men. “You don’t have to worry about not enjoying sober sex.” It was my favorite kind. I rarely drank, and never if I was planning to f*ck. Drinking dulled my senses, and I didn’t want to miss out on anything when my dick was busy. “You’re going to come so hard, you’ll forget what drunk feels like.”

I yanked down her bra, exposing her breast. She gripped my head. I hesitated. If I got the slightest bit of reticence from her, we’d go no further. I’d have to excuse myself to the bathroom to relieve my aching cock, but I’d stop touching her.

But she wasn’t trying to stop me. Her fingernails scraped my scalp as I took her nipple in my mouth and sucked. She tasted sweet and began to grind against my thigh as I alternated between flicking and biting, sucking and stroking her.