London Falling (Falling #2)(16)
Leaning forward, I pulled my free hand up to her neck. With the tips of my fingers, I traced the long column of her neck from her ear down to the flimsy strap at her shoulder holding up her dress. She shuddered and gasped at my touch. My hand wove into the thick dark mane of hair at her nape. Her gaze traced each of my features, jumping from my eyes to my lips and back.
With my mouth close to hers, my breath fanning her face, I whispered, “Never again.”
She closed her eyes as if she was about to pray. Then I kissed her.
It didn’t matter where we were or that we were surrounded by a room full of people. All that mattered was this woman, this moment, this need to connect with her.
Her lips were as soft as the petals of a rose and just as moist. As I kissed her, one of her hands left mine and glided along the side of my face, from my temple to the dip in my chin. She opened her lips just enough for our tongues to graze one another’s in a sensual flirtatious dance. She smelled of cinnamon but tasted of mint tea. With one more press of my lips to hers, I grudgingly pulled back. Her eyes stayed closed for a moment until someone cleared their throat and startled us both.
“Excuse me,” the waiter said and I chuckled. Back home the British only said “Excuse me” when they belched. Same goes for “pardon me,” only that phrase meant one has passed gas. It cracked me up how Americans were always talking about their digestive tracks. It took Nathaniel and I months to figure out they weren’t constantly apologizing for burping and farting. To this day, it is endless entertainment. “Would you like to start with something to drink? See the wine list perhaps?” The nice fellow in a white sport coat handed me a book rather than a list. It was filled with the wine they offered.
“Beauty, do you have a preference?” She smiled at the nickname I had inadvertently given her. I always used a man or woman’s God-given name. With her, the pet name just popped out. And boy did it fit bloody well.
“Actually, I had martinis with Tripp earlier. I’d like a Cosmo, please.” She handed the wine book back to the waiter.
“And for you, Sir?”
“There is obviously no need to impress the lady with my lack of wine knowledge.” She giggled and shook her head. “I’ll go the unpretentious route and order a glass of your house cabernet.”
“As you wish, Sir. I’ll be back momentarily with your drinks and to take your order.”
London and I reviewed the menu in a comfortable silence. “So have you decided what you fancy eating?”
She twisted her lips, grabbed a lock of her hair and twirled it around her finger as she studied the menu, deep in thought. The act was so naughty schoolgirl it triggered my shaft like a beacon. I warred with my thoughts, trying to get the idea of shagging her out of my mind for the hundredth time this evening.
“I think I’ll go with the filet.” She nodded then snapped the menu shut. She caught me staring at her. “What?”
“Oh love, you break me with your beauty.”
***
I leaned over and whispered into his ear, making sure to trail my lips along the curl of flesh. “You know, I’m a sure thing tonight. You don’t have to keep complimenting me.” Purposely I placed my lips just under his ear and licked the salty skin there.
He sighed and stiffened. Pure lust poured off him like a tsunami ready to hit shore. It soaked into my pores and made wetness pool between my thighs. There was nothing that was going to prevent me from drowning in him tonight. With one last drag of my lips along the tender skin of his neck, I told him what I’d been dying to say to him since we met. “I want you.”
“Shite.” The word slipped from his lips as he adjusted his pants. I looked around and it seemed everyone was in a world of their own. The tables were tall with long drapes that fell over our laps. No one could really see what I was about to do. In a bold move, I placed my hand on his thigh and slid it up to cup and fondle his package. The desire to touch him intimately was overwhelming.
“Christ, Beauty, you’ll be the end of me.” He thrust his hips against my wandering hand. My fingers reached deep between his legs to cup his balls through the texture of his slacks and rub him from root to tip and back down. In this position his cock was thick and long, reaching up to his waistband. My mouth watered, wanting, no needing to taste him.
“God, I want to taste you.”
“Shite woman. You’re sex on a stick!” He gritted his teeth then buried his face into the crook of my neck, breathing heavily and nibbling on the skin he found there. I continued to rub him over and over, effectively making him insane with lust. A litany of small groans left his lips as he thrust several times against my palm. I had the Englishman exactly where I wanted him. Too soon the waiter approached with our drinks.
Immediately I backed off and his lust filled eyes cleared. The caramel brown in them swirled. He ran both hands through his wheat colored hair. It landed in sexy layers against his scalp and reminded me of bed hair after a good hard night of f*cking.
The waiter took our order and we spent the rest of dinner making small talk, learning more about each other. The sexual tension between us never left, just simmered, steadily bubbling just under the surface.
I learned he was obsessed with rugby and watched it on the ‘telly’ late into the evenings. He preferred live games but they were few and far between in the States.