Manwhore +1 (Manwhore, #2)(86)

“It would’ve been hard. For a mother like yours not to love you hard. Especially if you were stuck with your dad.”

“I fared well.” He smirks.

“You did,” I say lovingly. I think he notices the longing inside me.

“Come over here.”

He reaches out for my hand over the table and tugs me around with the lazy confidence of a guy who knows—with certainty—he’s getting laid tonight.

“I like this smile,” he says as I carefully sit on his lap. I laugh lightly. “And this laugh.”

The lights are low. They shine on Malcolm as he moves the little M and R necklaces at the bottom of my throat and sets a kiss on my pulse point.

“Are we to be each other’s desserts?” I ask him.

God. I sound so hopeful I laugh after.

The lively twinkle in his eye makes me think that he’s planning something wicked. “You’re definitely mine.”

He dips his index finger into his wine.

“What are you up to, Sin?” I chide and before I can say more, he’s dipping his finger into my mouth.

Leaning over, he follows his finger with his kiss.

I lick his finger. “You’ve liked doing this since the wine tasting.”

“You have no idea.”

He shifts me on his lap, and looks at me lazily through half-closed lids.

He tugs my dress upward to my hips and slips his hand into the warmth between my inner thighs. My body jolts pleasurably at the touch of his fingers stroking me softly.

I’m nervous someone will come in, but he’s looking at me with such heated mischief, I can’t resist him.

I put my lips on his neck, my fingertips roaming the flat planes of his chest. The muscles harden under my fingers. My mouth is trailing up to his, and I hear his groan when my fingers start going down his chest, down his abs, to spread my hand over as much of his hard-on as I can.

And then Malcolm’s hand is easing off my ballet flats, and they fall with a clatter. He pulls one of my legs until I’m straddling him.

He kisses the tip of my nose, then my eyes, and his mouth takes mine again in another slow, drugging kiss. I inhale as he stops to look down on me. I hold my breath, exhaling as he reaches out one hand to cup my face. And then he kisses the corner of my lips.

“Oh god, don’t. I won’t last if you do that.”

“Why . . .”

I inhale sharply, then hold my breath as he slides his lips across mine and to the other corner of my mouth. My lungs strain as I hold my breath, savoring the ghost kiss until he eases back.

Our eyes connect. My lips tingle from his kiss. I exhale shakily, reaching out to cup his jaw. And I do exactly what he did. I brush my lips to the corner of his mouth. I hear him inhale too, deep and hard. Exhale when I ease back. Green eyes shimmer with desire and need and things he hasn’t said to me but maybe I don’t need him to. I don’t need him to at all. I lean forward and press my lips to the other edge of his mouth. But he cheats. He cups the back of my head to hold me still and turns a fraction of an inch so he can capture my kiss with his lips.

I try to edge back, very aware that the waiter will soon be returning and I need to go back to my seat.

“Did you mess up my lipstick?”

“What lipstick?”

I laugh, and Saint chuckles and holds my hand over the table as I return to my seat.

“I like this laugh,” he says, his thumb stroking over the back of mine. “I like this laugh very much.”



He wants me to spend the weekend with him, so we stop by my place. We’ll be hitting The Toy and doing lunch somewhere he wants to take me to, by the lake.

Gina is panicking when she sees me come home one minute and come out to the living room the next. “You have a bag? A big bag?” she asks, wide-eyed as she stares at the bag slung over my shoulder.

“It’s only one comfortable pair of shoes, Gina, for the gym in his building. One for going out. And one for the office. And my toothbrush, and just a few more things. I’m not moving in, I’m simply being practical. He . . . he asked me to spend the weekend.”

“Rachel . . .” she says.

“It’s only the weekend, Gina! Maybe one or two nights a week. I’ll find a good balance,” I promise.

“Dude, you’re making me want to get a dog. Someone who gives a shit about when I get home.”

“I DO!” I cry, hugging her as my heart squishes a little bit. How could I not have thought of this? I’ve been so happy and I didn’t think twice about saying yes right now. “I love you, G.”

She hugs me back in mopey silence, but then slaps my bum. “He’s out there?”

“Yes.”

“You know . . .” She pauses, her expression apologetic. “He’s no Paul, Rache.”

“I know, Gina.”

We stare at each other. We’ve never really been separated in a way that feels so . . . real for years.

“Okay. I’ll see you Monday,” I finally tell her, heading to the door as she drops back to the couch and glares at the TV.

“Monday is Monday, Rachel, not Tuesday or Thursday,” she threatens.

“I know what Monday is.” I groan and laugh, as I hold the doorknob in my hands, still somehow waiting for a bigger reassurance.