Part-Time Lover (Part-Time Lover #1)(27)

“Let’s resolve to be honest. Let’s resolve to not play any games, except in bed. Cards on the table.”

“I’ll put mine down.” She spreads a hand on the table, as if showing a pair of aces. “To start, I want to make this arrangement exclusive. You and me.” She wags a finger. “But no expectation of love or of laundry.”

I laugh. “It’s been exclusive since the night at the garden bar, little mermaid. There hasn’t been anyone else. And I’ve done my own laundry for a long, long time, thank you very much.”

“Excellent. Let’s keep it that way.”

I take her hand and run my fingers through hers, sliding them together slowly. “Can we enjoy this arrangement more fully tonight? Maybe explore the terms of it at my place?”

“What sort of terms do you have in mind?”

With my other hand, I run a finger down her throat. “I’d like to slide this top off you, kiss my way down your body, and lick your breasts.”

She shivers. “I think I could sign off on that point.”

“And under this arrangement, I’d very much like to peel off this skirt, slide my hand along your legs . . .” I whisper, my hand now drifting to her skirt.

“Oh God,” she whimpers.

“So, a yes to that?”

“Yes.”

“You say you don’t want to be consumed, but I’d love to consume you with my mouth.”

A flush spreads over her skin, and I want to take her out of here, strip her naked, and lick her all over. But I also don’t want to stop. My hand slinks farther under her skirt, my fingers climbing up her legs. I can feel her heat as she spreads her thighs a little wider.

“Would you be amenable to that provision in the deal?”

“I would,” she whispers, then she bites her lip as my fingers reach the apex of her thighs. She’s so fucking wet.

I slide my fingers across her soaked panties, the tablecloth shielding my busy hands. A quick glance around tells me we can pull this off. We’re in the corner, the waiters are busy, and the nearest patrons are a few tables away.

A tremble spreads over her shoulders as I push the fabric to one side, then slip my finger inside her wet knickers. She gasps, parting her thighs a little wider as I trace her slickness. “Does this deal include letting me worship you with my mouth tonight?”

She nods.

“And does it include giving me the chance to fucking adore you with my tongue?”

Another nod.

My fingers slide along her wetness, and the hand that holds mine grips me tighter. As I reach that delicious rise of her clit, her grip on me turns bionic. “And under the terms of this arrangement, I’d want you to get naked under me, so I can help you let go of all this tension from your shitty day and your shitty ex. You can forget it all and be consumed by how I fuck you with my tongue.”

“Christian.” It comes out like a desperate, quiet plea.

I slide a finger inside. She digs her teeth into her lower lip, arching into my hand as she trembles. “We can arrange for you to come all over my face,” I say, rubbing my stubbled jaw against her cheek.

She whimpers as she pushes against my fingers, trying as subtly as she can to ride me to the edge of her orgasm. She clenches around me, a sign she’s nearly there. I inch closer, my mouth near her ear. “Would that work as one of the terms? If I could spend the evening with my face buried between your legs?”

She parts her lips, lets out a quick breath, then nods as she shudders and seems to melt, to turn boneless. A small sound escapes her, but she stays quiet, trembling as she comes on my fingers in the tea salon.

Her eyes close, and when she opens them, she’s woozy and sex-drunk, and I need to make her look that way again. “You’re wicked. And I want another.”

“Greedy girl,” I say approvingly as I lick the sweet taste of her off my fingers. Her eyes widen as she watches me.

I wipe my hand on a napkin and signal for the bill, and once I pay it, my phone rings. I have half a mind to ignore it, but I see Erik’s name flashing. “Let me see what’s up with him.”

I answer it. “Make it good. I’m about to shut the ringer off for the night.”

He sobs. “Jandy left me.”





16





Christian





“Where are you? Are you home?”

“No. I’m outside.”

“Outside where?”

“I’m at . . . I don’t know. There’s a bloody window planter on the building across the street.”

“Okay,” I say slowly, as Elise watches me with worry etched in her eyes. “Does the street have a name?”

He hiccups. “It’s rue something,” he says, and that’s not useful at all, since nearly every street starts with rue. Tears are thick in his voice. Elise must be able to hear his end of the conversation because she sits forward, seeming cautious and careful with her movements.

“Are you wandering around the streets?”

“Yes. I see a streetlamp. Is that helpful?”

Hell, he could be anywhere. “A street sign would be more helpful. Can you walk to the corner and give me cross streets?”

He hiccups again, and it registers that those aren’t hiccups from coughing. He’s been drinking. “Are you pissed?”