She swallows, licks her lips, and her pink tongue drives me wild. She asks, "Did you know that before we met, or…?"
I shake my head. "No, I wanted a date because I wanted a reservation,” I admit. “But then I saw you and... Fuck." She closes her eyes. I breathe her in. She smells like frosting and sprinkles, vanilla extract. "Damn," I say.
"What?" she whispers.
"You smell like birthday cake."
She sighs. "Does that turn you on?"
My eyebrows lift. "Yeah. Yeah, it does."
"Good," she says. "You know what turns me on?"
I shake my head. I haven't a fucking clue, but I'm dying to know.
"A man who knows his way around a kitchen."
"Well, you're in luck, Story Cook."
"Seems like it," she says.
I press my hands to her hips, draw her close. I know she can feel my hard cock. I don't give a fuck. She gasps, and I'm glad.
"I can do more than work around a kitchen,” I tell her. “I can fucking give you a meal you'll never forget."
Then I kiss her, hard, because if we have to prove to the restaurateur that we're the perfect pair, I need to prove it to Story first.
6
Story
The kiss is intoxicating. But I don't exactly believe his words. They are really, really smooth – and his body is really, really hard. So damn hard. Yet…
His cock is pressed against my belly and I don't mind it. Not one little bit. It feels good. And I'm wet, which is a problem. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s meant to be. Fate.
I'm wet and horny and so turned on, and I don't trust myself one little bit. Not with this man, with his rugged good looks, his handsome face, his dark, dreamy eyes, hands that are roaming all over my dress.
And we're on a city street. The restaurant, it's just a few feet away. Anyone can see us.
We're not exactly in broad daylight. It's 7:30 at night, but oh, my word, this is really happening. His mouth, it's on mine and God, I'm on fire.
My belly flip-flops and my lips part and his tongue, oh my God, it feels good.
We're moving backward. One step, two. We're against the building. The bricks on my back, his hand on my ass, and he's kissing me harder, greedy, hungry. Yes.
He says I smell like birthday cake and damn, those words are so sweet. They make me feel pretty, deliriously so, like he has no idea what that compliment means, how it satisfies a craving within me that I didn't even know I had.
I'm more than hungry. I'm starved for him, for this, for us. Yes.
I'm panting. So is he. I run my fingers through his hair, and I don't do this. I never do this. I don't date. I don't kiss. Yet I find myself grinding against this man's thick cock outside, in public, on an LA street corner.
My face is on fire. And when he finally pulls away from me, I don't care that I shop in the plus-size section. I don't care that usually I would think my cellulite is just a little too much and that my tits are a little too big and that my ass is a little bit more than average. He seems to like it, all of me, and he sure didn't seem to mind when his cock was wedged against my body.
"Damn," he says. "Well, that was one hell of a kiss."
I press my fingertips to my lips, swollen. My chest is practically heaving. My heart is pounding hard. I can hear it.
"Oh my God," I say. "I never kiss like that."
"Ever?"
"Never," I say.
He grins. "Lucky me. I guess you can't say no to a mountain man."
I laugh. "You're trouble. You use lines like this on all the girls?"
"There aren't other girls, and you're not a girl anyways. You're a woman."
I lick my lips again. "I mean it," I say. "I don't ever do this sort of thing. Call a matchmaking service, go on dates like this, kiss in public. Kiss ever. I'm a virgin. I'm sure you know that. It's probably something you requested."
And his jaw tightens. He looks at me, serious. "You are?"
I groan. "You didn't know?"
"No, I didn't."
"Does that change anything?"
"Yeah," he says. "It changes things."
"What sort of things?" I ask.
"It makes me want to..." He grunts, looks away.
"What?" I ask.
"It makes me want to get you in my bed," he tells me, arms on either side of my body, pinning me in, growling in my ear now.
I swallow. "Are we going to be late to our reservation?"
He chuckles. "You think I fucking care about the reservation?"
"You said you were hungry," I tell him. My thighs touching, my panties sopping, my pussy so damn wet.
"Yeah. I am hungry. Desperately so. I want to eat you out. You understand me?"
I nod. "I think so."