The Truth

She looks serious for a long two beats, and then a smirk of a smile blooms slowly. Warmth bubbles up inside my chest at her humor. In one rambled convolution of a thought process, she’s gone from outrageous, to uncertain, to blunt, to scheming. And I’m intrigued by every twist and turn of her brilliant mind and nuance of expression on her face.

Like now, the glint in her eyes makes me want to run away again.

Maybe back to the beach? Or somewhere new, for another night of pretending there’s nothing and no one that matters but us and this developing fire.

Lost in the possibilities, I give Tiffany a dark look.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” I tell her, my voice dropping. “Things are better this way.”

“Really?” she asks, and I nod slowly.

“Guys, I think that’s everything for tonight,” I tell Ricky and Billy. “Tomorrow morning, you can give me the detailed version of what you’ve learned.”

Ricky and Billy don’t hesitate to drop their food and stand. As they bolt for the door, Ricky throws over his shoulder, “We’ll pick up our stalking of Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum tomorrow.”

My door opens then closes, and with a click of the latch, it’s just me and Tiffany, looking at each other across a corner of my dining room table. My thoughts instantly go to deciding whether I should take Tiffany right here, on the couch, or move to my bed.

It’s a harder decision than it should be. The table’s just the right height for a lot of things but might leave bruises that I don’t want. The couch means I can be inside her sooner, but having her dark hair fanned out over my pillow as I thrust into her is an intoxicating image.

“So,” she says quietly, “what are you going to do?”

“I’m deciding.”

She sighs heavily, sounding exasperated as she leans back in her chair to look up at my ceiling. “I can’t believe these assholes think they can get one over on you, of all people. It makes me angry. At stupid Mark, at slimy Brandon, and even two-timing Layla.”

I can’t help but smile. She thinks I’m deciding about that when I’m focused on getting inside her. “That wasn’t what I was deciding about. They’re tabled until tomorrow.”

She rolls her head over to look at me, her brows furrowed. “Then what?”

I get up, striding across the room to turn on some music, feeling Tiffany’s eyes track my every move. By the time I turn back around, her confusion is morphing into curiosity.

“What are you doing?” she asks coyly.

Trying to be more romantic than admitting I’m trying to decide if I want you face down, ass up, or missionary when I cum inside you.

I hold out my hand, inviting her to take it. “Dance with me.”

Her answer is a smile, soft and sweet, as she slips her hand into mine and stands. Still wearing her heels from the office, she aligns perfectly with me, her lips a scant few inches from mine. “What is this?”

“Bryan Adams,” I reply, smiling. “A guilty pleasure from my teen years.”

“It’s pretty,” she says, swaying with me to the soft music, and after a moment, she melts for me, flowing where I lead without hesitation. I can feel the tension of tonight’s conversation leaving her. Surprisingly, I feel more relaxed with her in my arms too. I meant what I said—I don’t want to talk about work or even think about it tonight.

“I like this.” We’re barely listening to the music, just moving slowly together as we look into each other’s eyes. I’m fascinated by the possibilities I see in hers, and I wonder if they’re matched in my own.

“Me too,” I confess. “I wish I’d known how you felt a long time ago.”

“Well, I would’ve drunkenly flashed my tits at you years ago if I’d known it’d get me here.”

“It’s more than that,” I chastise her with a tap to her ass. She giggles and looks up at me with a smile that’s full of pure devilry. I can’t help but taste the dark promise it offers and lower my lips to hers. She meets me halfway, tasting of chili and peanut sauce and her own natural sweetness.

It’s perfect, sweet and heat on so many levels that my head starts to spin. I press my tongue to her lips, and she opens up to me, pressing her body against mine and putting her arms around my neck. I can feel her breasts flatten against my chest, and I squeeze her ass again, making her moan into my lips.

“Daniel,” she whispers, pulling back an inch or two, “please take me—”

Before she can complete her request, her phone rings rather loudly, interrupting even my stereo with its shrill, insistent tones.

“You need to get that?”

“Fuck it,” she growls, nipping at my lip. “And fuck me instead.”