The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue 2)

“Nothing,” he says. “I thought I saw, uh, Karl Lagerfeld.”

“Karl Lagerfeld? Here?” Sadie gives him a funny look. “Do you even know what Karl Lagerfeld looks like?”

“Of course,” he says, looking flat-out guilty. The man is a shit liar, but fortunately, he’s lost Sadie’s attention. Her eyes are lasered to Andrew. When I look up, I realize why—he’s pulling out the chair next to mine.

“Andrew,” she says. “We already have a spot for you. Next to Mindy.”

“Ah.” He glances down at me. I widen my eyes at him, jerking my head to get him to go away. He’s turning out to be the least subtle person I know, and Sadie is about two seconds from picking up on our connection. Andrew clears his throat. “I thought it might be nice to sit across from Mindy so we could actually see each other.”

Sadie glares at him so hard that he slides the chair back in and rounds the table to sit between Howie, my digital strategy coordinator, and Mindy. Across from me. “But, of course you’re right, sis,” Andrew says, skating his eyes over me. “This is much better.”

To hide my smile, I take a bite of the salad in front of me, shaking my head. Andrew scoots closer to the table, then smooths his tie against his chest. I’d noticed it before, the red bright against his dark features, but now I look a little closer. It’s the exact color of my dress. Earlier, Andrew mentioned that he’d been looking forward to seeing me in red. Did he choose that tie on purpose?

I look down at my dress and then to Andrew. Mindy’s leaning toward him as she speaks, but he’s watching me. He nods once as he touches the knot of his tie as if to say—Yes, I wore it for you. He thought of me. It shouldn’t feel good to know that, but my body warms. I try to stop it. I don’t want anything from him, not thoughtfulness, not consideration. They complicate things. I don’t want complicated, and neither does he.

A man calls our attention to the stage, and I give him my undivided focus. The alternative is watching Andrew and Mindy get to know each other. Halfway into the second honoree’s slideshow, Andrew excuses himself from the table. I look over at Nathan, feeling his eyes on me, as if he expects me to get up as well. I don’t move an inch.

I’m listening to the woman’s acceptance speech when someone touches my shoulder. I start, looking back at Andrew.

“You dropped this,” he says quietly.

Automatically, I open my hand, and he presses something into it. When he returns to his seat, I check. He’s given me a small, rigid envelope with the hotel’s logo on it. Inside is a keycard with a room number scribbled next to it.

Gaping, I look up at him, but he’s already turned to face the stage. The man is incorrigible.

And, apparently, ready for his dessert.

THIRTEEN

My empty salad plate is replaced with grilled chicken. As the gala’s next presenter takes the stage, I can’t help but notice how Mindy glances over at Andrew only slightly less than Sadie looks from Mindy to Andrew. Nathan, on the other hand, makes no secret of watching Andrew and me. Andrew’s the only one who seems riveted by the presentation, though I get the feeling it’s because he’s avoiding all the eyes on him.

My palm sweats around the hotel room key Andrew passed me. I should put it in my purse, but just holding it gives me a thrill. What does he have planned? This is a nice hotel—surely there’s a bathtub. And a bed. Maybe even a kitchenette with a counter. Or maybe he wants to take me on top of or against or inside something new.

Halfway through my meal, as they’re presenting the literary PR categories, Andrew wipes his mouth with his napkin, gives me a pointed look, and scoots his chair away from the table.

Sadie leans over Mindy to get to Andrew. “Where are you going now?”

“Bathroom again.” He grins. “Must’ve been something I ate.”

“You’re disgusting.” Sadie turns back to the stage, quieted.

Andrew keeps his eyes on mine until he’s passed me. His intention is clear—I’m supposed to follow, but this is ridiculous. Adults don’t really sneak off during a formal event for a quickie. Is he that primal? Then again, he knew me less than an hour before proposing sex. He’s not ashamed of what he wants.

And what do I want? I’d be a fool to say anything but him. A fool and a liar. I check my program. Avec’s category is toward the end, giving us at least half an hour. I dab the corners of my mouth with my napkin and slide back in my chair. Only Nathan notices me slip away, but in order to stop me, he’d have to speak loud enough to interrupt the presenter. I navigate briskly through the tables, casting a few smiles at familiar faces.

But the closer I get to the door, the less concerned I become with the people in the room. They’re replaced by the thought of Andrew’s strong, enveloping arms. His hungry mouth on mine. Andrew is a lover and a rebel, voracious and greedy yet attentive and sweet. He’s an anomaly I don’t need or even want to figure out. I just want to bask in his carnal attention, in the unknown of what he’ll do with me next.

He’s not in the lobby. I head for the elevator. His red tie, his provocative words earlier, his whisky breath. My heart beats hard at the base of my throat and other places too—my ears, my stomach, between my legs. I’m not nervous. I’m too turned on for that.

I ride the elevator to the eighteenth floor and head down the hall to the room. I only manage to knock once before he whips the door open. His fly is undone, and he’s got a condom wrapper dangling from his mouth.

“Not very romantic, I know.” He tears the foil with his teeth and pulls me in by my wrist. “I figured I’d get a head start since we don’t have much time.”

“You got a hotel room?” I ask, tucking my clutch under my arm as the door slams behind me. “Are you insane?”

“You asked me that already, and the answer is still probably.” He hands me the condom, wraps his arms around my waist, and pulls my body flush with his. “You have that effect on me.”

“There’s no time for that,” I say, trying to wriggle free.

“For what?”

“Wooing. I’m already here, and the clock is ticking.”

“There’s always time for wooing,” he says, holding me to him. “God, you look so fucking good in this dress. I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off you.”

“Oh. Are those your eyes I’ve been feeling?”

“Mine and every other man’s in the room.”

“You’re one to talk,” I say. “As if you don’t know how well you clean up.”

“I don’t know,” he teases. “Tell me.”

“You look . . . presentable. It’s a nice change.”

He barks out a laugh and smacks my ass. “You can’t resist messing with me, can you?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“Good. Neither can I.” He captures my mouth with a sudden kiss, and though it alarms me how quickly I melt against him, I don’t try to stop it. He works fast, gathering up the long length of my dress until it’s bunched at my hips. Spurred into action and trying to keep up with his frantic kiss, I reach down the front of his pants. With just one touch, I moan into his mouth. “You’re so hard.”

“You have that effect on me,” he repeats. “Put the condom on me, then hold up your dress.”

I push his underwear down just enough to release him and do as he says. I’ve barely grabbed the fabric of my dress when he spins me around. He wraps his arms around my front, pressing his pelvis to me, undeniably solid against my lower back. Walking us forward a few steps into the room, he asks, “What exactly should I do with you?”

“Anything,” I answer breathlessly, “just do it fast.”

The room is predictably lavish with a California King, plush club chairs, and ornate curtains. He stops and bends me over the

side of a wooden desk.

“Spread for me, babe,” he says. “Pull your dress up higher.”

I drop my clutch next to me and bare my ass to him. With a throaty noise of approval, he runs both hands up the backs of my thighs. When he reaches the apex, he pulls my thong around my thighs and tests me with his fingers. My thoughts scatter.

“Wet,” is all he says, apparently as engrossed as I am.

He’s reduced me to a puddle within minutes, and I’m barely concerned that I’ve lost any control I might’ve had. “Please.”

He parts my lips with his fingers and presses the head of his cock against me. “I’m going to do this fast,” he warns and plows in all at once, jolting me forward on the desk. I groan as he seats himself there with a few small, firm thrusts, his belt buckle digging into the back of my thigh. He pulls me upright by my biceps, and it’s as if I’ll split in two from having him so deep.

With my back against his front, he says into my ear, “Fast but hard. I’ll fuck you until you can’t feel your legs, Amelia.”

I whimper, a sound I’ve never heard myself make. “Do it.”

“Then, later tonight, I’ll bring you back here,” he releases my arms to cup both my breasts in his large, calloused hands, “and take you so slowly, you’ll beg for fast and hard again.” He moves one hand over my eyes, covering my mouth with the other. Instinctively, I arch my back, pushing myself harder onto him. “I’ll blindfold you with my red tie so you can only guess where I’ll touch you next,” he says. “I’ll love every inch of you. How’s that sound?”

I plead with him against his palm, unintelligible appeals to stop talking and fuck . . . me.

He draws back, then slams into me. When I cry out, he asks, “Like that?”

I hear the smile in his voice and nod.

He uncovers my eyes and mouth to gently hold my throat. Skating his other hand down my stomach, he slips his fingers over my clit and moves them in small, wet circles.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, his breath hot against my cheek.

My desperation for release reaches a new level. “You.”