Chapter Nine
Sutton ordered a beer for Reeve and a white wine for herself, then steered them toward a quiet table in the back. They were at a neighborhood bar called Dahlia’s. It wasn’t quite a dive nor was it a too-trendy club. It was a standard order bar, and she liked it because it reminded her of England. The Artful Dodger was safe and sound at home, snoozing in the middle of the king-size bed, surrounded by extra blankets.
She was still shaken from what happened and the way her darling dog had nearly been a snack for that German Shepherd. But she was more impressed with Reeve and his reflexes, especially the way he didn’t even think twice. He just dived into the melee and saved her most favorite mammal in the entire universe.
“I can’t thank you enough,” she said again.
“I’m just glad he’s fine. And hey, look on the bright side. Now we have another story to tell tomorrow night that’ll make this—“ he gestured from himself to her—“seem all the more real.”
Real. There was that word again. This wasn’t real, but it had felt so real during the dog walk. She’d felt real jealousy over Jill. And she’d felt real admiration for Reeve when he saved her dog. And then there was the way she felt right now.
Real like. She was in real like for him.
Damn.
She wanted to berate herself. To remind her idiotic heart that this was a first-class mistake. Because this was the thing she’d most wanted to avoid. She’d never intended to let him into her heart. He was acting, only acting. Somehow, the act had worked on her, and now she had fallen into real like. Because of that, she asked the question that had been gnawing her. “Is there something with you and this Jill?”
He tilted his head back and laughed, showing off those brilliant straight white teeth.
“Why are you laughing at me?”
He moved closer and pressed one strong hand on top of both of hers. “Because you are a conundrum.”
“Me? How could I possibly be a conundrum?”
“Why do you want to know about Jill? You already told me how I had to act, and I’ll do that.”
She huffed out a sigh. “I’ll take that as a yes. That you’re involved with her,” Sutton said, then felt a flash of anger toward him when she thought of the library and the theater. He was cheating on his girlfriend with her. “You’re cheating on her.”
He laughed again, and gripped her hand tighter. “No. I’m not. I’ve never done that. Never cheated on anyone. I never would. When I’m with someone I’m only with that someone.”
“So she’s not your girlfriend?” Sutton pressed as the waiter appeared with the drinks. Reeve took a long drink from his beer bottle, while Sutton ran her index finger along the rim of her wine glass. She was edgy, waiting. “Reeve, just tell me.”
He grinned. “No. She’s a great, great friend. We like each other, as buddies. So don’t worry. I’ve never done the things to her that I’ve done to you.”
Heat flared in her belly. “What do you mean by that?”
He moved closer and draped an arm around her shoulders. She loved the warm, protective feel of his arm around her. “I mean, I’ve never gotten her off in a theater. Or anywhere. I’ve never kissed her on the steps of the library. And she’s never gone down on me in the stacks. Incidentally, you give a f*cking awesome blow job.”
He traced a finger lazily across her top lip and Sutton was speechless. She wasn’t sure if he was playing the role again, the part he’d been hired for. Because he’d been pissy and irritated on the walk, but now we was flirty and sexy again. She didn’t know what to make of it. But she knew she wanted to take his finger and suck on it. Then he pulled his hand away.
“But you never answered my text.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, trying to play it cool, but inside she was burning. “I replied to it.”
“Yeah, about a book. But you didn’t answer the question. Encore? Do you want an encore?”
“For real?”
“Yes.”
Somewhere inside her, she let a piece of her heart free for a moment, and it felt fabulous. Did this mean he liked her too? As in real like? She didn’t have time to ponder an answer because his lips were on hers again, and he explored her mouth, tenderly at first, then rougher as if he wanted to consume her. She responded in kind, grappling at his hair, silky smooth between her fingers, pressing one hand against his firm chest and bringing his mouth closer and deeper as if every life and breath depended on this kiss. She wanted him to devour her.
He broke the kiss and looked at her.
“Damn, woman. You like being kissed, don’t you?”
She blushed and looked away, embarrassed. She hated that she was this way with him. So easy. One touch and she was ready to go. One quick kiss and she was about to spread her legs right here.
“Hey,” he said, softly. He pressed a palm on her cheek and turned her face back to him. “I like kissing you. I like being the one you want to have kissing you. I mean it.”
“You do?”
He nodded. “Yes. I want to kiss you in other places too.”
“You do?” she asked, vaguely aware that she was a broken record, but barely able to form words. The way he looked at her with those deep brown eyes, the way he talked to her, the way he touched her. She was liquid heat with barely a word, with merely a touch.
“I want to kiss your neck,” he said, then leaned in to plant a soft, sweet kiss on her neck.
“And your earlobe looks pretty tasty.” He nibbled lightly on her earlobe, then swept his tongue up her ear. She shivered.
“And this spot,” he said, touching the hollow of her throat. “I bet you’d like being kissed there too.”
“I would,” she whispered, and he brushed his lips gently there. She breathed deeply, her breasts rising and falling, and he stole the chance to cup them quickly.
Then he pulled back. “There too. Your breasts. I would very much like to take them in my mouth. Well, you know, not at the same time,” he said, playfully and she laughed. “But if I could, I would. Because I want to taste your nipples and swirl my tongue across the flesh of your breasts. First one, flicking my tongue over your nipple, then bringing as much of your delicious flesh into my mouth as I could. Then the other.”
Her breasts ached with the need to be touched. She glanced quickly around the bar, noticing other patrons and other tables. But there was a part of her that simply didn’t care. That wanted touch more than she wanted to be prim and proper in public.
“Please touch my breasts again, Reeve.”
He did as asked. She closed her eyes and sighed. He pulled her closer, cupping her through her thin gray sweater, feeling the points on her nipples grow hard. He moved his mouth to her ear, and whispered. “But there are so many other places to kiss you, Sutton.”
“Yes,” she said.
“You need to be kissed on your belly. From your ribs, down to your belly button, and over to your hips. And you need to be kissed on your legs. On the back of your calves, and inside your thighs.”
“I do need to be kissed there.”
“By me,” he added.
“Yes, by you. Definitely by you.”
“Do you want me to kiss you there?”
She nodded.
“Tell me. Tell me where you want my lips.”
“Between my legs,” she said with a moan.
He dipped a hand there, pressing his palm against the fabric of her jeans. She was sure he could feel the heat radiating from her core. She was molten. She was a volcano for him. She felt as if she could come any second. He didn’t even have to touch her and she would come. All he had to do was talk to her, tell her all the things he’d do and she’d shatter in ecstasy.
“You do, Sutton? Are you sure?”
She nodded. Her face was red with heat. Her mouth was dry. She could barely speak. He was doing it again. He was stripping her of all pretensions, he was tearing down all the ways she’d tried to protect herself. He was a chemical reaction to her, the thing she couldn’t resist.
“Yes.”
“You want me to take off your jeans?”
“Yes.”
“And throw them on the floor of your apartment?”
“Yes.”
“And pull off your panties?”
“Yes,” she said in a broken whisper.
“And push you back on your bed. And place my hands on the inside of your thighs and have you spread your legs open for me? You’d want me to do that?”
“So much. So f*cking much,” she said, and she felt as if she might cry out with the desire pounding through her body right now. She was pulsing with the need to be tasted, to be touched, to be devoured.
“And lick you? You’d want me to taste how hot you are, right? Because I can feel it through your jeans. I can tell you’re so unbelievably wet for me, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any idea how much I want to know what you taste like? Because your lips taste like cherries, and I am dying to know what you taste like here,” he said, pressing his palm against her legs. She clamped her thighs closed, needing the pressure of his hand against her.
“I want you to taste me. I want you to touch me. I want you to go down on me.”
“You want me to lick you, Sutton? And kiss you all over? And run my tongue up and down all that delicious wetness?”
“Please.”
“Because you get so wet for me. I love how wet you get.”
“It’s you. You do this to me.”
“I love doing this to you. And you’d want me to bury my face between your legs?”
“God yes.”
“And you can grab my hair and pull me deeper and do whatever you f*cking want to me because I won’t stop until you come.”
She licked her lips, opened her eyes, and looked into his face. He was as turned on as she was. He looked like he wanted to pounce on her. She wanted to be pounced on. She wanted to be taken.
“Please take me home right now and make me come.”
He threw a twenty on the table and did as she requested.