“I . . . uh, yeah.” I clear my throat. “I more than l-like. It’s . . . You’re amazing. You l-look.” To save myself from further embarrassment due to my sudden case of stutter-mouth, I shut up.
Stepping to her, I start at her hip and run my finger along the path of her tattoo. Mesmerized by the softness of her skin, I watch tiny goose bumps follow the line of my finger. I press my lips to her shoulder. She drops her head to the side, exposing the full length of her neck. I ghost a kiss against her skin, followed by my tongue. The combination of her sweet taste and pear smell makes me hungry for what’s beneath the dress. My teeth scrape along her sensitive throat, and I bite with gentle pressure. She leans back and a moan bubbles up from her chest, escaping her lips in a purr.
“You are absolutely gorgeous,” I whisper against the spot where I bit her.
“Mmm, thank you.” Her voice has taken on a breathy quality that has me straining against my slacks. “You look very handsome too. I like the black on black. It reminds me of Clark Kent.”
I kiss her neck once more, and pull back. “Clark Kent? He was a dorky news reporter. He wore starched white shirts with bow ties and shit. I think he even sported a pocket protector.”
Giggling, she turns to face me. It’s then that I notice her face. She usually wears minimal makeup, but tonight it’s heavier in all the right places. Her eyes are rimmed with a smoky color that highlights the aquamarine. Her cheeks dusted with pink, and her lips. Holy hell. Those lips.
“Wait, I thought Clark Kent was the hot one.”
I’m focused on her shimmering, pink glossed mouth as she talks.
“You know the one who wears black all the time and drives the cool car?”
“Huh?” I swallow hard, caught up in the sensory overload that Raven is dishing out in buckets.
She places her soft hand against my cheek. “Um . . . Clark Kent?”
Fuck, that’s right. I forgot what we were talking about.
“Bruce Wayne, baby. Batman.”
“Yes! You’re right. Bruce Wayne. He’s the hot one that all the girls—”
I can’t take it anymore and crash my lips against hers. Her blatant sex appeal and childlike innocence does me in. Her lip gloss tastes like marshmallow and her mouth like peppermint. I suck at her lips, and she buries her hands in my hair, holding me to her.
My girl.
I run my hands over the dress, feeling her nipples pucker beneath the fabric. My hands grip at it with impatience, gently tugging, knowing what’s underneath is so much softer. There’s no way we’re going to dinner. Nothing is as important to me in this moment than getting my girl naked underneath me.
“Jonah,” she says breathlessly between kisses.
“Mmm?”
“The door.”
“Hmm?”
“The doorbell’s ringing. Our ride’s here.”
“Don’t give a shit,” I growl and walk her backwards towards my bed.
Her legs hit the bed, stopping our progression. I hold her hips and grind my now painfully hard erection against her. She tilts her head and deepens the kiss. Fuck yeah. My girl, always so ready.
My phone is ringing in my pocket and the doorbell won’t quit. I groan, annoyed, but never give up her mouth. This is happening. Now.
She laughs and presses her palms against my chest. Reluctantly, I pull back.
“Jonah, we need to stop.” Her raspy voice and traveling hands betray her words.
“Not going anymore.” I’m kissing her neck at my spot, hoping she gives up on the idea and gets naked soon.
“It’s a limo, right?” There’s a smile in her question.
I step back to meet her eyes. “Yeah, it’s a limo.” I smile. “Why?”
She shrugs her shoulders and drops her face, her cheeks flushed. I hook my fingers beneath her chin and bring her eyes back to mine, lifting my eyebrows.
Is she thinking what I think she’s thinking?
“I just thought it might be . . . um . . . fun, you know? To make out in a limo?”
My body hums with excitement at the prospect of getting dirty with Raven in the backseat of a chauffeured vehicle.
I grab her hand and lead her to the front door. “Fine. But we’re leaving right after dinner and picking up where we left off.”
“Sounds good to me,” she says through her giggles.
***
“Mr. Slade, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” the limo driver says while looking at us from the rearview mirror. “I’ve been following your career for years.”
Ah, shit. I’m presented with the opportunity to shove my hand up Raven’s dress in a moving vehicle, and we get chatty Charles the limo driver.
“Thanks, man. I appreciate your support.”
Raven rubs my thigh with soothing strokes, and I consider moving her hand up six inches. Would Charles even notice? Nah.
“That fight in ’07 against Hollander was incredible. How long had you been with the UFL when you fought him?”
I groan and curse the fact that I represent more than myself at times like these, but also my training team and the UFL. “Four ye—”