I don’t like the idea of him touching anyone’s private places. Not at all. Although the idea of him touching mine… I squirm in my seat, and he arches a brow at me. “Something wrong?” he asks. He’s smirking.
I shake my head, biting my lips together. “Can anyone get a piercing like that?” I point toward my lap. I don’t know why I’m being so bold about this. But I’m curious.
“Most people can.” He plays with the salt shaker. “We’d have to take a look to see what type of piercing would be best for you.”
My face flames at the thought of him taking a look down there. He pushes my root beer toward me and says, “Drink. Before you pass out.” He’s grinning, though, and I’ve never seen such a look of confidence on a man. The awkwardness of a moment before has passed. And he’s enjoying making me squirm.
“Are there, like, different kinds?” My words don’t want to come out of my mouth gracefully.
He nods. He takes my hand in his and drags his thumb across the back. “There are as many kinds as there are types of women.”
I take a deep breath.
“Is there, like, a purpose for it?”
He grins. “There can be.” He takes a sip of his root beer. “Some people just like the idea of it. Then others like to play with it.”
“Play with it?” I choke out. His thumb is still stroking across the back of my hand, and he might as well be touching me right where a piercing might go. Because it’s thumping like crazy.
He leans closer to me, speaking softly. “Lips. Tongue. Fingers.” He licks his lips again. “Teeth.” He arches a brow at me. “I can go on, if you like.”
I hold up a hand. If he goes on, I might just spontaneously combust. “No thank you.”
“Another time,” he says.
He threads his fingers through mine.
“You scare me,” I blurt out.
He startles, jerking his hand back from mine. “Me? Why? What?” he asks, leaning forward.
He’s worried. I can tell, so I feel the need to fix the error I just made. “I have all these feelings for you,” I say.
He sits back, laying a hand on his chest, heaving a sigh in relief. “Oh, you scared me,” he breathes. “I thought I offended you with the sexy talk.”
“You didn’t offend me. But you make me want things I can’t have.” There. I admitted it. I want him. I want all the things that come with him. But I can’t have them.
“I feel like I need to tell you something,” he says. He’s thinking about his next words, and he’s talking very slowly, like the weight of them is hard for him to carry.
“Ok,” I say hesitantly.
“I want you more than I want air,” he says. My heart starts to beat a tattoo rhythm in my chest. I open my mouth to speak, but he holds up that damn finger. “But I can’t act on my feelings. Not while I don’t even know your name.”
He takes a deep breath and waits for me. I can’t say anything. I wouldn’t know what to say even if I could.
“I want to take you to bed, and make love to you all night long.” He cocks a grin at me. “Lips. Tongue. Fingers. Teeth.” He makes a circle motion with his hands. “Should I go on? Or do you understand?”
I nod. I get it. He reaches over and lifts my jaw to closes my mouth. His touch is tender.
“I want to do things to you that you probably couldn’t imagine.” His blue eyes are dark and the centers big and wide.
“I don’t know,” I start. I am imagining all sorts of things right now. And the pulse between my legs is thumping so hard I have to push my legs together to ease some of it. It doesn’t help.
“But even more than I want to lick you all over and make you cry out my name and swear you see God, I want you to trust me. And you don’t. Not yet. But you might one day.”
I’m breathing so hard I feel like I just ran a mile. “I trust you,” I say.
He shakes his head. “No you don’t.” He smiles at me, and my heart flips over. “But you might one day.”
The waitress brings the receipt to the table, and gives him a pen. I see that she’s written her name and phone number on the bottom of the receipt. He tears that part off and gives it back to her. He shakes his head, and tilts his at her, and she looks disappointed. Her heavy bottom lip pokes out.
I look up at her and blink. “I absolutely hate it when skanks try to give my boyfriend their contact information,” I say.
Logan chokes, coughing into his fist.
The waitress steps toward me, but Logan gets between us. That’s good, because I will take that bitch out. “Have you ever slept with her?”
He looks up at her and takes in her features. “I don’t think so,” he says quietly, by my ear.
He’s slept with that many women that he can’t tell one from another?
She huffs away. He tugs me to my feet. “You shouldn’t have called her a skank,” he says with a laugh.
“What do you call a woman who gives her number to a man who’s been holding hands with someone else?” I ask crisply.