“Yes. And you can get in my space as much as you want. I’m not changing my mind. I was hurt once. I like you, but I’m not walking into it again.”
He bit his upper lip then relaxed his mouth. He took a long time to answer, as if deciding not just a response but a course of action.
“That guy?” His voice was husky and low, suggestive without even suggesting anything. “He’s an asshole. He fucked you like a middle schooler.”
I gripped my cup with one hand and held onto the stool with the other. I was so close to going liquid. So close. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I said it even though I knew it wasn’t true. He seemed to know exactly what he was talking about.
“I do know what I’m talking about. I can’t stop thinking about you. Imagining you with this little blouse off, these no-nonsense trousers dropping. I can see the shape of you under these clothes.”
“No deadlines.” My voice was no more than a breath.
“Reconsider. Take it back. When I fuck you, I’m going to take it slow. You’ll come twice before I’m even inside you.” He put his hand on my knee and slowly moved it up, pressing harder with his thumb. “First with my fingers, then I’m going to lick your * until—”
“Stop!”
My back had straightened as much as it could while still keeping me on the seat, and my underwear… well, I wanted to weep for them because they’d taken a deluge before the word “fingers” left his lips.
“It’s working. All right?” I put my hands on his shoulders, intending to push him away, but the pushing part didn’t happen. “It’s working. I haven’t even done half the stuff you’re telling me you’re going to do and—”
“I haven’t even said anything yet.” His voice was full of promise, as if he hadn’t gotten to the good part.
I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to look at his perfect face and held up my hands as if warding him off. “I’ve been with one person my whole life.”
“Wait.” He leaned back. “What did I say that you haven’t done?”
“The licking thing.”
He stopped. Crossed his arms. Tilted his head as if trying to solve a math problem above his grade level. “The licking thing?”
“Yes. That. TMI?”
“He never ate your *?”
I got hot everywhere. The bottoms of my feet and the top of my head. I must have been a sunburned shade of red. I looked away and crossed my own arms, but there was no hiding.
“It’s not TMI,” he said. “Just tell me.”
I huffed. Why should I tell him? I didn’t owe him an explanation. I’d never even told Francine, and I’d known her since sixth grade. But there was something about Dash Wallace that felt safe. Maybe it was the way he’d shut down all the fuck talk to hear what I had to say, or maybe it was the way he never made me feel as though he was doing me a favor by wanting me. So I blurted it out.
“He thought it was gross.”
I wanted to cry. I was ashamed that I’d let Carl say that and that I’d repeated it. I felt gross. I felt awful inside and out. God, I shouldn’t have said anything. Because Dash’s eyes had gone wide and his lips parted a little, then a lot, and his tongue was fidgeting with his teeth.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“I’m stuck,” he said.
“Stuck? What does that mean?”
“Between wanting to punch him and wanting to eat you out until you scream. I don’t think I can do both at the same time.”
“Well, he has a point, I mean—”
Dash reached for me so fast I couldn’t finish and put his hand over my mouth. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you say it. You taste like heaven, and I’m going to prove it to you. You have no choice now. You’re going to see me. You’re going to let me take you out. I’m going to put my face between your legs and experience how delicious you are.”
I’d die of course. And I was going to tell him that if he did, I’d explode into a hundred twenty pounds of pleasure pieces, but he moved his fingers and kissed me. His lips were on mine, but the space between my legs blossomed with the promise of what he’d just described.
“No expiration date,” I said, low and firm. Amazing since I’d gone soft and molten inside.
I felt the war inside him. Mr. Reasonable was battling with Mr. Real, but I had no idea which was fighting for me. One millisecond he looked hard enough to send me out the door. The next his face changed subtly, like the ripples of the ocean, and he looked as if he’d agree to anything I asked.
“No expiration date,” he said. “But no promises either. I’ve never had a home field girl.”
I opened my mouth to ask a question, and he ignored me, laying a kiss on me that pushed out every objection.
Never had a home field girl?
Wait. You should ask—
He pulled up my shirt, bra and all, releasing my hardened nipples. I didn’t have a second to protest before his hands were on my breasts, cresting at the nipples, stroking, twisting. I groaned, and he sucked in a breath, pulling away so I could see his face.
“You want this,” he hissed.
“I do.”