Sweet Sinful Nights

“You gonna blindfold me? I’m game,” he joked as he followed her order.

She reached into her purse, rolled up his shirtsleeve, and dipped a cloth napkin in a water glass.

“Go ahead. Undress me here. I don’t mind,” he continued.

“I know you don’t, you dirty man.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

“You’re right,” she whispered as she positioned the square of paper on his arm, then pressed the wet napkin on top of it and counted to thirty. When she peeled the backing paper off, she told him to open his eyes.

“Tada!” She showed him the mark she’d left on his arm, and his big, deep laugh rumbled across the restaurant.

He nodded approvingly at the pink and purple temporary tattoo of a little horse she’d fixed to his bicep. “A pony. You got me a pony. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“It’s not quite a badass flying Pegasus, but if you’re a good boy, I’ll get you a winged one next,” she said.

“Or a unicorn maybe?”

“That could be arranged.”

After they left the restaurant, they wandered past the designer shops of Caesars, with luxuries from the likes of Gucci and Louboutin. She peered in the windows of her favorites, admiring a pair of black shoes and a dove gray bag.

“Thank you for taking time out of your day for me,” she said as they continued their stroll.

“Nothing I’d rather do.”

“Will you have to work late to make up for playing hooky?”

“Maybe, but it’s worth it.”

A flash of color caught her eye. In the midst of all the black and silver high-end items, she spotted an old-fashioned photo booth down a quiet hallway that led to the restrooms. Painted bright red and white, the booth boasted a sign advertising Four photos for $1.

“That’s a bargain,” she said, then grabbed his hand and tugged him to the booth. “Let’s get a picture to go with your cool new ink. Show it to your brother. Let him know how wild and crazy you can be.”

“We can even put on disguises and shoot cool selfies,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Please let there be a fake mustache. Please, pretty please.” He held up his hand and crossed his fingers.

She swatted him and grinned. In the past, contact with him had blotted out the bad. But this was better. This was about laughter, and talking, and her giving something to him. Something silly, but then, she knew he liked those gifts best of all.

Strange as it sounded, she knew he would cherish a ridiculous photo of the two of them. She pulled him inside and yanked the curtain closed.

“Damn,” she said, snapping her fingers when she saw the Broken sign slung across the viewfinder. “No wonder no one was down this hallway.”

“We can make our own photo booth picture. You must have something in your purse.”

“Right. Of course. Let me just get out my purple wig. And the fake nose I keep in there,” she said, deadpan.

“Now you’re talking.”

Instead, she grabbed her sunglasses, and slid them to the bridge of her nose, puckering her lips. He bared his teeth in an exaggerated grin and flexed his bicep, showing off his new pink and purple pony ink. She snapped a picture on her phone and showed it to him.

“We are so hot together,” he said, with over-the-top admiration. He patted his thighs. “Climb up. Take another picture.”

“You’re just trying to get me to sit on your lap.”

“Yes. I am.”

She straddled him, the soft cotton of her black dress flaring across his jeans, then held out the phone. “Smile,” she instructed.

But instead of smiling, he wrapped his arms around her, planting a soft, wisp of a kiss on her neck.

Her eyes floated closed as her thumb slid aimlessly across the screen, capturing them. She didn’t stop to look this time, because he was brushing his lips along her neck, buzzing a path to her ear. She let the phone fall to the bench along with her sunglasses, and turned to meet his lips. The goofiness vanished. The silliness evaporated as the moment folded and unfolded into something else, shifting from temporary tattoos and selfies to a hot, wet, deep kiss that swamped her body with desire.

She moaned his name as if he were all she wanted, and he was. “Brent.”

“You can’t resist me,” he said, breaking the kiss for a moment. He ran his hand up her back, against the fabric of her dress, and she arched into him, moving in time with his touch.

“You’re such a cocky bastard,” she tossed back.

“Just admit it,” he said, as he gently tugged her bottom lip through his teeth, making her moan. He flicked his tongue across her top lip in such a slow, sexy, seductive fashion that she thought she might reach the peak of a climax if he kept it up. “Admit you can’t resist me.”