“If love exists,” he quips, his voice gruff, “Then it should be something that’s given out after thoughtful consideration.”
“Love exists,” I insist, “And it’s given out because you can’t not.”
“Let me tell you something,” he says, narrowing his eyes, “I’ve had women say they love me before. And those same women confessed their undying devotion to me based on a fa?ade I present them. They know what it feels like to have an orgasm at my hands. They know what it’s like to go to a fancy dinner on my arm or spend a weekend in a city while I work. But those women, those same women that ‘love’ me, know nothing about me. And do they care?” he shrugs, amped up by his little speech. “No. They don’t. Because while they profess their love for me, they’re really in love with what I offer them and that has nothing to do with me.”
Narrowing my eyes, I smirk. “I guess it’s good for you that I’m not looking for love. Just a good time.”
“No, that’s good for you because a great time is all I’m giving you.”
We’re both breathing hard, impassioned by our debate. When the waiter clears his throat, we both jump.
“Can I get you anything else?” he asks, looking from Fenton, to me, back to Fenton.
“No, I think we’re done here.” Fenton looks at me with raised eyebrows and I nod. I’m too worked up to eat. The last couple of days have had me on edge, and this little exchange has me riled up yet again.
The only thing I need is a break from the anxiety, a way to settle down. And the key to that sits with the gorgeous, frustrating man staring at me from across the table.
The server scurries away.
“Are you ready?” he asks, scooting his seat back and coming around the table. He takes my hand and brings me to my feet. The corners of his lips turn and there’s no denying that question is filled with innuendo.
“Maybe.”
He chuckles, pressing a palm in the small of my back, urging me towards the entrance. “You better be,” he rasps. “You better be ready for what I’m going to do to you. And if you aren’t, you shouldn’t have worn this dress.”
“Don’t worry,” I say, smiling politely at a man holding a door open for us. When we walk through, I lower my voice so only he can hear. “I won’t fall in love with you.”
My heels click against the tile and echo off the walls. The only other sounds are my labored breathing and the door shutting behind me.
The serenity of the suite has been replaced with a feeling of uncontained lust. I can smell it, taste it, and above all else, I can feel it. Adrenaline coursing through my veins, my hands trembling in anticipation, I listen in the darkness for Fenton.
When his hand finds the small of my back, I startle. He guided me in the same way all the way to the room, but now, alone, in the darkness, it feels completely different. His touch now, as he presses me forward into the living area of the suite, is intimate, yet needy.
I feel Fenton’s hot breath on my neck right below my ear. He doesn’t touch me, just brings his lips close enough so that if I leaned in, they’d touch. But I don’t. There’s something entirely sexy about feeling him this close that I close my eyes and anticipate the moment when he starts something he’s going to have to finish.
I need that. I need a release from the build-up of this moment, a crescendo that started at the banana display days ago. Making it worse is that I haven’t quite lost the fire from the conversation in the restaurant and I’m about to spill over.
His palm flattens against me and he takes a step closer until his hard body is up against my back. He slides his hands roughly over my sides, dragging them across my abdomen. They join at my navel and push down my middle, marking my body in some way I can’t fathom.
I feel my breath catch as he glides over the apex of my thighs and then reverses, leisurely retracing his path like he has all the time in the world. His touch leaves me struggling for air. The heat from his mouth, lingering on my skin, drifts across my neck and my head falls back against his chest, taking in the masculine scent, adding it to the overstimulation.
I’m going to lose it.
Whirling me to face him, I’m caught off guard. We are face to face, his eyes burning into mine.
I need him. Now.
Rising on my tiptoes, I try to bring my mouth to his, but he backs away slowly, smirking, and it occurs to me what he’s doing. He’s teasing me, torturing me, just like I tried to do to him when he left this afternoon.
He’s turning the tables.
Oh. Shit.
He chuckles at my realization and winks, letting me know I’m right without me ever asking.
“Don’t you dare,” I warn.
He draws across my lips with the pad of his thumb. “Just know that it’s eating me that I’m not eating you.”