“One from a man that can’t form words because of the beauty standing in front of him.”
My face aches from grinning. He steps to me and presses a lingering kiss to my cheek. “You ready?” he breathes into my ear.
“Yes.”
His hand locking around mine, he ushers me out of the house and to his car. He opens the door and waits as I get settled and then closes it behind me. He’s around to the driver’s side in a flash.
The sky is warm with a wash of colors—oranges, pinks, and purples as the sun begins to set in the evening sky. Fenton climbs in and maneuvers the car onto the road, clicking off the radio and resting his hand on my leg. Without thinking, my body sinks to my left and towards him. It’s an instinct, an automatic response to his touch that I couldn’t fight if I wanted to. And I don’t. I love feeling the way he makes me feel, and I’m going to eat it up as long as I can.
“Where are we going?” I finally ask, breaking the comfortable silence.
“You want to talk first right?”
“Talk before fuck. Yes.”
He shakes his head. “Your language, Brynne.”
“I’ve been around Presley too long,” I laugh.
He removes his hand and I want to pick it back up and place it back on my thigh. I miss the warmth, the weight, the feeling of being irresistible right away.
“I don’t really want to bring this up, but I have to ask . . . how are you? How are your parents?” He glances at me through the corner of his eye.
I shrug. “Bad. My mom is heavily medicated, my father is trying not to break down, I think. My aunt is there helping them. I just . . . I feel like I should be too.”
“Why aren’t you?”
“What good would it do? We don’t know when this will end,” I gulp. “I have to work, go to school. I know a lot of people would just stop everything and hole up together, but that’s just going to make it worse, you know? Besides,” I sigh, “Brady would want things to go on as normally as possible.”
Fenton chews on his bottom lip, working it over between his teeth before responding. “Yes, you’re right. Just know if I can take you there or help you in any way, you only have to ask.”
“The only way you can help me tonight is by taking my mind off of it, okay?” I glance out the window. “You didn’t tell me where we’re going.”
“I’m taking you to Ruma,” he informs me, a grit to his voice.
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like taking me there is painful.”
Running my hands down my jeans, I wonder if I’m not dressed up enough for what he was expecting. I start to ask him to turn around so I can change when he speaks again.
“Taking you anywhere besides my bed is going to be painful. Do you have any idea how hard my cock has been since we got back from Vegas?”
“That must suck,” I say smugly. I watch the trees fly by instead of looking at him. I don’t want him to see how he affects me.
His hand drops back into my lap, straight on the base of my zipper. It’s like being hit with a bolt of energy, like getting zapped from an unruly light socket. My pelvis tilts just enough to increase the contact, and when he chuckles, the electrocution via man candy turns up ten degrees.
Oh, but what a way to go.
“Cute, Brynne,” he scoffs.
“What?” I moan as his hand slips under me and his thumb presses against the apex of my thighs. I bite my lip, trying to stay focused on his words and not his touch.
“Your little tough girl persona is adorable. Unbelievable, but adorable.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about—ah!”
He draws a circle with the pad of his thumb, a slow, torturous motion that has me falling back in my seat, dragging in hasty breaths, my eyes rolling back in my head.
“Don’t try to play coy with me, like you weren’t getting yourself off thinking about me.”
I don’t bother to dispute it.
“The thought of you coming without me irks the fuck out of me,” he continues. “But I’d rather it be without me than with someone else.”
Just as the shiver rolls through my core and to my shoulders, his hand is gone.
“Hey!” I protest, sitting up and looking at his brash smile. “Why’d you stop?”
“Ah, are you frustrated? That must suck.”
“You jerk!” I laugh.
His lips twist in amusement and he nods to the windshield. I follow his gesture and realize we are pulling up to the restaurant. “It was you, rudo, that said talk before fuck. I’m just following your demands.”
I can literally feel my heartbeat in my vagina, the throb so heavy that when the denim of my jeans rubs against it when I move, I nearly moan.
“Feel okay?” he grins, pulling the car beneath an awning with a blackout shade that surrounds it.
“Fine. I’m great. Fabulous,” I say through clenched teeth. My response is met with rolling laughter and our doors swing open. I take the proffered hand from the man in a suit and climb out.
“Welcome to Ruma,” he says.