hurry. ‘Champagne?’
I nod, my mouth too dry for speech. Now he’s touched me, kissed me, it’s as if he can’t keep his hands to himself. I resist the urge to fan my face or douse my body with the chilled water on the table. I know I wanted this, but at this rate I’ll be a pile of ash before we’ve even ordered.
When we’re alone, I gather some of my wits and clear my throat. ‘Just so we’re clear, I’ll be paying for dinner.’ He can control the sex—something tells me I’ll reap all the rewards tenfold—but I’m still a strong, independent woman. Of course, we may have to limit ourselves to the one bottle...
Reid snorts. ‘I don’t think so.’ He inches closer, the heat in his stare constant, as if my suggestion carried negligible consequences.
‘Dutch, then? This was my idea.’
Reid’s stare narrows, searching, and then he dips his head so his lips graze my cheek. ‘You said I could be in the driver’s seat, so why don’t you relax about the bill?’
The feminist in me baulks, deciding next time, if there is a repeat date, I’ll put up more of a fight. Then I remember I suggested sex. We’re here because I made him a proposition beyond business. And I conceded control so I could live out the very Reid fantasies making me hot and achy and embarrassingly damp between my legs...
Perhaps sensing victory, he grins, has the audacity to wink. ‘Get used to it. Besides, we have more pressing matters to discuss.’ His stare dances over my face, settling on my mouth, and he leans in so his lips brush my ear. ‘Let’s pick up where we left off this morning. You touching yourself, me walking in, watching, taking over...’ His voice recites the events as if I needed the recap, but it’s imprinted on my memory.
‘So, tell me, how else did I touch you in these early fantasies? Because I need to touch you again.’ His breath slides down my neck as he dips his chin and hums a sexy growl low in his throat while inhaling deeply.
He’s sniffing me.
I shudder as my whole body tingles. My mouth opens but no sound emerges—I’m so turned on I literally couldn’t speak even to warn him that the building around us was on fire. I check his expression, seeing the need I glimpsed this morning as I came back down to earth after my orgasm.
‘Here?’ It’s a croak. First his boardroom, now this restaurant... Perhaps he’s some sort of exhibitionist. Do I care? As long as the boundaries of our game are so beautifully delineated. As long as I get what I want from this, from him.
He wets his lips and nods, his stare bouncing down to my mouth. ‘I can’t help myself.’
I look down to where his hand rests on the table, his fingers impatiently drumming. I nod too, so overcome with lust, I’ve forgotten all of the words in my vocabulary.
The other hand, which rests behind me on the seat, skates up my back and settles at the nape of my neck and then he’s tugging me forward until our mouths touch in a slow, sensual glide of lips and mingling of warm breath.
I gasp as he releases me, nowhere near done with his particular brand of kisses, but he doesn’t pull away. His eyes are intense as he looks to the place his mouth has just been as if he’s just tasted the most delicious delicacy on earth and he wants more. His tongue peeks out and touches his top lip as he raises his hand and wipes a smear of lip gloss from my chin.
Pressure builds in my chest. I suck in a breath, preparing to touch my mouth back to his.
The waiter returns and Reid relaxes back into the leather beside me while I try my best to breathe normally and to not leave scorch marks on the leather.
Fucking hell. Have I ever been kissed the way he kisses me—with such delicious dichotomy? Devouring and demanding this morning, lazily thorough while pressed against his car, and slow and sensual in this quiet corner, as if I’m on the menu and he’s determined to savour every bite. If I’d known it would be this good, perhaps I should have risked everything and thrown myself at him years ago.
The waiter pours the wine at Reid’s request and then departs. I take a glug to settle my pounding blood before I lose consciousness and miss all the fun. I instinctively knew he’d be good...but this is a whole new level.
‘So what would you like to eat? The seafood here is excellent.’ Reid flips open his menu, eyes downcast, while his other hand settles on my knee under the table as if we’ve casually touched each other intimately a thousand times.
Warm. Confident. Thrilling.
Despite the way he touched me this morning, the intimacy is still alien enough that I freeze, the tingles from his palm print travelling up my thigh straight to my bare clit. He’s inches away from touching my nakedness. In a public place. No closed door between us, and the other patrons only metres away.
I should push him away, but, as if controlled by a lascivious third party, my thighs spread a fraction.
‘What are you doing?’ I whisper, while bubbles of adrenaline pop in my veins.
His thumb strokes back and forth over my feverish skin with the familiarity and comfort of a lover, as if it’s one of the million touches we share as a couple. But we’re not a couple. We know only the superficial facts about each other. And this somehow adds to the potent hormonal mix.
He looks up from the menu as if I’ve requested nothing more banal than the time. ‘I can’t keep my hands off you, and you must have had more than one fantasy—I want details.’
It’s so matter-of-fact, I’m sure my mouth hangs open, while all I can do is nod.
‘I can’t stop thinking about this morning,’ he says. ‘About what other fantasies you have. And just knowing you might be bare under here...’ His stare darkens and he presses a silencing finger to my lips. ‘Don’t tell me—I want to find out for myself.’ Then his attention flicks back to the menu while his fingers grip, pressing into my thigh like brands.
I check how low the white linen tablecloth drops, ensuring whatever he has planned won’t be witnessed by the rest of the diners. I slide a cursory stare over the menu, the bone-melting lust stealing my decision-making capabilities. Not that food could make it past my tight throat. ‘The chicken looks good.’
‘Mmm...’ he murmurs, his hand inching higher while he peruses the à la carte menu. ‘I think I’ll have the lamb.’ He closes his menu and returns the intensity of his focus to me.
I can’t help the shudder. I bite my lip and reach for my wine to cover my reaction.
‘Feeling okay?’ He too takes a swallow, the bob of his Adam’s apple mesmerising.
‘Fine.’ About to combust, but fine.
‘You feel better than fine to me.’ His fingers stroke. His stare burns. His voice scrapes. Then slowly and deliberately he says, ‘Open.’
One low, seductive word and I jump to his bidding as if I’m a conditioned lab rat desperate for my reward, spreading my thighs a fraction more so he can continue the caress of his palm.
‘So smooth and silky and warm.’ He leans in, lowering his voice to an intimate whisper. ‘And now I know what awaits me at the top of this thigh... I’m struggling to work up much
