He looks down at my mouth, and his lips twist into a stunning smile. One that makes my heart shudder against my ribs. His eyes reach mine, a crystal shade of blue, so light they appear translucent.
“Hi,” he says, breaking the silence between us. His voice is low, and smooth. “Mind if I join you?”
I shake my head and set my Kindle down next to my plate. “No, not at all.”
I’m expecting him to move to the seat across from me and claim that side of the booth. I’m prepared for that. What I’m not ready for is him sliding in to join me on my side, but that’s exactly what he does.
I shift over a few inches to put some space between us, to give us both a little room, but he just slides closer until his leg touches mine.
He doesn’t want space. I have a feeling if I keep backing away from him, he’ll just move with me. Like we’re tied to the same rope, forced to mirror each other. I won’t test that theory, because I don’t want to back away. There’s something about this man that has me leaning closer, pressing my weight against his, wanting his contact. He keeps one arm behind me on the back of the booth and brings his other hand up to rest on the table, keeping his body angled toward me.
His eyes drop to my mouth, stay there for several seconds, then meet mine with a heat I feel spike the temperature in my blood.
“So,” he begins, a dangerously wicked smile playing on his lips. “Where all does he touch her?”
“Uh . . . what? Who?” Confusion pinches my eyebrows together, until he nods at the Kindle on the table in front of me. I look back into his eyes. “No idea. I’ve never read this story before, and someone interrupted me before I got to any of the touching.”
“You could read it now. Out loud, preferably.”
“You want me to read you a sweet love story?” I ask.
He points a finger at my Kindle. “If that’s your idea of a sweet love story then hell, yes I do. I fucking insist you read it out loud.”
I grab the cherry floating in my drink and pop it into my mouth, keeping hold of the stem. I chew before saying, “It is a love story. Jodi’s crazy about this guy, Ryan, and he’s slowly falling for her. Just because there’s a bunch of filthy sex in it, doesn’t make it any less sweet.” I drop my stem onto the side of my plate of fries. “Stories should feel real. Wanting something wild and romantic at the same time feels real to me. I think relationships need both. And it’s not porn.” Our eyes meet. “Porn doesn’t make me cry.”
He leans closer, dropping his head next to mine. “I could disagree with you on that. There are people out there who are into some really fucked up shit. I’ve almost cried watching some of it.”
I fall into a laugh, letting my head tilt back against the booth. “Oh my God, I know what you mean. I accidentally stumbled on this video one time . . .”
“You accidentally stumbled on it?” he interrupts, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You mean, you were searching for porn, which is extremely hot to hear, and you came across a certain video.”
“I was not searching for porn.”
“That might be true, but if you don’t mind, I’m just going to keep imagining you were. I like that version of this story.” He lifts his hand off the table, sweeping it in front of him. “Please continue. I’m dying to hear all about your porn preferences.”
I shake my head through a laugh. “I’ve never searched for porn. Ever. If Google decides to throw in a few websites based on what I’m looking for, that’s not my fault. And I usually don’t click on them, but this one had a catchy title.”
“What was it?”
“Edward Penis Hands.”
He raises his eyebrows in surprise. “What the hell were you searching for that gave you that as a result?”
I shrug. “I heard they were remaking that movie, and I wanted to see if they had already started casting people. My search was very innocent. And in case you’re interested, the actor who played in that version was Johnny Dildo.” I smile. “I think it got the same ratings as the original movie.”
He laughs, low and soft in my ear. It’s husky, and deep, and so purely male.
I don’t know when he slid closer, but his entire side is formed against mine now. I don’t object to it. It feels good being with him like this. Hard versus soft.
I’m the soft one. In case there was any confusion.
The tight ridges of his stomach are pressing against my arm, while his toned leg keeps firm contact with mine. He smells fresh, a light clean scent that I’m thinking must be the soap he uses. He’s not wearing any cologne, and I love that. This is him. His natural smell mixed with the slightest fragrance. It’s not overpowering or offensive. If anything, I want to rub him all over me and absorb him into my skin.
‘Cause that wouldn’t be weird at all.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks, and my cheeks burn up at the sentiment. I almost don’t want to tell him my name just so he’ll call me that instead. But I’m curious what my name sounds like coming out of that mouth. Really curious.
“Beth.”
“Beth,” he echoes, his tongue lingering on the th sound.
My God. This should be his job. Just saying words that end in th.
He runs his tongue along his lips, wetting them, as if he’s tasting the trace my name left on his mouth. I suddenly feel drugged at the idea of him doing just that. Savoring me.