"I want to touch you, Eve. I want to pull you into my lap and stroke you until you come. But only if you're ready." His eyes meet mine. "Are you?"
Chapter Eighteen
Eve
No.
Not yet.
I excuse myself. To the bathroom. I fix my makeup. Return to a fresh drink. And Ian ordering dinner.
The dish he orders is perfect.
Frutti di mare. With extra oregano.
A balance of chewy pasta, fresh tomato, seafood, herbs.
Everything I like. And expensive to boot. I didn't even know food could taste this expensive.
There are four kinds of shellfish. Enough, the dish is hands on. But there's something I like about that too. The crunch is satisfying. Primal.
The sun sinks into the horizon, turning the sky orange, then blue. Then that perfect indigo that only exists in New York.
The city lights up. Yellow bulbs against the dark sky. Moonlight. Steel and glass.
The totally and completely overwhelming presence of Ian Hunt.
He asks about my plans for the summer. During my thirty days—supposedly, he wants to give me plenty of latitude—and after.
The month of freedom before I start school.
It's hard to contemplate. I can't remember the last time I had a month to myself. With the spare cash to actually enjoy it.
There are so many options.
A hotel in Cambodia. A luxury resort in the Caribbean.
Or time to myself. Alone. With a pen and paper and plenty of space to unleash my thoughts.
I guess I can do that anywhere. But doing it in my room—a new room, with air-conditioning, and a queen bed, and one of those fancy adjustable height desks, and actual painted walls—
That's what I want.
A space that's mine.
Mine and Addie's. With no ugly memories. No deadbeat fathers on the lease. No assholes aware of the address.
After that… a week in the Caribbean. Or back to the Hamptons with Marisol's family. Their house is sweet and her sister is really nice. Even if I never, ever want to see my sister make out with her girlfriend again.
And that night…
Shudder. I love Addie more than anything, but I really don't need to hear her come.
Damn. I'm already thinking in terms of sex. Everything is straight to sex.
I contemplate the matter when I break in the bathroom. Rinse my mouth. Reapply my lipstick.
There. Perfect.
A punk rock sexpot. My snug dress is short enough it's sexy. And the way Ian stares at my legs like he's thinking about diving between them.
I like it.
I like it way too much.
I like him way too much.
And maybe… Maybe I'm ready to answer his question.
Deep breath. Steady exhale. Utmost confidence. I compose myself, then I move back to the balcony.
It feels more private in the dark. With him in the middle of the couch, his eyes on me, his posture proud and in-control.
He motions come here.
I take a step toward him. Then another. Another.
My knees brush his slacks.
He offers his hand. For support.
I take it. Let him pull me into his lap.
My knees plant outside his thighs. His hands go to my hips. Slowly, he pulls me closer. Until I'm sitting on his thighs.
"Did you like it?" His hands curl around my hips. A soft pressure. Just enough to say I've got you.
"Dinner?"
He nods.
"It was perfect."
"I've earned another chance?"
My tongue slides over my lips. He's not asking about our next dinner. He's asking about this. Right now. Him… I don't know what he's going to do. Only that I want it. "Yes."
"Good." He traces the line of my body, over my hip, my waist, my shoulder. My jawline. It's soft. Gentle. Precise. "I want to know what you like."
I nod.
"Everything you like." His hand cups the back of my head. His eyes flutter closed. He pulls me into a slow, steady kiss.
His lips against my lips.
The taste of gin and lime.
A tiny brush.
Then more. His hand knots in my hair. My legs spread. My pelvis shifts. Closer. But not close enough.
Nothing is close enough.
My hand curls around the back of his neck.
His tongue slips into my mouth. He explores my mouth with steady, patient movements. He pulls me closer. Closer.
Until I can feel him hard under me.
It's not the first time. I had boyfriends in high school. But this is different. Better.
So much better.
I rock my hips an inch. Just enough to feel his erection. That sensation of hardness and warmth between my legs.
It's good.
So fucking good.
I'm a writer. I should be more articulate. But I'm not in touch with fancy words. Only primal ones.