A Flighty Fake Boyfriend (Men of St. Nachos #2) - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,77
help me choose.”
“I only brought one.” He pulled me back against his chest. “You’ll have to live with it.”
His stomach rumbled loudly.
“Oh, dinner.” He was hungry. Shoot. “I didn’t make reservations. Let me call down.”
I rose to make the call. The clock showed ten after eight. “How does eight thirty sound?”
“Good. I’ll take a quick shower and dress.” He leered at me. “Want to join me?”
“If I do, we won’t get to the restaurant in time. Or I’ll be alone because you’ll be asleep.”
His cheeks reddened. “Good point. Be out in a minute.”
The shower ran while I chose slacks and a shirt to wear underneath a tweed jacket with my earth tack on the lapel.
Epic came out in a towel and we switched places. He got ready while I took a quick shower. When I returned, he wore the earrings I’d bought him.
“You brought them?”
“I never go anywhere without them.”
“I have the pin on my jacket.” I showed him.
“Then I’ll just have to orbit you tonight and maybe cause a rising”—he glanced at my crotch—“tide or two.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s just awful.”
“I’m afraid it’s canon now.”
When I was ready, we went to the elevator together. I pressed the Down button. “Why’d you press down? Isn’t the restaurant up?”
“You can’t get there from here. The restaurant tower has its own elevator.”
He took my hand. “You have to go down to go up?”
“Yup.”
“What if you want to go up?”
“You press Up.” I pointed out the obvious.
“But you can’t get to the restaurant from Up?”
“Not from this elevator. It doesn’t go there.”
He blinked his wide blue eyes. “And you wonder why I want to live in St. Nacho’s?”
“No, I don’t.” I kissed his cheek. “I wonder why you do a lot of things, but St. Nacho’s? I get that.”
He gave me a slow, I’ve got plans for you smile—one intended to convey that we were going to do what he wanted. Work remotely. Move to St. Nacho’s. Get a place and put down roots.
He let me know, with that smile, that he’d take care of me, empty my cache of worries regularly with great sex, make me eat well and wear sunscreen and hats.
I’d probably have to mini-golf again. Better not be on my birthday.
When we got to the ground floor, we switched elevators and rode all the way to the steakhouse on the top.
“After you, sweetheart,” he said when the doors opened.
Chapter Twenty-Six
On Saturday, it rained. We had breakfast in bed and watched Animal Planet for a while.
Epic went to the bathroom, and when he came back, he carried a small duffel from which he pulled a slender, flexible, gift-wrapped package.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s a present for you.” I carefully took off the tape and opened it.
Inside, a crop with feathers at the end waited like dueling pistols in the first act of a play.
“You’re not going to hit me, are you?”
“Nope. Not ever, unless you want me to.” He’d bound my wrists loosely together with the warning I’d better keep them where he wanted them.
“There’s no place to tie your legs,” he complained. “It’s almost as if they are actively trying to prevent their guests from tying one another up.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“Open your legs,” he commanded.
I spread my feet apart.
“Keep them just like that.” He tickled my arm with the feathers.
“Oh God, I begin to see the appeal here.”
“Speaking of which”—he took out an eye mask—“I need to do something about that.”
From that moment forward, Epic drenched me in sensation. He started by tickling me in places that weren't very sensitive at all. My shins. The tops of my arms. My hands. My feet.
And then he moved to places that tingled, that made me laugh, that made me squirm and groan and eventually, beg him to stop because begging was fun.
I didn’t safeword, even though what Epic was doing felt like a gentle form of torture. I loved his special edging technique, but because of the blindfold, I never knew what was coming. I could only feel. Was he going to tickle me, or suck me, or finger me to insanity?
The care with which he took me to the brink and then pulled me back again and again took timing and patience, and I thought, maybe, love. The tickles, kisses, and soft touches he used to drive me into ecstatic highs and maddening need took me to that special place where the only reality was Epic and sensation, and peace.
He’d concentrate the long crop with the feathered tip on