eyes and burst out laughing. “I have no idea if your dick is still huge.”
“You could find out.”
“Sure, whip it out right now, Brent,” she said, leaning back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. Daring him. God, he loved this about her. She went toe to toe with him.
He lowered his hands to his crotch, and pretended he was getting ready to unzip his jeans.
“Kidding! I’m kidding,” she said, and he stopped. “Anyway, what I was getting at is this.” She pushed up his shirtsleeve, her fingers tracing the sunburst on his forearm. His skin sizzled under her touch, and matters south of the border grew harder as she stroked the ink on his skin. She trailed her fingertips across the tribal bands. “You have the same ink you had in college. You never got any more?”
He shook his head. This question was easy. “I got it all with you. You came with me for the first one, and then my others, so it seemed wrong for me to get more without you.”
“Did you want to get more? Was there something you had in mind?”
He’d had about as much seriousness as he could take for one lunch. As many admissions as he was up for making. So he returned to familiar ground, fixing a studious look on his face. “A zebra.” He held out his arm, showing her the canvas he’d use. His right bicep was free of ink. “Right here.”
“That sounds perfect. You could even have the stripes go all the way around,” she said, tracing a pattern on his arm. Ah, this was good. He hadn’t expected his joke would get her hands on him, but he’d keep it up to keep her touching him.
“The other option is a badass, flying Pegasus. Breathing fire and all. You see, Shan, now that you’re back, all I want to do is just cover myself in ink. Coat myself in it.”
“You let me know when you’re ready to go under the needle. I’ll be there,” she said, as she danced her fingertips up his arm, hitting the cuff of his shirt from where she’d pushed up his sleeve. She wrapped her arm around his bicep and squeezed, then let go of her grip.
That was his cue to move on. “I got you something else,” he said, handing her the bag he’d brought with him today. It had been next to him in the booth, since this one didn’t fit in his pocket.
A smile spread across her face—that was reward alone. She dug into the shopping bag, and took out a box, then opened the top. He catalogued her reaction. Her eyes seemed to twinkle with happiness, then she brought a hand to her chest, then she took out the pair of red leather shoes with a strap over the arch of the foot.
“You’re still a size six, I presume?”
She nodded as she slipped off her black heels, and tried on the new ones. “I can’t believe you got me shoes.”
He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “The shoes looked hot, and you’re hot, and I always liked to fuck you in shoes, because you used to leave them on and that was insanely hot. Which pretty much describes you. Hot.”
“So let me get this straight. You think I’m hot?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah. Your understanding is right on,” he said, deadpan.
“And is this your way of trying to fuck me again, Brent? By buying me shoes and making me laugh?
“Yes,” he said with a nod. “Does it turn you on?”
“You know it does.” She stretched out her leg across his, and modeled the new shoe, then spoke in a smoky whisper. “Does this turn you on?”
He nearly groaned as he answered, “You know it does.”
“Do you want me to wear them on Saturday night? When you take me to Alvin Ailey?”
“Yes.”
All he could think about now was her in those shoes on Saturday, and what might happen later that night. Images flashed wildly before his eyes. Her legs on his shoulders. Her legs in a V. Those heels digging into his back. His tongue all over her naked body, spread out before him. Her spine curving in an arch as he took her once again, and sent her over the edge.
Damn, he liked the reel his mind was playing. Far too much.
“I’ll even let you pick me up if you want,” she said, and he nodded vigorously, thrilled that she was giving him her address finally.