“Oh, we totally are. I was just surprised by the goal you set. I have to warn you. I don’t fake it. And I’m also one of those chicks who unfortunately can’t get off with just a few pumps of a cock. I’m quite the handful,” I admit.
“Challenge: Accepted, sugar,” he tells me, yanking me to him by our interlocked fingers before he backs me up until I’m against the bricks of the building.
Being literally caught between a rock and a hard place sends a thrill through my veins, making my heart pump. And when he bends his knees and presses forward, allowing me to feel the thickness of him between my thighs, my head falls back against the wall and my eyes close with a groan.
“You sure you wanna go to Bourbon Street? I mean, we could just go straight—”
“I’m sure,” he interrupts, and I whimper as he trails feather-soft kisses up my neck until he reaches my ear. “Not ready for this night to end. Won’t be ready, and won’t bury this cock deep in your tight little pussy, until I know for a fact that you understand it won’t be the last one I spend with you.”
“Curtis,” I breathe, and he latches his teeth gently onto my earlobe.
“So I’m gonna need you to show me to the best place to get us a couple drinks on Bourbon, so I can get back to convincing you,” he tells me, and I moan in agreement.
“Okay,” I whisper, the closest I’ve ever been to an orgasm without being naked and thirty-minutes-deep into playtime. How the fuck did he get me this riled up with just a few kisses?
He takes a step back and takes my hand once more, and when we get to the intersection, I lead the way to Bourbon Street, stopping at the head of the closed off party area. Between certain hours on different days, cars can’t pass through these few blocks, which allows everyone to drink and party in the street.
“Okay, so fun fact. I’ve never actually brought a guy to play on Bourbon Street just the two of us before. It’s always been like, a group thing or just me and my girlfriends. Sooo… what do you wanna do?” I ask, stepping into Curtis to let a few staggering women pass behind me on their way out.
“Well, what would you and your girlfriends usually do?” he prompts, holding me close and looking down at me with amusement.
I bite my lip, wondering if he’d really be willing to go to our favorite place on the street. “There’s this club near the halfway mark up the street. They have great drinks and a cool upstairs area with a balcony. But you might not feel comfortable going.”
“And why is that?” He lifts a brow.
“It’s a gay club. We go because the people are awesome and they have a DJ who plays actual dance music instead of a live band,” I explain.
He nods slowly. “Hey, babe.”
I tilt my head. “Yes?”
“You remember I’m from California, right?” he asks, and he gives me a crooked smile.
I play along. “Sooo… you are gay. Therefore, you’d feel right at home at a gay club! Let’s go!” I pretend like I’m about to run off toward it, but he yanks me back to him, making me cackle when he wraps me up in his arms before swatting me on the ass. It takes everything in me not to purr… or hump his leg.
“Does this feel like I’m gay, when I’m pushed up against such a fine-ass woman?” He takes my hand and slides it between us, pressing my open palm to the front of his jeans to feel he is rock-hard.
“Fuck my life. I guess my assessment in my kitchen was right. You are one virile fucking guy, Chef. How many boners have you had today? I’ve lost count,” I tease, even though inside I’m more hot and bothered than I’ve ever been in my damn life.
“No clue. But I read somewhere that the average dude pops wood unconsciously about eleven times a day, so I’m right on track,” he replies, and I throw my head back and laugh as he holds me.
It’s the most relaxed and carefree I’ve felt in a long time, and it’s all thanks to this amazing man who I just met today. How is it possible I can feel this close to someone, when I’ve known him less than twelve hours?
“So no, sugar. Not gay. But about 98.6% of my friends are, or at least rank themselves somewhere on the sliding scale of sexuality. So I have no problem going to a gay club. My only qualm is… I am a tourist, not a local, so I’d love to go somewhere more… authentic to New Orleans, if I have a choice,” he tells me, and I nod, completely understanding.