“Well,” I slip around the booth next to him and blow in his ear. While he twitches his head like he’s got a wasp after him, I slide my hand up his thigh.
“Since you spoiled my chances of playing with that big boy’s toolbox,” his thigh is hard, like a knotted tree trunk. “At least I can get a heft of your hammer to keep me amused.”
He shows no reaction. Then I find his bulge. Aaaaand there’s his reaction.
Ohmy!
He gets up and moves to the other side of the booth. I slip along to greet him. His hand is on the bench. I sit straight on it.
“It was an accident,” I tell him.
“Why haven’t you moved, then?”
“The palm of your hand is pretty comfortable.” Then his strong fingers start to move.
“You want to play games?” his voice carries a powerful menace.
Sensations from the movement in his fingers travel up and through me like fire and water. I hold my breath. Grip the side of the table. My lips press and squeeze.
He says, “Want to play, ‘who can be more outrageous’?”
Delicately, like an expert, a connoisseur, he explores me. His touch is tender and precise. I twitch, shudder, and jump at every move.
He knows exactly what he’s doing. He finds his way around me, seeks out my paths, and exposes my secret trails and triggers. I can’t sit still.
Heat gathers in prickling tingles everywhere his fingers press. I could make him stop. Could I? I look in his eyes. Then I have to look away again.
I’m living the cafe scene in Harry Met Sally, but in reverse. I’m not faking. And I’m struggling not to do what Meg Ryan did. I’m fighting to keep it inside.
I gasp. My insides tighten. In my core, I’m weak. Wet. Trickles of clenching start in the backs of my thighs. My throat thickens and my breath starts to shake.
My thighs part, and I slide down the bench. He follows me.
I don’t know if I can make him stop. If I tell him to stop, then what if he doesn’t.
OHMIGOD, I just have to clamp my eyes shut for a moment. Hold on. Try to breathe.
His voice is like a grin in a black velvet river of the worst kinds of sin. “Any time you like,” his breath is hot on my neck. “You can always move off my hand.”
But I can’t. Of course I can’t.
OH! and his fingers stretch up inside me. I bite my lips in between my teeth. Now I’m leaning forward. Trying to keep all the explosions inside. The bursts in my core, the rumble in my pussy, all of the crackling and fizz in my nipples, all of it. OhmiGOD!
I need it to stop. But I don’t ever want it to end. Fuck him. He’s a total fucking beast. He’s a monster.
And I jump. Nearly out of my seat. His fingers spread out. Circling my mound. My hood. Pulling my lips apart. And his THUMB reaches inside.
I’m soaked. If he keeps this up, I’ll bite through my lip. Inside me everything swirls, gathers and brims, holding back like a sea wall, bulging, cracking.
“Imagine what my tongue can do,” he rasps in my ear. “I have the longest tongue. Do you want to see?” His thumb reaches, presses higher. Deeper.
I hardly dare lift my eyelids to look. When I do, he’s teasing the tip of his tongue against the end of his nose. I look away, but my eyes go straight to the hard cock of the tool guy. He’s waving it.
It’s a fabulous cock. But it doesn’t look half as big as the roadrunner’s.
And the desert boy’s eyes sear into me. Like his hand.
I implode. Shaking. Trembling. Dropping. A waterfall.
He trills his finger right under my clit. Like a vibrating feather. Like he knows the way I do it. When I want to make it go on. Make it last longer.
Damn him.
When I finally move, I’m drenched.
He says, “Want to play again?”
I wrap around him. Devour him. Wet. Brutal. Push my flesh against him. Shove my tongue on his. Steal his breath until I’m panting again.
There’s no point me watching sexy people and getting worked up. I hate him, but he’s what my body wants. And I’m determined not to give him any more of me.
Well, not much.
Less than he wants.
I’ll show him.
Chapter Six
Giovani
As the limo pulls away from Kings & McQueen’s, a black van with blacked windows drifts out behind us. In the rearview, I watch Bruno, the driver. He saw it too.
We exchange a look. By that, I know it isn’t the Franconis, and he knows it’s not us. Not good.
He doesn’t seem eager to share the news with Lily, so I don’t either. Not for the first time, I’m wondering why Leo wanted her to have another bodyguard. Bruno seems more than capable.