“Don’t keep me in suspense,” my oddly compelling tablemate demands, her delicious dimple peeking out. With dark hair and darker eyes, she has an earthy kind of beauty. Deliciously ripe and round in all the right places, and nothing like my usual type. There’s her age for a start. She’s much younger. Too young, perhaps.
But despite first impressions, I’m pleased to find her not the least deranged, though she’s certainly made me feel a little out of my element. Possibly even a little unhinged.
“What does it taste like?”
I’d like to know how she tastes. Feel the almost indecent fullness of her bottom lip between my teeth. But that’s not what we’re doing right now, even if I can’t help but imagine how she’d be in bed. Instead, I inhale a deep breath, exhaling an equally deep sigh. Then, against my better judgment, I aim to answer her question by lifting the glass to my lips.
“Not like that.” I don’t think anyone has ever rolled their eyes at me before, have they? She prods the straw in the direction of my mouth, her slender forefinger adorned by a thick silver band. “It came with one of these for a reason, Lyle.”
“My abject humiliation?” Because the straw the drink was delivered with is in the shape of a penis. A pink penis.
“Don’t be so uptight.”
“I tend to be tense when someone is trying to shove a penis in my mouth.”
“You’re a riot! No, don’t do that—you heard the server,” she adds with an infectious giggle. “You’re not allowed to use your hands.”
I went to a party with the same rule a long time ago.
There were fewer clothes, as I recall.
Fingers poised over the straw, I narrow my gaze as though what I’d like to use my hands for would be to throttle her when, in fact, I’d be more inclined to use them in other much more satisfying ways. But she does look delighted as I settle my mouth over the straw. Then she’s not quite so much as I clench it between my teeth and drop it to the tabletop. My mouth comes away from the glass with a grimace. I may be enjoying her company, but that is the limit to this experience.
“Biting? Really?”
“Better to bite than suck, in this instance.” Sager words were never said.
Her gaze dips to the abandoned straw. I think I might have stunned her.
“Did it really taste that bad?”
“Worse.” I try and fail to suppress a shudder. Syrupy and sickly sweet, the concoction has the artificial aftertaste of a childhood medicine, thanks to a maraschino cherry garnish. But it was worth it because as I lick the sticky coating from my lips, I note her eyes following the path of my tongue. Eyes that I’d thought were green but are actually hazel. Green-rimmed, tawny at the centre. “Remind me, what was it called again?”
“Oh, no. No action replays,” she replies with a dirty laugh that is countermanded by the stripe of pink that instantly brands her cheeks. “You’re not getting me to say that again.”
Understandable really, because my cocktail is called a suck, bang, and blow.
“Do I need to point out that I wasn’t the one who ordered it?”
“That kind of backfired on me,” she answers, wrinkling her nose.
“I don’t know. I certainly enjoyed hearing you do so.”
“You get to order the next round of drinks,” she blusters, her eyes darting away.
“But you ordered it so delightfully. And with only the hint of a stutter.” And bonny pink cheeks.
“Oh, my God.” Her words fall in a rush as she leans across the table, her fingers grasping my wrist to look at my watch, providing me with a perfect view of her cleavage. Like my jacket, her blazer is draped over the back of the bench. I’d almost swallowed my tongue when she’d slipped it off, her tight sleeveless T-shirt revealing not only toned and tanned arms but also the perfect handfuls of breasts. “Are your two hours up yet?”
“You said one or two hours.” My attention flickers down to my Breitling because it doesn’t do to stare. Before she can pull away, my free hand makes a manacle of her wrist. “I make it two hours and twelve minutes, and though I’ve suffered the pink drink, I’ve still yet to see a hint of those shackles.”
Allowing a stranger to strap you to any surface might be a very bad idea, but I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t be tempted by the experience with her. Almost as though I’d said that aloud, her breath hitches as her eyes take on the appearance of midnight. Dark, seductive, and full of promise.
I’d watched her covertly in the hotel earlier, stealing glances over the top of my newspaper after Matteo and Van had left. It was hard not to watch. She was so effusive and clearly enjoying both her company and the conversation, so much so that her face seemed almost lit from within. Until she wasn’t enjoying it anymore, and I sought to intervene. Strange. It had been a long while since I’d cared enough to study the nuances of an expression, never mind offer assistance to a stranger.