Before I realized what he was doing, he turned me around and pressed his front to my back. His erection pushed up against me and his hands ran over my stomach, one down toward the hem of my skirt and the other up to my breasts. He stopped right before he reached either, his fingers skimming back and forth. “Touch me,” I begged.
His teeth and tongue set to work on my ear as he growled, “With pleasure.” With easy dexterity, he slid one hand up my skirt while opening the buttons on my blouse with the other, popping my breast out of the cup and into his rough hand. He massaged the swell before pulling my nipple between his fingers. The hand skating against my thighs moved my panties aside, spreading me open and finding my clit effortlessly. His lips travelled down to my neck, leaving wet kisses and bites. “You’re so fucking wet.” His cock grew painfully hard against my ass.
“Please, fuck me!” My voice sounded unrecognizable.
“No, baby.” He worked my clit and my nipple in rhythm with one another. He dipped his finger down and slipped it inside of me. “You’re so tight, shit,” he hissed. I couldn’t respond as he pumped his finger into me with practiced strokes, hitting my G-spot with every move. His palm rubbed against my clit. I was an inch from orgasming and making a sloppy mess all over his hand, but right as I reached that precipice, Mason stopped.
I whimpered wordlessly, begging him to continue, but he turned me around and did up my buttons. He pressed one more kiss to my lips. “Come on, Claire, we have a reservation.” I followed him, too stunned to do anything else. I stared at his well-tailored suit and broad shoulders. He lifted his hand to his mouth and a crazy part of me thought he tasted my juices off his fingers. I was losing my mind. He couldn’t want me that much.
He took me to a sweet little café with outdoor seating at the park a few blocks from the library. The metal chairs were the type to leave lattice marks on bare skin. The day was warm, but comfortable, and we sat outside enjoying the scenery and the people passing by.
Couples strolled hand in hand, people walked their dogs; all very calm and picturesque, especially compared to the need burning in every part of me. The playground sat on the other side of the soccer field, but we still heard the yelling and laughter of the playing children.
He left me to my thoughts as he picked our food. It was a mistake to let him take control that way, but I was not inclined to stop him. My soaked underwear stuck to my skin, and I had no time to run home. I would need to keep an extra pair in my purse if we were going to keep seeing each other. He interrupted my musing with a coffee and croissants, “These are wonderful. I hope you like them.”
“How Parisian,” I pulled the latte to my lips, savoring the nutty flavor.
“Have you ever been?”
The wind kicked up, blowing my hair around my face, “No, I’ve never been anywhere.”
He silently appraised me, “We can change that.”
I choked on a sip of my coffee, “You’re not serious.”
He just smiled at me with clear amusement, hinting he would show me anything he wanted. “Why do you know the library so well?” I managed to ask once the hot liquid cleared from my airways.
“I’ve had some business there in the past, and I’m fond of the place.” He dipped his finger into his mouth, using his teeth to scrape some crumbs off his fingertip. My tongue darted out, wishing to taste him.
A little bird hopped across the ground in front of us. “You never told me why you were looking for that old bird book or what you do for a living.”
“No, I didn’t.” His green eyes held me, waiting for me to back down. I wondered how often this man got exactly what he wanted out of people.
I waited a moment, letting the silence settle between us, “Are you going to tell me?”
He stared into my eyes, calculating. “I’m a lawyer.”
I choked on my latte again, “So, that’s why you’re so proficient at getting what you want,”
He rolled his eyes at me in an agreeable manner before continuing, “When I was a kid, my mom used to teach me about birds,” he shrugged his shoulders like the admission wasn’t a big deal, but his expression told a different story, “She whistled a lot when she was happy. She’d sing their songs, and they even sang back.”
“Your mom sounds like Snow White,” I teased, as I reached out and touched the back of his hand.
“I saw her that way,” his gaze travelled off, maybe after the birds that took flight, “She had this scientific reference about birds. She would show me their pictures and whistle their songs for me...”
“Why can’t you get it from her?” My voice was soft and careful; I sensed the answer wasn’t a happy one.
“My mom’s dead, Claire, and her things... Well, I can’t get them.” A faint touch of anger brushed his features, but more than anything, he looked vulnerable.
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen.”
“How did she die?” I gulped down the nerves in my throat.
“A car accident…”
I thought about it for a moment. The way he said it, was like he wasn’t sure. I wanted to push him further, but I held back, knowing he wouldn’t give me any more right now. Even like this, he exercised control. He showed no signs of open sadness. Even the timbre of his voice remained perfectly level, but something deep in those green eyes revealed his pain.