“Do you want to?” I whisper in his ear before licking his neck.
“I’m about to—”
“Here are your salads,” our waitress says pleasantly. She beams at Rob, never looking away from him as she sets down our salads.
But Rob never looks away from me. He has his hand on top of me, which is still on top of his tented pants, and I give his cock a squeeze and a pat before reaching for my knife and fork.
“You’re a damn tease,” he mutters.
“Hmm?” I ask innocently. “The quicker we eat, the faster we can get out of here.”
“We have movie tickets,” he complains.
“We could always return them and ask for another time. Later tonight. Give us some time… alone… first.” I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively.
“As much as I love the way you think, with all of the things I want to do to you right now, we’re going to be going at it until tomorrow.”
“So reschedule the tickets for tomorrow.”
“Today’s the last chance to see the movie in theaters.”
Ah, that was right.
“It’s your call,” he says, his voice raspy, husky, and not concealing his lust at all.
I pick out a grape tomato from my salad and plop it into my mouth. After slowly chewing, trying to do so as seductively as I can, which just might not be possible but Rob looks like he wants to devour me so it can't be too terrible, I swallow and whisper, "Let's go to the theater."
“Of course,” Rob says quickly, drawing away from me.
I can’t help but laugh. “Just wait,” I promise.
“I don’t want to wait.”
“It’ll be that much better if we have to delay.”
“I’m not so sure my balls agree with that sentiment.”
“Aw, but you look so good blue.”
“Your teasing, woman. I swear.”
“I won’t be the death of you,” I vow.
“Oh, I think you will, or at least you’ll cause one of my balls to die.”
“I wouldn’t want that.”
“No? You want kids?”
My heart skips a beat. We’re ready for this conversation already? Fuck, we’re moving way too fast, aren’t we? I mean, I really am head over heels for the guy, but to settle down with him one day, can I picture that? Do I want that? For him to be the only guy I’m with for the rest of my life? I’m only eighteen. I’m too young to be thinking about the future, right?
Except we expect eighteen-year-olds to have their lives together enough to know what to study and pick their career already.
No wonder so many college students end up changing their major once or twice or even three times. And that's not even counting the number of adults who go back to school and change professions.
“Do you?” I ask, deflecting the question back to him. “Do you want to be a daddy?”
“I’m already your daddy,” he says.