He shook his head. “You’ve got a lot more faith in my intentions than they deserve. By the way… we’re not here for me. Don’t think I missed that you’ve turned the attention away from you.”
*
“Not on purpose.” Susan swallowed her frustration. Everything with Andrew was counter, block, and parry. Each time she caught a glimpse of what lay underneath, he covered it up with a new flash and distraction. Worse, she didn’t understand why she kept poking, prodding, and digging. She’d coerced him into doing her this favor, playing off some twisted attachment he had to her sister. What more did she need to know, as long as they both accomplished their goals?
“Now that we’re back on topic, I’d like to see you dance,” he said.
“You’ve seen me dance.” The notion twisted her gut in knots. What if he thought less of her, once he had a chance to see her for more than a few seconds? What if she screwed up? What if Dad was right, and this was a waste of time? Familiar doubts pressed in and threatened to suffocate her, but she clawed her way past them. She’d asked for his help with this; she wasn’t going to tell him no. “But if you meet me back at R&T early tomorrow, I’m happy to do an on-demand performance.”
“You misunderstand. I want to see it now.”
“Here?” Her question came out as a squeak. People passed by in groups of two or five or more, on their way to dinner or the movies. This time of year, with so many holiday shoppers lingering despite the closed stores, it was far from being a private show.
Andrew moved close enough that heat flowed between them, but he never made contact. “I dated a guy once. Super uptight. Formal. Complete control freak.” His voice rolled over her with a current of electricity. “But—Jesus—he could fuck.”
“Like on camera?” Stupid question. That was what most of his stories were about.
“Like on me. He wasn’t an actor. The man knew how to get me off.”
Andrew never flinched, and neither would she. The problem was she was now fantasizing about him with another man, and that was distracting. Picturing Andrew stripped down, some well-built guy kissing him, stroking him— “Is this another story that ends with you getting a blow job on a bench?” She was grateful she kept her question steady and neutral.
“No. Do you want to hear it or not?”
“Yes.”
“I took him out to dinner one night. I was enjoying the new feeling of having a free cash flow. It was a super classy place—or I thought so at the time. French version of Olive Garden, but with American food.”
She’d been to France and was pretty sure such a thing didn’t exist, but she didn’t dare interrupt and stop the tale.
“Or—you know—it was a little café on the corner somewhere, but they had tablecloths and candlelight, so it felt classy. We placed our orders, and chatted while we waited. He had a little wine. Wasn’t sitting quite as straight as normal. I dropped my hand to his leg and glided it up to his zipper. He pushed me away, but the right coaxing convinced him no one could see.”
She tried to swallow, but her throat was dry. “And?”
He flicked his gaze across her face and gave a tiny shake of his head. “When I worked his cock free from his jeans, it was so hard I could cut glass with it and his spine went just as rigid. But the company was good, and his dick was hot against my palm, so I took my time stroking him.”
Details splashed with images through her thoughts, making her pulse race. Desire thrummed under her skin and throbbed between her legs. This was better than Tumblr.
“As the anticipation built, he relaxed.” If Andrew had any idea the effect he was having on her, it didn’t show. “When he tilted his head back, eyes half closed, I knew he was lost in the moment. He groaned when he came. Made a mess of my hand. Drew stares and more than a few whispers from the people around us. I guarantee, not all of them were as disgusted as they were acting.”
She didn’t know if she was more embarrassed for the unnamed boyfriend, or jealous. Temptation urged her to excuse herself for a few minutes, find the nearest bathroom, and slip her fingers between her legs. “What happened next?”
“Management asked us to leave, because we were disrupting the other diners.”
“Oh my heck, why would you tell me that?” There was no way she was dancing here now.
He raised an eyebrow. “It made you hot and bothered, and I like the memory.”
“I thought you were trying to convince me to do a command performance.”
“I am.” He leaned his head in, and his hot breath sent tantalizing shivers down her spine. “What’s holding you back?”
“What if it pisses someone off?”
He looked her in the eye, but his nearness jumbled her thoughts. “That’s a worst-case scenario. The story is important because, aside from being sent to jail or getting beaten up for being queer—neither of which is an option here—there wasn’t a lot more that could happen. It didn’t kill us, and it left us both with a fantastic memory.”
“But it’s so embarrassing.” The argument sounded weak, and she was the one saying it.
He slid behind her and rested his hands on her hips. When he pressed against her back, his hard length told her she wasn’t the only one turned on. “You want to be a performer.” He dragged his nose along the back of her neck as he spoke. “Perform.”