I don’t even want to like her. But for some reason, I’m drawn to her, unable to tear my gaze away or tell my melting heart to freeze back over.
It’s like she’s able to tear down the barrier by thawing the ice with the heat of her innocent smile.
But that’s all that’s innocent. The way she sucks on the fork and moans is practically orgasmic. Is she getting off or trying to make me rock hard?
Just listening to her moan and watching her body react makes me want to kiss her. But I shouldn’t. She’s here strictly on business. Cali isn’t looking to get laid, and I don’t do hookups. I’m not a one-night stand kind of guy. That’s entirely Wyatt’s territory.
Besides, my daughter is upstairs, and she doesn’t need to witness or hear the filthy things that I’d do to Cali if I had her in my bed.
“I don’t know, Logan. These potatoes are to die for.”
For a moment, I’m waiting for her to laugh or to tell me she’s kidding around. “We have the same potatoes,” I say. Our meal is different, but I’m sure the garlic potatoes come from the same batch.
“And you still think sex is better?” She laughs and rubs her eyes, the tears surfacing. But at least she’s not upset. She’s laughing so hard that she’s crying. “I’m sorry.” She holds up her hand, trying to catch her breath.
“Why are you apologizing?”
“Because you think you’re a king in bed,” Cali says. Her cheeks are red, and she fans herself. “I’m telling you; no sex is better than this dinner.”
“Is that a challenge?” I should keep my mouth shut. But the woman has a way of getting under my skin. Does she really think those potatoes are better than sex? She’s either had really bad sex or never experienced orgasm after orgasm.
Either way, I’m confident I can change her mind.
“You don’t do no-strings-attached sex,” Cali says.
She’s right, I don’t. But for some reason, I don’t feel like that’s what this girl is looking for, either. She’s been here a week, and we’ve spent more time together than I’ve spent with any other guest who wasn’t invited here personally by me.
“I don’t,” I say, staring at her. “Is that a problem?”
Cali shrugs. “I leave in two days. And no offense, but I hate the cold.”
She’s making it clear she’s not planning on coming back or staying here any longer. I should be upset, disappointed, distraught.
“I hate the summer heat,” I say, pinning her with my stare.
The girl quirks a wry grin. “Is this your idea of foreplay, old man?”
“Old man?” I scoff, and want to lunge across the table. Instead, I stand and scoot around to the booth. She has her leg up, and I sit beside her, bringing my arm up around her shoulders protectively. “Maybe I should put you on my lap, little girl.”
She elbows me in the stomach and leans back, wiggling her butt against my crotch. “I’m almost thirty.” Cali’s head dips back onto my shoulder, and my fingers grab her neck, tilting her head and pulling her lips to mine.
Our lips clash, and fingers fumble. I can’t get enough of her. My heart is pounding against my ribcage, straining to break free.
“Fourteen years age difference,” I mutter. Damn, that’s almost the age of my daughter, except Cali isn’t a child. She’s a grown woman. Every inch of her is all woman, from the curve of her breasts down her body. She is absolutely perfect, and I want her to be all mine.
Fuck. The woman knows how to make me even harder.
As her tongue pushes inside of my mouth, deepening the kiss, exploring me, all I can think about is what it would feel like to have her under me, pumping my cock inside of her, listening to her moaning and screaming my name.
And where the hell are we going to go?
I can’t take her back to my place. We could sneak off to her room and bang it out. Isn’t that what near thirty-year-olds call it these days?
My fingers trail across her thighs, and I cup her pussy through the thick denim. She rocks into my palm, and I’m grateful the table hides what we’re doing, because neither of us is completely discreet.
“Still prefer the meal over my touch?” I ask, pulling my hand away.
Cali whimpers in protest. She rests her forehead against mine, gasping for breath. “I want—I want you,” she says, and her words are like music to my ears.