When Victor chuckled, my eyes popped open and locked on his face. “Don’t care for the ceviche?” His grin was contagious, and I shook my head, scrunching my nose.
“No, Peruvian isn’t my jam, but I’ll eat it. It’s fine.” I took another bite of food, thankful that he wasn’t talking about my picky eating as a kid.
“So, what brought you out here the other night? Why haven’t I seen you around town? Dayton isn’t so big that we would never see each other.” He continued eating happily, and I continued to choke down every bite, barely able to swallow the tangy concoction. I gulped the wine, which made my inhibitions begin to unravel.
“Well, I was here to forget another man, ironically enough.” I didn’t want to talk about why we hadn’t seen each other for years. That would come out eventually. Tonight, was about him seeing me as I was right now. “It didn’t work out, and I needed to drink myself happy again.” Maybe that would remind him I was now an adult with adult desires.
I dropped my fork and shrugged. No matter what I had said, I couldn’t force myself to eat it.
“Can’t do it?” he asked, wiping his mouth. I shook my head and grimaced.
“I’m sorry. It’s just not my thing.”
Victor snapped his fingers, holding his hand in the air and the waiter materialized with the check. Part of me wondered if he had remembered my disdain for seafood and planned this on purpose, or if he was trying to be chivalrous. While Victor took care of the check, I finished my wine, and before the waiter left, he replenished my glass. So, I drank more. I probably shouldn’t have, but it was too tempting.
“Why don’t we retire to my place. I can make you a burger or something to make up for my obvious failure here at dinner.” He sat forward, leaning against the table with elbows propped on either side of his dish.
“Why, Mr. Beringher, are you saying what I think you’re saying?” I mirrored his pose, letting my hair fall around my face as I leaned closer to him. For a moment there was a tense lull in the conversation. I saw his eyes scanning my face, and I relaxed, hoping he was getting the same groin-splitting urge that I had.
“I was merely saying, if we’re going to catch up, maybe we should do it over something you’d enjoy.”
His words said he was more interested in filling in the gap of time he missed, but the way he didn’t lean back or shy away told me there was something more. So, I leaned forward farther, licking my lips before speaking.
“Catch up? Is that why you asked me to dinner? You want the juicy details about how Mom moved on, moved me to Boston to live with another money bag, got me the full ride…” He leaned closer, by millimeters. “Or did you have something else in mind? Because I’m not that little girl anymore. And the way you’re looking at me right now is not the way a grown man looks at a little girl.”
“Sir, the check.” Both of us remained fixed, staring into each other’s eyes across that table and the waiter slowly slid the folder holding Victor’s card and receipt in front of him. The air crackled with untapped energy, pushing and pulling me at the same time.
“So, you will join me then?” He never blinked as he said it.
7
VICTOR
The drive from the heart of the city to my home in Bellbrook was about as excruciating as it could be. Katherine smelled like honey and vanilla, and I could also smell the hint of her arousal each time she crossed or uncrossed her legs. My dick throbbed, and all I could think about was getting her out of that dress and into my bed, if for no other reason than making this tension in my groin go away.
She had craftily avoided the talk of her past over what was supposed to be a nice dinner. The way she handled me, like a seductress rather than the angsty teen I had known really pushed my buttons. The night I met her I wanted to take her home with me right then and there—regardless of the age difference. When I found out who she was, it gave me pause for a few reasons, but those reasons flew out the window the minute I opened the front door to my home to let her in, my hand in the small of her back as she passed me.
“This is a nice place.” Katherine dropped her wallet on the table next to the door and kicked off her heels. She was instantly several inches shorter, which didn’t bother me a bit. “How long have you lived here?” She walked farther into the house, toward the light that streamed out of the kitchen. My eyes were glued to her ass, the way that dress hugged her hips.
“About five years or so. I like the neighborhood. It’s quiet here.” When she reached the arched door to the kitchen, she turned to face me, hands resting on either side of the jamb. “Let’s make it a little less quiet, just for tonight.”
Despite my reluctance to dive back into Jillian Scott’s world of money grubbing and manipulation, I couldn’t help myself. The intoxicating specimen in front of me was not the child of the woman I used to date; she was the person I had been obsessing over for days now and she was throwing herself at me. Mine for the taking.
I dropped my key fob on the table next to her wallet and stalked toward her as she backed slowly into the light. Slipping out of my jacket, I loosened my tie, and draped both of them across the back of a chair at the small dinette set in the kitchen. Katherine backed herself into the island, the heels of her hands planted on either side of her on the marble countertop.
Part of me felt hesitation. She had been drinking, and what if she couldn’t handle her liquor and I’d wake up to police banging on my door because she cried rape. What if she was like her mother and was just here to get in my head and go after my money? Another part of me didn’t give a fuck. She was gorgeous and I needed release.
I attacked her, my hands searching her hips and lower back as my mouth tasted her forbidden fruit. I pushed away the memories—images of Kat when she was just Kitty, her smile, her soccer jersey, the way her braces made her smile funny. Reveling in the physical sensations coursing through every fiber of my being, I focused on one thing—Katherine Scott.
Her exposed skin was an oasis for my needy fingers. They explored the heat of her body as I slid my hand upward, finding the hook-and-eye fasteners on the neckline of the dress. She tugged at my dress shirt, then the button for my slacks. As greedy as I was, her touch was hungry, frantic, as if her life depended on the pleasure, I would give her.
The dress unhooked, I ran my hand up the back of her head and snagged a handful of her hair, gripping it in my fist and exposing her neck as I pulled backward. She gasped as I sank my teeth into her neck and let the front of the dress fall. It still hugged her hips, but it was her breasts I wanted.
“Shit…” she hissed when I squeezed a breast, her hands still working on freeing me from the polyester trappings that hid me from her touch. “Fuck, Victor…” I could feel her hand brushing over my cock as she unzipped my slacks, each light touch making me tense with desire for her.
“God you’re so fucking hot…” I refrained from using her name, too many awkward memories associated with the nickname, but not enough confidence in what she preferred to be called now to actually place that new association on her current actions.
Her nipple hardened between my teeth as I took it into my mouth. I pushed her back as I bent to enjoy her, releasing her hair so I could fondle both breasts at once. As she leaned forward, her dress fell, revealing no panties. It surprised me at first but delighted me all the same. Her hands weaved through my hair, pushing me lower.