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I lean forward and turn my head for her to whisper in my ear.
She exhales, and the warm breath that caresses my ear causes my eyes to roll to the back of my head and my blood to rush to my cock.
“I was reading this super-dirty book one night in the back of the library. And I was so turned on that I couldn’t resist sliding my hand up my skirt. I couldn’t believe how wet I was from one little scene in a book,” she whispers, and I think her voice is the sexiest thing I have ever heard.
Jesus fucking Christ.
At this point, I don’t even care if it’s true or not. That alone was a gift to my goddamn ears.
I turn my head and pull back just enough to meet her eyes. “Lie.”
She purses her lips. “Ugh. Yes, it was a lie, but only partially. I did do that; it just wasn’t at the library.”
“Truth or lie? I’m hard as fuck under this table right now,” I whisper near her mouth, our faces only inches apart.
She glances over my shoulder before looking back at me and saying, “Can I feel to find out?”
Oh my God.
Lifting my hips, I try to find a comfortable position, being this hard in these tight-as-fuck pants.
She quickly sits back in her seat, and I learn why.
Our waiter steps up to our table and sets our food down. “Is there anything else I can get you right now?”
She answers for us politely, “No, thank you.”
When she looks back at me, she has such a dangerous look in her eyes. I don’t get rock-hard boners from something being whispered in my ear.
What is this girl fucking doing to me?
9
Nikki
Take a deep breath, Nikki.
I can’t believe that I almost ghosted this date. I know the risks are insane, too high. But don’t I deserve at least one night out a year to just be? Don’t get me wrong; the ever-living fear still beats with every thump of my heart.
But I should be able to have time like this for myself once in a blue moon. And every other day of the year, I will live under my usual rock.
I honestly had no expectations for this date, other than the undeniable sexual tension and little touches. So, I thought that was how this entire night would go.
By the way he’s dressed and how incredible he looks, I can’t say I would’ve been too disappointed if the only conversations we had lacked any depth.
When I walked in and saw him, I almost fainted, knowing that he was who I was meeting. He looked like he was heading to a cover shoot for GQ. He’s wearing a black button-down with his cuffs rolled, exposing the black ink on his arms. His shirt is tucked into black slacks that hug every inch of him.
What shocked me the most? His honesty. He could have sat here all night, using every move in his book. But instead, he wants to play a game of truth or lie, and he has come across really genuine. But then again, maybe my judgment isn’t very accurate.
I knew my latest one would push him over the edge, and I would be lying if I said that watching him adjust in his seat, knowing he was hard because of me, didn’t feel so fucking powerful.
What else is enjoyable? Watching him try to get rid of the waiter as fast as he can.
“I hope you enjoy—”
Cam cuts him off, “Thank you very much. We will let you know if we need anything.” He shoots a quick smile his way, and then his attention finds me once again.
The waiter smiles and nods to us, then walks away without another word. I’m glad he didn’t take Cam’s shortness as being rude to him. He genuinely seemed fine when he left.
