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“Okay, I’ll get the cheesecake, then I’ll go in the back and lock up. Do I need to get something for you from there?” I grip her tightly as if I were going to spread her legs.
She bites her lower lip as she shakes her head no again.
I lean into her an inch. “Don’t. Move. I’ll be right back.”
“I won’t,” she whispers.
I know she’s watching me as I walk to the back room to lock the door and turn off the lights.
Whatever you’re thinking, princess, you can’t imagine the things I want to do to you.
As I come back up front, Summer’s focused on her hands tightly clasped in her lap.
“Where’s your bag, princess?”
She barely lifts her head to answer but her eyes meet mine.
“In the cabinet under the counter.”
I get it out then walk to stand in front of her.
I hand her the purse, “Let’s have the keys, then I’ll get you settled in the car. I’ll come back and lock up.”
“Alright. You’ve got to play with the key a little, and pull on the door while you’re turning it.” There’s a nervous tremor in her voice.
“Hey,” I say as I slide a finger under her chin, tilting her face up so she’s looking at me. “It’s fine. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you, princess.” I dip my head and stare into her eyes. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
She doesn’t. Nothing I want to do to her consists of pain.
The only thing I want is everything.
Her look shifts back and forth on my eyes as she studies me, searching for the truth. Finally, she must have found, if not what she was looking for, something.
“Okay,” her answer is soft but certain.
I smile. “Keys,” I say and hold out an upturned palm.
She rummages through her large purse, pulls them out and places them in my hand. I walk to the door, unlock it, then pocket her keys.
Returning to her, I slide an arm under her knees and the other around her back. “Hold on, princess, time to go.”
She lets out a little squeal when I hoist her up.
“Open the door,” I laugh.
“We must make quite a picture, Rock,” Summer chuckles when I get her outside.
“Yep, bet the whole damn town’s going to be talking tomorrow. Wait until you get the third degree from Mrs. Merriweather,” I tease her. “Which one’s yours?” I ask as I step off the curb and head toward the parked cars.
“It’s the…,” she begins.
“Wait, let me guess. It’s the yellow VW Beatle, isn’t it?”
“No,” she laughs. “It’s the green and black Challenger.”
“No shit?” I ask, surprised as hell.
Her head dips back as she laughs. “No shit.”
