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"Fuck," I hissed, damn near coming with her without any touch at all.
"Rush..." she said a moment later, small, shy, overthinking it already.
"My fingers are still inside you," I told her, feeling her walls tighten at the words. "You're not allowed to start overthinking shit yet," I added, getting a snort/laugh hybrid out of her as she tried to take a deep breath, bring some calm back into her chaotic body.
There was a long pause—one where I tried to convince myself to get my fingers out of her pussy, but to no success- before her voice came out, small, unsure.
"That was better than the phone," she admitted.
"Yeah, it was," I agreed.
"Are you ok—"
"Fine," I cut her off, lying through my teeth. I'd never subscribed to the idea of blue balls before in my life, but I was pretty sure mine were going to fucking fall off if I didn't get some relief soon.
"But you didn't," she tried again.
"Eager for my cock, aren't you?" I asked, smiling when I felt her walls do the tightening thing again. Sure, she might have been shy, unsure of herself, but her body was sure of one thing; it really fucking liked some dirty talk. "I'm a little old-fashioned, baby. I like to take a woman out for food or coffee before I shove my cock inside her. No matter how hungry her pussy is for it," I added, doing one last flick against her G-spot, smiling when her thighs tightened, before finally pulling my fingers out of her. "And yes," I said before she could start getting her head all worked up over some false scenario. "That was an invitation.
"A... what?" she asked, her chair swiveling so she could face me as I sat off the side of the desk, waiting for her gaze to rise as I slipped my fingers into my mouth, watching the shock and heat play for dominance on her face, liking the mixture more than I could have known.
"An invitation," I repeated after licking her taste off my fingers.
"To what?" she asked, blinking rapidly for a second, trying to control her reaction to me.
"Dinner. I want to take you to dinner," I told her, reaching outward, refastening her pants, knowing she would likely have a freakout about not realizing she left them undone. "Food. Conversation. Where we both pretend we aren't going to go back to one of our places and break the bed," I added, shooting her a smirk.
"I... you... I mean... you don't have to take me out to dinner."
"Skip the meal, right to bed, huh? Very forward of you," I teased, making a smile spread.
"No, I meant—"
"I know what you meant. And it's ridiculous, so we are just skipping right over it. I wouldn't have asked you to dinner if I didn't want to take you to dinner. So unless you don't want to go to dinner with me..."
"No... I mean, yes. I want to go to dinner with you," she told me, face flushed and I wasn't sure if it was from the orgasm, from excitement, from shyness, or a combination of all three.
"Good. That's settled then. I have a case tomorrow night. And then I have Sunday dinner the day after. Monday is a weird as fuck night for a date, but I'm free then." And, if it wasn't clear, fucking desperate.
"I don't have anything going on," she said, giving me a smile.
"Perfect then. Tell Fee to bring you something fancy. We can go rub elbows with the mafia at Famiglia."
"Wait... what?" she asked, brows furrowing. "The mafia? Like... cement shoes, mafia?"
"I know, you'd never know by looking at the Grassi guys. But they are mob through-and-through. That said, their restaurant is nice and the food is banging. So that's where we are going. Unless you don't like Italian, in which case, we might need to reconsider our compatibility," I teased. To that, her eyes went a little warm and I swear she mumbled something about 'potatoes' under her breath. "What?"
"Nothing," she said, smiling. "I was just remembering something Fee said earlier. Okay. Famiglia. Dress. What time?"
"Seven?"
"Oh, we should probably wait to see if they have a reservation," she said, wincing a bit at the idea of us having to put it off. "My mom and I wanted to go to celebrate her birthday once, but they didn't have any spots. Even two weeks out."
"Seven, baby," I told her, shrugging.
"You can't guarantee that."
"I can. Seven."
"Rush..."
"Trust me," I suggested. "Monday night at seven. We can..."
"Rush, since when do we lock Fiona out of the office?" Kingston's voice called, making Katie jolt hard, sliding the chair further away from me, like there was anything incriminating about our fully clothed conversation.
"Since she meddles in shit that is none of her business," I called back, waiting for it, knowing it was coming.
