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“That’s not possible.” She gasps at another story I may or may not have flubbed the truth on.
“Scout’s honor,” I vow, holding up the Vulcan sign from Star Trek rather than the Boy Scout’s.
“And you’re a Trekkie? How are you this perfect?”
She wipes her pretty lips on her cloth napkin before reaching for her glass of water.
Somehow, even though this place has a full bar, we independently decided against alcohol. Another thing I love about her is that she doesn’t seem to need the help of liquid courage to be here with me.
“I dabble,” I answer, once again lowering my hand to the soft skin just below the hem of her skirt. “I don’t know a single computer person that doesn’t appreciate the epicness that is Gene Rodenberry.”
“They exist,” she responds with a frown.
“I sense a story there.”
“So there was this—”
“Your check, sir.” The waiter is no longer smiling, and his hints of wanting to clear the table have grown bolder as our evening has continued. This is the first time, however, that he’s been bold enough to push the receipt book across the table.
“Thank you,” I say, reaching for my wallet.
Relief washes over the waiter’s face.
When he returns with the credit card slip, I tip him generously. It’s not this guy’s fault that we’ve talked for hours, and I feel bad for the possibility that he missed out on seating other hungry people while Whitney and I got lost in each other’s stories.
“Ready?” I stand, offering her my hand, managing to hold back my sigh when her skin touches mine.
We’ve both been freely stealing brushes and soft touches, but being able to grip even just her dainty hand makes me want to do very dirty things to her.
Hell, her smile pulls the same response from me. And I won’t even think about the reaction her laughter pulls from me.
“I had a lovely time,” she says as we wait outside for the driver.
Anna did me a huge solid by offering to help with my date tonight. Seems Deacon and the other guys do gossip about me when I’m not around, and since Anna has become a fixture at the BBS offices, she’s in on the chatter as well.
Whitney keeps a hold of my hand as she climbs into the backseat of the town car, only reluctantly giving it up to slide to the far side so I can follow in behind her.
The atmosphere in the restaurant was light, filled with smiles and enthusiastic stories that made both of us laugh until we had to wipe our eyes with our napkins. We were the winners of several glares from others for our enthusiastic responses to each other, but we ignored them easily.
Inside the car, with the dark of night surrounding us, only interrupted by the streetlights and neon glow of closed businesses, it’s a whole other story. Everything shifts, taking on a magical and undeniable sexual feel. Even as a small smile plays on her lips as she watches the green light ahead shift to yellow before turning red has the ability to seduce me.
Her legs are once again crossed, revealing more of her thigh now than she allowed when I first escorted her inside the car before dinner. I want to see this as an invitation, but there are so many things to be discussed before I can take things with us even an inch further.
“Look at me,” I growl.
When her head snaps in my direction, her mouth opening a soft inch, my cock thrums in my slacks.
“Hard limits,” I whisper.
To my surprise, her eyes stay on mine when I expected her to look toward the front acknowledging the driver Anna assured me had the utmost discretion.
“Canes.” She swallows. “Knife play. Severe beatings. Humiliation.”
“And?” I urge, loving that we were still on the same page.
“Asphyxiation.” I nod.
“No breath play at all?”
I’m not touching her, and that serves a purpose. I won’t coerce her into something she doesn’t want to experience with me. We should probably have this conversation in the daylight, with about ten feet and a glass wall between us because the chemistry firing between us may be compromising her truths.
“Soft limit then?”
“You tell me,” I say, sitting back further in my seat, increasing the limited distance between us.
“Soft limit,” she says after a long moment of consideration.
“What else?”
“Hard limits?” I nod. “Infantilism.”
“Can I call you baby girl?”
She nods, that perfect throat of hers working on another swallow.
“Is that all?” Her eyes are focused on my lips, and fuck if I don’t want to skip to the good stuff. “Here.”
Her gaze follows my finger when I point to my eyes.
“I can’t think of anything else.”
“You have the right to say no to anything.”
“I know.”
“You’ll tell me if you think of anything else, before it happens or when you realize you don’t want it.”
