She considers this, then offers a small, sad smile. “Maybe we’ve just been looking in the wrong places.”
“Or maybe we shouldn’t be looking at all.” I wink at her.
“What’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for someone?” she suddenly asks.
I pause, not expecting the question. “I once drove three hours just to see someone because she was having a bad day. I obviously got in trouble, since I was fifteen and stole my father’s truck.” I lean forward slightly. “And you? What’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever experienced?”
She bites her lip,considering. “My ex once filled my room with candles and roses. It was beautiful . . . it happened before Mom got sick. Maybe that’s why she believed he was the one.” She sighs, then shakes her head, as if shaking off the memory. “What’s one place you feel most at peace?”
“There are two places. One is in the woods, in front of the fire looking at the stars. The other is the beach at night,” I answer quickly. “The sound of the waves, the stars overhead. It’s perfect. What about you? Where’s your peaceful place?”
“A cozy corner of my local library,” she replies. “I spent hours there as a kid, getting lost in other worlds.”
I nod, appreciating the glimpse into her solace. “If you could go anywhere right now, where would it be?”
She looks away, thoughtful. “Italy—well, more of Italy. This trip was supposed to be about exploration, not just . . . this.” She gestures around, her expression softening. “With the right company, of course.”
“What’s your biggest dream for the future?”
She smiles, a real, hopeful smile. “To be genuinely happy. Whatever that looks like.” She waves as if it doesn’t matter or maybe as if she said too much. That’s when she suddenly says, “Okay, your turn. This time I choose a dare.” Her gaze meets mine, holding it.
“Just don’t dare me to leave the room, because that’s a hard no,” I warn her, the air between us charged with an electric tension.
Then, she surprises me by saying softly, yet boldly, “Kiss me.”
It’s not what I was expecting, but I recover quickly, setting my glass aside and standing. The distance between us shrinks as I step closer. Her breath catches, her chest rising and falling just a little quicker, and I can’t help but notice the faint tremor in her fingers as she rests her hands on the arm of her chair.
Her lips are soft, slightly parted, and when I lean down and press mine against hers, it’s slow, deliberate. Her fingers brush against my chest, a featherlight touch that sends heat spiraling through me. When I pull back, her eyes are slightly dazed, her lips still parted like she’s waiting for more.
A small, almost smug smile curves her lips as she reaches for her glass again. “That wasn’t so hard,” she says, taking a sip as if her pulse isn’t racing.
“You call that a dare?” I counter, my voice lower now, rougher. I settle back into my seat, the adrenaline from the kiss still humming in my veins.
“Can you do better?” she challenges, her eyes shining, daring me.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “How about this? I dare you to show me your pussy.”
Her eyes widen, her glass frozen halfway to her lips. “What?”
“You heard me.” My tone is calm, measured, the same way I’d deliver a challenge on the ice. “I dare you to pull up your dress, open your legs, and show me your pussy.”
She blinks, the crimson spreading from her cheeks down to her neck. “That’s . . .”
“You scared?” I taunt, leaning back, letting the smirk return.
Her jaw tightens, but then her lips curl into a defiant smile. “So if I dare you to show me your cock, are you going to whip it out like it’s no big deal?”
I release a big laugh. Well that’s not what I expected from this woman. Once composed I say, “I’ll do you one better. I’ll let you touch it.”
Her gasp turns into a laugh, high-pitched and disbelieving, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in her eyes that she can’t quite hide. “Like . . . you dare me to touch it?”
“Uh-huh. And if you’re bold enough, I might even dare you to let me lick you. Hell, I’ll suck you dry.” My voice drops lower, letting the words hang between us, heavy with implication.
Her thighs press together almost imperceptibly, but I catch it. She squirms in her seat, trying to maintain her composure, but I can see the shift in her eyes—curiosity, intrigue, maybe even arousal.
“That’s quite the escalation,” she says, her voice laced with a mix of nervousness and laughter. “What are you expecting, exactly? That I’ll drop to my knees and . . . return the favor?”
I chuckle, swirling the champagne in my glass before taking a slow sip. “Not expecting. Just curious how far you’re willing to take this game.”
