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“This isn’t a date.”
“That’s what your text said.”
“That was before you texted me and told me that you didn’t feel like going out, before I had to kiss you against the wall and make you come out with me.” His voice is low. “If this was a date, I’d be making it a lot harder for you to get smart with me.” He presses his mouth against my shoulder tattoo, slowly tracing the words with his tongue. “What were you about to say before I interrupted you?”
“Um...I think it’s only fair that I get to ask you some questions.”
“Ask away.” He slips his hands underneath my thighs and pulls me even closer so our foreheads are touching.
“Why haven’t you fucked me yet?”
“What?”
“I want an answer. You’ve had the opportunity more than once and I’m starting to feel ugly...” I didn’t mean to say that last part aloud but it’s true. It’s always taken a single outing or two for a guy to want to have sex with me, but since he still hasn’t, it honestly makes me feel insecure. That’s one thing I know Leah was right about. One or two times alone with a guy is enough to see if he’s truly interested or not.
“You have no reason to feel ugly.” He tries to kiss me, but I jerk my head away.
“Tell me the truth. Is it because I’m a stripper? Because you think I’ve slept with other clients?”
“Emerald...”
“Don’t placate me. Tell me.”
“I don’t give a fuck who you’ve slept with, and I couldn’t care less that you’re a stripper. As a matter of fact I’m happy that you are; you’re doing something you’re good at, and you’re far away from customer service.” His eyes darken and he looks highly offended. “I do want to fuck you and I am going to fuck you—in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.”
I don’t say anything. I just wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him—unable to deal with this sexual tension any longer.
I want this.
He kisses me back with passion, dominating my lips, pushing my shoulders against the deck.
I moan as he traps my bottom lip between his teeth, as he slowly climbs on top of me.
“Fuck...” he whispers as I slip my hands into his shorts.
He tears his mouth away from mine and presses kisses against my neck, making me moan louder, making me want this even more.
I feel his dick hardening against my thigh and pull on his shorts—anxious to rip them off. Just as I have a good grip on them and am about to push them all the way down, he holds my hands still and stands up.
“What are you doing?” I pant.
“I need to take you home. Now.”
“What? I thought you said you wanted to fuck me.”
“I do.” He smiles and bends down to pick up the cooler. “But you’re not ready.”
“Excuse me?” I’m pretty sure I didn’t hear that right. “I’m not ready?”
“I didn’t stutter.”
“Is there a series of tests I have to pass before I’m deemed worthy of your dick?”
Laughing, he gently pulls me up and places a kiss on my lips. “I’m not in the habit of fucking someone I barely know.”
“What the fuck do you want to know about me, Carter? What do you want to know?”
He ignores my questions and picks up the blanket, walking away to open the car’s passenger door.
I can’t believe this shit...
I glare at him, hoping that this is a dumbass joke and he’ll slam the door shut before pushing me onto the deck again, but he doesn’t.
He pulls the door open even wider. “Let’s go.”
I don’t speak to him on the short drive home. I sit in utter confusion, wondering what the hell is wrong with him.
“Emerald?” He’s suddenly at my door, reaching for my hand.
“Are you gay, Carter?”
He laughs and unbuckles my seatbelt. He helps me to my feet and walks me to the front door. “What time do I need to pick you up for work tomorrow?”
“If you’re gay I won’t be mad. I just need to know.”
He cups my face in his hands and kisses me until I’m breathless, telling me he’s straight without saying a word. “What time?”
“Six...”
“I’ll be here.” He kisses me one last time before motioning for me to go inside. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Emerald.”
Chapter 11
I’m at the end of my routine, standing center stage with one hand on my hip and the other high above my head.
The men are shouting at me—“Don’t stop!” “More!” and tossing dollars at my feet. A couple of them have stepped towards the edge of the stage, beckoning me with crisp bills—pleading for me to step closer and bend down so they can personally pin them on me.
