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“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, it’s only fair.”
He grabs my hand and roughly pulls me to him. He’s done that a couple of times now. And, every single time, it shocks and excites me. My body comes alive with a fire that I don’t know how to extinguish and don’t really want to get rid of. I want more and more of his body. I want to feel and see every glorious inch of his hardness that he teases me with but hasn’t shown me enough of yet.
He looks at me like he wants to devour me.
My body screams back, Yes, yes, yes. Kiss me. Devour me. Do whatever dirty things you think of in your mind but haven’t dared to do yet. I need it. I want it. I can’t live without it.
“My favorite movie is The Lord of the Rings.”
My head snaps back as I look at him incredulously. I was expecting a kiss; instead, I got a lousy fact about him.
“If you are going to share something about yourself, you could at least share something interesting. Your favorite movie doesn’t count.”
“I just told you one of the most important things about myself.”
“No, you told me a random trivia fact. What your favorite movie is tells me nothing about you.”
He pulls me tighter, and I try to keep my body from getting too excited because, apparently, we are going to argue about what makes a trivia fact worth caring about. And, after we are done with that, I’m sure we will be interrupted again by the staff to handle another crisis, and we will never actually have sex. But my body doesn’t care about any of that. My body thinks that, anytime our bodies are within three feet of each other, we are about to have sex.
“Actually, it tells you everything.”
“How?” I ask, breathing heavily.
“Well, if I had said my favorite movie was Die Hard or The Godfather, what would you have thought?”
“That you are like every other hot-blooded male on this planet, who can’t think for themselves.”
He nods. “Exactly.”
His hand tangles in my hair, and I can’t think anymore about anything other than his hand.
“So, what does me liking The Lord of the Rings tell you about me?”
“Um…” I can’t think. Why can’t he tell that, when he touches me, I can’t think at all?
He smirks, and his damn dimples catch my attention now as my mouth goes dry. I glance up at his eyes that are laughing at my predicament. He knows. He knows exactly what he is doing to me. He’s teasing me while trying to have a stupid conversation. But I don’t want to be teased. I want to be fucked.
I can play this game.
I take a drink of my tequila as I take a step back. I toss my hair over my head, forcing him to let go of my hair as I expose my bare neck to him. His eyes deepen, and he clears his throat as he stares at me.
“It tells me that you are a nerd who likes watching people fight over a ring.”
He frowns and takes a step toward me. “No, it tells you that I’m an intelligent man who has a dark imagination and isn’t afraid to go after what he wants.”
It’s my turn to swallow hard. I watch him watch my throat as he thinks about what dirty thing he is going to do to me.
“Fuck me before some other crazy thing happens that stops us,” I say.
Before he can respond, a loud popping sound makes us both jump. We turn out toward the ocean where the sound is coming from.
Fireworks.
He arches an eyebrow at me.
“Yes, Bayron planned the fireworks for us,” I say, groaning.
