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Wondering if he’s a boxer brief kind of guy, I let my eyes dip down to his crotch and see a nice bulge that makes me picture him dropping those pants and taking his cock out for me. As my eyes drift back up, I see that his arms are crossed over his chest, showing off biceps that strain against the white cotton of his shirt and make his shirt ride up to expose a tiny sliver of his stomach. I have to admit to myself that want to run my hands over his abs, feel and caress each ridge.
When the cook takes his leave, Keith turns to meet my eyes. “Hungry?”
There’s an undertone to his voice, an awareness of the fact that I was just checking him out. But I see a gleam in his eyes. He’s checking me out too, which just increases my desire. Before I can tell myself not to say it, I answer him honestly. “Starving.”
There’s a rumble in his chest, but he seems to remember his game plan before I remember mine, still lost in some fantasy of him bending me over the kitchen counter and licking his dessert out of my soaking wet pussy. He opens a cabinet door, grabbing plates, then glasses and silverware. “Follow me.”
After serving up healthy portions onto the plates and a quick warming in the microwave, we sit at the table in the kitchen nook. There’s tension between us now, but it’s not awkward. If anything, it feels good, flavored with the little intimate touches like using a microwave. It’s like Keith’s saying I know you find me sexy. I don’t need to bend over backward to impress you more than I do naturally.
It’s natural and heady, like I’m a stick of dynamite and he’s waving a lit match around, and I’m dangerously close to begging him to light me up because everything in me says that he damn sure could.
I try to get my head back in the game, reminding myself that no matter how fucking sexy Keith may be or how horny I am, that’s not happening. I’m a reporter, and my name isn’t Francesca, goddammit!
I need to be professional, get him to answer some fresh questions, dig a little deeper into who he is. Discovering his secrets, writing a great article series . . . that’s the goal here. Not getting my pussy licked before getting a creamy ending to my fantasies.
Keith seems to read all of my dirty, naughty thoughts, but he chooses to let me simmer in my need and goes over to the fridge. “Wine?”
I nod, curious that he didn’t offer me a beer. “Just a half glass. Still on the clock, you know.”
I wish I hadn’t said it the moment it leaves my mouth. It’s a reminder that regardless of any flirting we might have been doing, and how fucking hot Keith makes me, being here is my job. My job to tell all the things he’d rather keep private.
It’s like a bucket of cold water has been dumped on our whole interaction, and I can see it in the sudden increased tension across Keith’s jawline.
Dinner and the rest of our evening proceed with conversational questions and answers, but not nearly as personal and telling as our earlier talk. There’s none of the burning taunting now, just a polite aloofness.
It feels colder, robotic even as he answers in what amounts to one word, sometimes one-syllable answers. And though I could write a whole book about how hot Keith is in person, how commanding his presence is, I’m not sure that’s exactly where this all-access story needs to go.
That fact feels like . . . my secret.
Chapter 6
Keith
Ten minutes.
I was totally right.
Fuck. I’m amazed I lasted this long.
Our evening of interviewing is barely over. I’d shut the door behind Elise no fewer than ten minutes ago, and here I am, in my shower, jacking off. I run a soapy hand down my stomach, grabbing my already thick cock in a tight grip, moving slowly up and down.
Foreplay, I tell myself, and moan at her denial of needing it. Shit, she doesn’t know it but we’ve already started our foreplay. All evening has been an exercise in seduction and denial on my part, and she’s gonna love every hot minute of it. Every moment, from the instant that I knew she was into me and I wanted her too, it’s been a slow, tortuously seductive dance, half with our bodies, half with our words.
The way she challenged me . . . delicious. Her inquisitive and prying nature . . . sublime. And her body . . . I couldn’t write a song good enough to describe how perfect she looked, the twinkle in her eye, the flush on her cheeks, the way her breath caught at times, and how she’d pressed her thighs together when I growled at her.
