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I bring her hand to my lips and kiss each knuckle in turn. “She gets it,” I whisper. “Hope you’re ready, hellcat.”
Dropping her hand, I adjust myself then waltz out of the bathroom with an ear-to-ear smile. Not until I reach the door do I hear Peyton rushing to follow me out.
When we return to our seats on the patio, half the group looks our way. We weren’t gone long, but definitely longer than necessary. I don’t give a fuck, let them think of all the possible things we didn’t do that we could have.
After no one says a word for too long, I tap my throat. “Potato got stuck.” I shrug, pick up my plate, and act as if nothing happened.
Peyton, on the other hand, has rosy cheeks. Way to put our bathroom rendezvous on display. I love it.
The next ten minutes pass uneventful. Beer, food, music and good conversation occupy the group. Peyton turns her attention to Penny and Autumn as they talk about weird tattoo placement. Penny recants the story of some guy who had the word sweet tattooed on his right ass cheek.
As Peyton goes to respond, I set my hand on her thigh and slowly trail it toward her midline. She sucks in a breath and doesn’t say a word. Penny drones on about Mr. Sweet Cheek, not realizing I cut Peyton off.
Peyton doesn’t move. Doesn’t shift her attention. She keeps her eyes forward and pretends to listen, nodding at the appropriate times.
Inch by inch, my fingers dance over her skin. Slide over the exposed flesh and toy with the frayed hemline of her denim shorts. The action hidden from observation by the empty plate in her hands. The tip of my pinkie slips under the denim and she shifts her weight. The outside of her thigh presses firmly against mine as her thighs part imperceptibly to anyone looking. But I feel the change. Her breath hitches and skin pinks.
Much as I love the reaction, I remove my hand and bring my lips to her ear. “Dessert?”
She huffs out a laugh. “Yes.” The huskiness in her voice pauses my rise from the lounger. I take my plate and hers, deposit them in the bin, and load up a single plate with sweets.
Most of the night at Jonas and Autumn’s continues much the same. Me toying with Peyton while she tries to carry on as if I don’t affect her. A brush of the arm. Graze of the thigh. Breath near her neck. Hand on her lower back. With each touch, I pick up on her twitches and startled moves. Subtle enough no one speaks up. Obvious enough, I detect every single one.
Then I switch gears. Drape an arm over her shoulders and draw circles on her skin with my fingertips. Drop my lips every few minutes to her hair, her temple, the angle of her jaw and leave chaste kisses. Toy with the ends of her hair or the hemline of her top.
Reznor announces their departure. While hugs get exchanged, I lean closer and whisper in Peyton’s ear. “Want to go?” My thumb strokes her shoulder. “To my place.”
Twisting enough to face me, Peyton’s eyes dart between mine. Two dazzling violet irises glitter in the dim light of the tiki torches. The way she regards me, the way she searches for answers to questions left unspoken, brings doubt to the surface. With Peyton, I never want to presume. She may have forgiven me for past discretions, but that doesn’t mean she has forgotten.
Her tongue darts out and licks her lips, slow and calculated. The corner of her mouth kicks up when my eyes drop and follow the action. After a beat, I bring my eyes back to hers. Study the intent behind her stare since she has yet to answer.
Reznor and Tatyana step up to the lounger, ready to bid us good night. But I want Peyton’s answer before they do.
“Promise to behave,” I whisper, hoping it will provoke a response.
At this, she cocks a brow. “What if I don’t want you to?”
Hello, hellcat.
“Then maybe I won’t.” I nudge my head toward the door. “Shall we.”
She tips her head left and right as if pondering the idea. As Reznor all but begs for a goodbye hug, she answers, “Yes.”
One word is all it takes and my mind goes through all the steps we need to take to leave like civilized people. We rise from the lounger, say good night to Reznor and Tatyana. Then we go through the process with everyone else. I do my best to act casual. Behave as if there is no rush. When, in fact, my feet won’t move fast enough and the hugs seem to never end.
Finally, we escape out the front door and I walk Peyton to her car. “See you in a few.” She nods.
I hop into my truck and crank the engine. As I throw the truck in reverse, I coach myself to not speed on the way home. Traffic violations will only add misery to the evening. But damn, am I eager to have Peyton all to myself. Eager to see how this night ends. Because once she is in my bed, there is no going back.
