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My eyes are glued to her figure until she reaches the bottom step, and I rake her body until my eyes lock with hers. “You look beautiful,” I whisper into her ear, taking in the intoxicating aroma of a new perfume I haven’t smelled on her before—a mix of floral and spice that sends goosebumps down my arms.
“You certainly clean up well,” she says and smiles.
I offer my arm and let her lace hers through it. When I turn, Andreas’s eyes are still dancing over Sofia’s figure. “The car, Andreas!” I bark until he snaps out of it and fumbles with the door.
* * *
The private roomI arranged at the tapas restaurant is ready by the time we arrive. Andreas waits just outside the door where he can still see us but not be in the room with us. I threaten his job if he keeps staring at what is mine, and he doesn’t so much as glance Sofia’s way the rest of the night.
The private room is dim, with dark walls and only candles, providing a romantic ambiance. I fidget with the napkin and place it on my lap. Dear god, am I...nervous? What is this woman doing to me?
When I order us champagne, Sofia’s brow arches.
“Are we celebrating something?” she asks.
“A fresh start,” I say with a smile.
When our glasses are filled, we clink them together. “¡Salud!” she says. “Prost!” I answer. A shiver shudders through my body, remembering our tequila night, and I wonder if we could replicate the process with champagne this time. She must have the same thought because she smirks sexily at me.
Watching Sofia eat is almost as erotic as watching her pleasuring herself. In fact, that’s exactly what she seems to be doing as she places the aguachiles in her mouth and closes her eyes with a moan. “These are amazing,” she says, licking her bottom lip.
Fuck. I can’t even watch this woman eat before I’m hardening under the table. I clear my throat. “Yes. They’re great.”
We order plate after plate of tapas: stuffed mushrooms, mussels, and bacon-wrapped dates. We wash it all down with champagne, and Sofia moans with every last fucking bite. She is killing me here. And that look in her eye, the dark stare, with that playful smirk hinting at the corner of her lips, tells me she knows exactly what she’s doing.
“We’re in Napa Valley, after all. Can we switch to red wine?” she asks.
“Anything you want tonight,Schatzi.”
We switch to wine after finishing our meal, skipping the dessert. Our dessert will come later.
I narrow my eyes at her. “I want to ask you something, but I don’t want you to be upset.”
“All right,” she says, eying me carefully.
“That night we fought, when you were flirting with that couple...were you really going to bed with both of them?”
She smiles a sexy half-grin. “Would that bother you?” she asks.
I shrug. “I was just...surprised.”
“I was thinking about it, yeah. That’s part of why I was so pissed at you for ruining it. I thought I finally had a chance at a threesome.”
“You’ve never had one before?” I ask, trying to come across as uninterested as possible while taking a sip of my wine.
Sofia throws her head back with laughter. “No, Bren. I have yet to be so lucky. Have you?”
I avert my eyes from her. It is difficult telling her of my sexcapades those first few years when the band started to pick up momentum. I’ve done far worse than threesomes, but I’m not that man anymore, and I want her to know the man that is here, sitting before her now.
“I know you’re a rock god, Bren. I know you have.”
“Then why did you ask if you thought you knew?”
She shrugs one shoulder. “For confirmation, and perhaps—equality. If you can ask those sorts of questions, then so can I.”
“Fair enough. Then yes, Sofia. I’ve had threesomes.”
“Always with two women?”
