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Her cheeks flame. “Yeah?”
“Absolutely. But I’m determined to be a gentleman.”
Thoughtfully nodding, slowly, purposely, she picks up the napkin and dabs the corner of her lips. Placing the fabric down with deliberate movements, she pushes her plate away. “I’m not hungry anymore.”
Heart. Stopped. Dead. “You wanna go?”
She pushes her chair back with an almost silent scrape. “I’d really like to go home now.”
“Home?” I narrow my eyes. “Or to our room?”
“To our room.” Her cherry red lips pull up into Satan’s smirk. “I’d like to go to wherever we’re sleeping tonight. I’d like to go there with you, alone. Now.”
Who’s a gentleman? Not me!“Let’s go.” I jump up with tented pants and a heaving chest. Tearing the wallet from my back pocket, I drop a handful of bills on the table, sprint around to her side of the small table, and yank her along at a trot.
We exit our dining room at a sprint and skip down the stairs.
I’ve had a hell of a lot of my wishes fulfilled the last month. I’ve kissed heralmostall over. I’ve touched. Cupped. Caressed. I’ve tasted and nibbled. I’ve gotmostof the puzzle, and now, tonight, I hope to unveil the final small pieces.
Izzy giggles as I drag her down the hallway, but she’s not stumbling and she’s not pulling back. She’s hurrying. She wants me, too.
“Mr. Kincaid?” The hostess jumps back as we pass. I know we still have cake and champagne to get to, but fuck it. I’ll have a cake delivered to our room.
Then I can eat it off Izzy’s ass.
“Money’s upstairs. It was delicious. Thank you.”
“Thanks!” Iz screeches out as I tug her through the main entrance. We rush out the front door and set off dominoes; the valet running to get the Jeep, the Jeep screeching to a stop at the front doors, me tossing her in and a wad of cash at the poor kid working for scraps.
Within minutes, we’re buckled in, she’s burrowing into my coat, and I’m working hard not to speed through city streets.
She reaches across and squeezes my thigh. “Are you scared?”
“So fucking scared.” I catch her eyes as they twinkle from the overhead billboards. “You?”
“No. We’ll fit just right. I know we will.”
“This feels reversed,” I chuckle. “You should be scared. I should be the guy whispering that it won’t hurt.”
She snorts. “I know. Anyone would think I was taking your virtue.” She laughs at her absurdity.
She’s so fucking oblivious.
“Bubs, I’ve gotta tell you–”
“Oh, quick! Yellow light.” She nods out the windshield. “Go. Faster.”
We fly through the intersection with giggles of delight and nerves that would kill a lesser man. Five minutes later, we pull up at the fancy hotel with a whole new valet system and more laughter.
Nerves and anxiety attack and swirl in my gut the further from the car we move. I’ve never done this. I mean, I know how it goes; insert tab A into slot B. I’m not an idiot, but even if I had participated in those sex clubs, even if I’d bedded a hundred women in the past, I get the feeling it all equals naught when it comes to Iz.
I want to be careful. I’d die if I hurt her.
I want to slam her against the wall and take her the way a wild animal might.
I want to give her slow, sweet. Candlelight.
I want to mark her flesh with my hands and teeth.
