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“Who said I want that?” I ask, my voice low as I lick the fork clean–my tongue putting on a little show for him. He narrows his eyes, and I give him a sly smile as I stick the fork back in the brownie. I’m about to put it in my mouth when his hand reaches out and stops me.
“Let me,” he says, his voice husky.
Turning my face towards him, Ryan pulls the fork from between my fingers and then puts it in his mouth–licking it clean the way I did.
“You just stole my brownie,” I tell him, a little breathless as I watch his tongue lick his top lip.
“It is good.” His voice floats over me like a hypnotic mist, pulling me under. “Do you want more?”
I nod, and he cuts off another piece, holding it up to my mouth. Opening for him, I keep my eyes on his as he feeds me. Moaning the second the chocolate melts against my tongue, Ryan’s eyes turn molten–the light blue is being strangled out by the dark.
Pinching my chin between his thumb and forefinger, he holds me in place as he puts the fork back in the container and swipes his finger through the frosting, rubbing it across my lips.
When my tongue darts out, he grips my chin harder and shakes his head. My pulse quickens, and my breath comes a little shorter as he leans forward.
The second his tongue meets my bottom lip, a strangled moan escapes my throat. Gliding it across the expanse of my mouth, he sucks my lip between his, and I lean into him.
It feels like a thousand little sparks are igniting down my spine as he nibbles on my bottom lip.
“Mmm,” he hums, pulling away, licking his lips. “It’s even better tasting when eaten off of you.”
With my lips parted, and my eyes hooded, I wait for him to make the next move. I need him to do something–more.
But he doesn’t.
Releasing my chin, he reaches for the bottle of wine he brought and uncorks it, pouring himself a glass.
“Would you like more?”
Breathless, I whisper, “Yes.” I need him to kiss me.
“Wine?” He smirks, but I gently shake my head no.
The smooth expanse of his square jaw is begging for me to touch it. I want to memorize the hard plains of his face with my fingertips.
Placing the glass to his lips, he takes a sip, and I watch his throat work. I want to feel that motion beneath my lips as I kiss my way up the column of his neck.
“Ashley.” At the sound of his husky voice, my eyes snap up to his.
I feel like I’m in some hazy dream state. “Yes?”
“Why are you really here?”
“What?”
“Why did you come here?”
He’s seriously asking me this now? I’m desperately wanting to kiss him, and he wants to talk?
Turning away, I grab the wine he just opened, and pour myself a full glass. Taking a sip, I lean back against the couch and stare into the flames of the candle.
“I quit my job. Not by choice.” Apparently, the wine has caught up with me, and I’m feeling chatty.
“Why?”
“Because my manager was a handsy asshole who thought I wanted him. Just like the others.”
“What others?” he asks, his voice hard.
