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Three irregular heartbeats pass before he gains enough semblance to drag his thumb from my mouth and rest it lightly on the indentation of my chin.
“I bet you bite when you fuck,” he says pensively, as if talking to himself rather than me.
My heart hitches. “And I bet you a hundred bucks you’re hard right now,” I answer.
I don’t know why I say it. Drunk on lust and wishful thinking, perhaps. But something in my words seems to be the antidote Raphael needs to regain his composure. He untangles himself from me and takes a step back. He looks at his wet hand in mild amusement, plucks out the pocket square from his suit jacket and wipes it between his thick fingers.
With one last lingering look, Raphael tightens a cufflink and turns on his heel.
“You’re a dog, Penelope,” he says breezily over his shoulder. “I should look into putting you down.”
“They already tried.”
His footsteps slow to a stop and he glances back at me. “And?”
“I bit the vet.”
Silence. Then his laugh, dark and dangerous, floats over and caresses my skin like a long-time lover. The pleasure of it ripples through my center and settles like a weight in my already soaked panties.
Just as Raphael strides out of the garage and out of sight, a light thump hits the deck. On shaky legs, I walk over and see what he dropped.
Now it’s my turn to laugh, although it has a more nervous undertone than Raphael’s did.
Five twenty-dollar bills in a silver money clip.
