Page 38 of Filthy Disciple


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Unable to help myself, I smirk as I dunk a fry in ranch dressing. Offering it to him, I arch a brow. He takes it directly from my hand but doesn’t stop with the fry, no. He licks the tips of my fingers and sends a shiver down my spine.

He grins as his eyes dip to my lips. “Six. But not as good as that pretty pussy of yours.” He watches me eat because he finished a while back, then when I’ve only got a sip of whiskey left, he asks, “Done?”

“With the food, yes.” I grin. “Want to go dancing?”

His shocked expression has me snorting, but the snort morphs into laughter at his next declaration:

“I’m Irish. We drink, no dancing. Plus, we have our suitcases,” he argues as he leans forward, reaching for his wallet with a shake of his head. “Maybe we didn’t need those last two shots of Jameson.”

“Are you kidding? I haven’t had anything but Jack Daniels and tequila in years. Come on, Cade. We’re in Manhattan. Let’s go clubbing.” I reach over and run my nails up his forearm.

His lips twitch. “Get those claws back in, minx. In fact, you just gave me an idea. I think we need to get a hotel room.”

Doris, our waitress, passes by, and he hands her his card.

After years of waiting tables, I know it says a lot about a guy how he treats his server—Cade is literally a fucking dream date.

It almost distracts me from what he says.

“Wait. We’re not going to your place?”

Cade’s right. I probably didn’t need that extra shot of whiskey—it’s harder than usual to focus.

“Not tonight,” he answers, signing the credit card receipt when Doris drops it off with a friendly smile that doesn’t make my claws come out.

Still, it’sinterestingthat he wants to use a hotel tonight. Ever since we landed in New York, Cade has been in zero hurry to get home. Case in point: the impromptu shots.

He stands and puts his wallet in his back pocket, inadvertently granting me a direct look at his cock. “Ready?”

I blink.

Ready to crawl across the table and suck on his dick? Sure.

I think, from his arched brow, he knows exactly where my mind’s gone. He rounds the table, holds out his hand, and daintily, I slip my fingers into his clasp. As I stand, his arm instantly drapes over my shoulder. With his free hand, he wheels both our carry-ons as we walk out of the deli together…like a real couple.

Manhattan hits me in the face almost immediately—things haven’t changed. I’ve been gone almost ten years but people are still going at warp speed, horns blaring, lights blinking, and steam from the subway simmering in the air.

Happy that I’m with him, I snuggle in Cade’s arms as we proceed down the street.

“How are you doing, baby?” he asks, making me melt deeper into him as he presses a kiss to my forehead.

“I don’t even know why I was worried about coming back here. Look at all this,” I declare, motioning with my hands at everyone speedwalking past us. “I mean, it’s fabulous. Isn’t it fabulous? Don’t you think so?”

That’s when he chuckles. “Oh, yeah, it’sfabulous, but know what’s better? A bed. We need to get you in one.”

His cute dimples flash and almost make me stumble as I whine, “Cade, we just got into the city that never sleeps.” I bat my eyelashes at him. “Let’s get one more drink. We don’t have to dance…” I spin around, pulling my hand from his so I can spin in a circle all while his lips start to twitch.

“Good thing seeing as I don’t dance. Remember?” he drawls, making me pout.

“Look at all these bars…” That’s when I see it. “Oh, my God.” I break free and run toward the blinking light of a strip club.“Thisis what we’re doing,” I squeal, nodding eagerly as he saunters up to me, then he has me bursting into laughter when he grabs me by the hips and pushes me against the brick wall.

“You want to go into a strip club?” His mouth hovers over mine. “Instead of going back to a hotel room?”

Lifting my lips to touch his, I feel my heart race as he rocks his dick into my stomach. “Umm, yeah.”

“You ever been inside a strip club?”

“No, but I’ve always wanted to go. One of my friends taught me how to strip. She worked at The Pussycat in L.A. for a hot minu—”

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