That dress is perfect on her.
Though I'm currently picturing it on my floor. Her in my bed. Me growlingshow me how you touch yourself, princess. I want to watch you come.
It's way too vivid.
Incredibly fucking inappropriate.
Impossible to ignore.
But that isn't why we're here.
"He's there." She takes a step backward, so she's out of view of Bachelor Number One. "He's wearing jeans. You think I overdressed?"
"He won't mind."
"You sure?"
One hundred percent. "You made an effort." I can't exactly sayyour tits look fucking amazing. I need them in my hands. Need you groaning as I play with your nipples.
How do you like it, princess?
Soft and teasing? Hard and aggressive? Slow and steady?
"But it's so much." She shifts her weight between her heels. Teeters on her black shoes. "It's—"
"You look perfect."
"Really?"
"Yeah." I squeeze her hand. Try to ignore the question flitting through my head—do you touch yourself with this hand, princess?Step backward. "I'll go in first."
"Sure, yeah."
"If you need anything, I'm there." I hold up my cell, so she knows she can text. Not that I'm going to be far. I want to hear this.
Not enough to pry.
Enough to help.
"Okay." Her gaze flits from me to Bachelor Number One then back to me. "Thank you, Chase. Really." She moves forward. Wraps her arms around me.
Fuck, that feels good. Way too good.
I soak her in for a moment, then I release her, nodgood luck.
She shoots me anokay. It's awkward and adorable and perfect.
Fuck, she really is cute.
Not that it matters to me. More that I'm trying to help her with this date.
That's it.
I move into the coffee shop. Pass Bachelor Number One on the way to the line.
He's not as tall as his profile suggests. But he's just as handsome. Like an Abercrombie model. A star quarterback. A guy who could playCaptain America.
It's too late for caffeine. I order a cold brew anyway. I need to stay alert. In case this guy crosses a line. Or pushes too hard. Or scares Ariel.