Page 68 of The Worst Kind of Promise
“Uh-huh,” she says, eyeing me before turning around and tromping toward the burger joint—Been There, Bun That—across the street. She’s halfway across the parking lot by the time I come up behind her and pinch her ass—which is covered by one of the prettiest sundresses I’ve ever seen. Pale blue, decorated in a floral print, with a ruffled hem that ends around mid-thigh and a sweetheart neckline that leaves little to the imagination.
She squeaks, swatting blindly at the air behind her. “What was that for?”
“You put a masterpiece in front of me and expect me not to touch it?”
She scowls at me, but I don’t miss the hint of color suffusing into her cheeks. “You’re an idiot.”
“But I’myouridiot,” I clarify.
As I hold the door open for her, she just laughs. She pretty much laughs all the way to our table that’s situated in the far corner of the restaurant. And it’s that genuine, airy kind of laughter that I love hearing—the kind of laugh I could record and play on repeat and never get tired of listening to.
Our waiter gets us started with some drinks and menus, and the whole time, I’m still wondering how I got so lucky to be seated across from the most beautiful woman in the world. She has her face tucked behind her menu, and her hair’s been thrown up into some messy updo because of the heat.
“What looks good to you?” she asks.
I’m not looking at the menu. I’m not looking at anything aside from her. I’ve noticed that the more time she spends in the sun, the darker her freckles become. I’ve noticed a lot about her that hadn’t been on my radar before, like the little nose crinkle she does when she’s thinking, or how she always slightly pouts when she’s frustrated.
When I don’t say anything—because I’m too dumbfounded—she looks up at me. “Aren’t you hungry?”
Lust teases its way up my spine. “Not for food.”
Faye’s menu clunks onto the table, and her eyes enlarge.
“Shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” I admit, my gaze drifting downward, regret locking around my throat like a serpent.
“No, don’t be.” Her response is hasty, surprising me so much that I look up from the table to meet her eyes—eyes laden with a seductive darkness.
Trouble, spelled out in all capital letters. Trouble, offering me the chance to turn back from the metaphorical chain-linked fence with the KEEP OUT sign splayed on it.
Faye leans in, lowering her voice. “Tell me what you would do to me if we weren’t in public.”
I’d freak out if we weren’t seated at a pretty secluded table. And luckily for us, the lunch rush must’ve wiped out a lot of customers, because there’re only a few stragglers left.
She’s as sexy as sin right now in that form-fitting sundress, with her perky breasts pushed up between her arms, taunting me. Not to mention that I can faintly make out the outline of her pebbled nipples against the thin fabric, and my hardening dick stirs behind the grain of my pants. She’s gonna kill me, and I’m fully going to let her.
Internally shoving down the moan rising inside me, I lean forward, matching her intensity. I’m so horny that I can barely think straight.
“We don’t have to be in private,” I whisper, reaching my hand under the table, brushing against the caps of her knees.
The table is small, which means we’re close enough for our legs to touch if we maneuver just a bit. I also take up a lot of legroom. But the good thing about being in a cramped space is that I don’t have to lean forward very much to touch her—to run the pads of my fingers along her buttercream skin.
Her breath hiccups, her eyes falling shut in pleasure, and if it wasn’t for the broken buzz of the fan above us, I’m sure I would’ve heard a little noise slip out of her. My hand lingers at the crease where her closed knees meet, wondering if she’ll allow me entry. And like the good girl I know she is, she parts her fucking legs for me.
My eyes are trained on her the entire time as I slowly drag my fingers up the plushness of her thigh, nearing closer to that heavenly apex that I’ve spent hours buried inside. I can practically taste her sweet juices on my gluttonous tongue.
“If we weren’t in public, I’d start by begging you to let me taste you again. Beg you to douse me in your scent until I can’t fully wash your smell away. Beg you to feed me every last drop of your cum until I’m drunk on the flavor of you.”
Faye wedges her lower lip between her teeth, and I get the first tremor from her as my hand inches even closer to my desired target.
“And when you let me—notif, butwhen—I’d start to kiss a path up your thighs. Maybe even bite if you deserve it. Leave my mark on you so you remember every second my mouth worshipped your body.”
My fingers are more than ready to graze the lace of her panties, to wet my pads with the cum soaking through the front, but the apparent lack of barrier thwarts my next move. Because Faye Hollings isn’t wearing any underwear.
“Oh, fuck,” I breathe out, and I know she can feel my touch falter. I almost blew my load right then and there. She’s been walking around…with no panties on…this entire time. My cock’s already leaking pre-cum, so unfathomably hard that it’s borderline painful, and my balls draw up tight, aching for release. All which makes the room in my pants nonexistent.
“Faye,” I growl, forcing her to open her eyes and look at me.
The minute I see those bright brown beauties, I’m a goner. My fingers haven’t even been inside her, and I can already feel them slick with her arousal.
