Page 48 of Holiday on the Rocks
He made me not me anymore. He made me strong. He was intoxicating.
His grin was absent when I pushed him into his chair, slid my dress up, and climbed into his lap. Our eyes locked for a moment like criminals returning to the scene of a crime, determined to feel the rush once again.
His arm snaked around my waist pulling me closer. I kissed his neck and a low groan escaped him as I sucked and licked my way to his lips. The kiss was light, then more urgent as his tongue slipped into my mouth and my body reacted involuntary as my hips pressed against him.
His hands went through my hair and he held my head while his lips traveled to my jaw, and those whiskers slid down my neck as tingles tumbled down my back.
“You feel so good,” he whispered.
He stood and, in a few steps, he held my back against the wall. His lips dominated mine, and I suddenly realized we might be christening the private dining room. His hands traveled and he took control of me as the sounds of the talking restaurant guests just outside the door filtered into the room.
“Good girl. Being quiet as I take over.”
My new panties disappeared and he whipped them in the air as I clung onto his shoulders and pressed my lips together as he did what he does with ease.
Was there anything that could stop this? That answer came quickly when I opened my eyes to see my new panties on fire. Yes, they had landed on the candle and were now ablaze along with the bread basket.
“Shit!”
Levi pushed me aside and yanked the red Christmas tree skirt from the ground and started to smother the flames.
“Oh it stinks now!” I whisper yelled as he continued. After a frantic moment the fire was out.
Levi’s eyes were saucers and laughter rolled out of me. “Holy crap!”
“Langey, I think the recipe for tonight would be one cup cluster, two cups fuck.”
I grabbed my undies and tree skirt, dipped them in the ice bucket near the table before putting them in the trashcan in the corner of the room. I quickly took the bread basket and covered it with the one remaining napkin, set it on top of the burned area, and put my salad plate next to it so it was concealed.
Levi hopped over to the door, unlocked it, and we jumped back into our seats.
The waitress entered and her eyes narrowed. “Is everything?—”
I cleared my throat. “I think we’re ready to order.”
He eyed my plate. “We’re in a bougie bistro in a ski resort town, and you’re dining on a grilled cheese.”
I held up my knife. “Yes, but it’s still super classy.” I sliced my delectable sandwich and popped a bite into my mouth. “See how I cut it up? Top shelf.”
He sliced his salmon. “You have to taste this.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I can’t.”
“Now why in the hell can’t you take a bite of this amazing fish?”
“I don’t like fish.”
“How do you know you don’t like it?” He teased.
“Because I just do, that’s how.” Why did my eating habits encourage others to force food on me?
“When did you have seafood last, and why did it harden you to the entire seafood dining experience?” He reached over and stole a fry.
“I don’t know.” I took another bite.
“Was it in this decade?”
“OMG, why are you stuck on this topic anyway?”
