Page 29 of When It's Us
“Look at me.” His tone is dominating, sending a delicious swirl of anticipation to my gut. Then his words are like velvet when he whispers, “What else do you like that I don’t know about?”
I dare to look up at him, my eyes taking a long sweep from his corded biceps covered in tattoos to his barrel chest, up his neck to his short, cropped beard until my icy blue eyes meet his denim ones.
God, if he onlyknew. He’d probably run out of here faster than I could say ‘tie me up and fuckme’.
“Chips and queso,” I breathe out instead, sultry and low.
His bark of laughter makes the corner of my lips twitch, and he picks up his burger, taking a bite with a wink.
Going to have to be careful with this one.
Hutch
I’dgottenhertoopen up a bit; hell, she even laughed a little. And the spark of fire in her eyes when I’d demanded she look at me…Shit. My dick definitely wondered how obedient she’d be in bed.
But here we are ten minutes into this meal, and she’s closed off again, lost in her own little world, picking at her food with one hand and scrolling her phone with the other. Normally I’m the quiet one. But something about her shoulders and the sudden tightness in her jaw makes me want to know what is going on inside that head of hers.
“If you think any louder, everyone in this place will be able to hear you. Ever tried being in the moment? It’s pretty fucking great.”
She looks up at me, eyes wary but curious, then quietly replies, “A burger and fries at some little dive diner in,” she glances around then back at me, “wherever-we-are California is…nice.” She lowers her eyes and goes back to scrolling.
I sit back and watch her. Hair perfectly styled, even after hiking all afternoon, not a wrinkle on her clothes, light caramel freckles dusting her nose and cheeks. Her lashes move as she reads something on her phone where it rests on the table. Her eyes dance upto mine and then go back to her plate, where she picks up her knife and cuts into a slice of chicken before stabbing into it and taking another bite. She eyes the burger and fries on my plate and then looks at my milkshake.
She looks like she wants to say something, but I’ve noticed I get more out of her if she chooses to talk to me, rather than being forced, so I swipe up a fry and shove it in my mouth, keeping my eyes on hers.
“How do you eat like that?”
“Like what?” I ask and take a large slurp of milkshake through the straw.
She uses her knife to slice off more chicken breast, then tips her chin toward my plate.
“You don’t like burgers and fries?”
She chews slowly, watching me, then shakes her head. “No, it’s not that.”
I shove another fry in my mouth, and she tracks the movement. She watches me chew and swallow, and I swear she’s practically salivating. I reach across, pull her plate toward me, and slide mine toward her with the other hand.
She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Why are you always taking things that aren’t yours? Give me my salad.”
“Let’s see what all the fuss is about.” I grab my unused fork and stab into a piece of chicken and lettuce, shoving it into my mouth. I pull a face.
“This is awful,” I tell her with a grimace at the offending shitty salad.
“It’s healthy,” she says quietly, “which is more than I can say for your burger and fries.”
“This lettuce is wilted, and the chicken is dry as fuck.” I tip my chin at the burger and fries in front of her. “Eat that.”
She hesitates, then shakes her head. “I’m not eating this.”
“I thought we cleared up sharing with the whole swallowing my cum thing,” I say casually.
She lets out a small breath and her shoulders tense before she looks around nervously. “Would you keep your voice down?”
“When you eat,” I say, draping my arm along the back of the booth.
She glances down at the burger and fries in front of her. “I’m not eating your food.”
“It’s not mine anymore. It’s yours.”
