Page 22 of Sticky Fingers
“Tell me, Mr. Push,” she says as she sidles up to me, “are you that worried about finding the thief because you want the painting back?”
She takes a sip and continues,
“Or because, for the first time in your life, someone did something and got one over you and now you can’t help but be entranced by it?”
She finishes her drink and looks at me.
My cock is so fucking hard I’m sure I could pound nails.
Instead, I shift briefly as I watch her cross her legs suggestively.
Fuck.
Wrapping my arm around the back of her chair, I run my fingers lightly up her back.
She arches towards me, and I see her nipples stiffen enticingly as I wrap my hand around the back of her neck and pull our faces closer together.
Whispering, I breathe into her ear, “I’m going to have to give them something or someone. We can make this easy…” I trail off until she moves her head to face mine.
Our faces are less than an inch apart before I continue, “Or we can make it very, very hard.”
Her pulse is picking up. I can feel it accelerating under my fingers around her neck.
“I wouldn’t worry about me.”
Her flippant tone is completely opposite of her flushed and heavy breathing face. She pulls back slightly so she can look me directly in the eyes. Her next words make my heart stop for a full second.
“I’ve never been caught by a man.”
Hot. She’s so fucking hot that I can envision steam rising from her.
I’ve never wanted a woman this much, and I can’t think of anything that would stop me from getting her. If she thinks playing hard to get will put me off, she’s going to be extremely fucking disappointed.
But I don’t think she really wants me to stop either.
I drop my hand from her neck and slide back into my chair.
“Let’s have dinner,” I find myself saying, doing it on impulse.
She sits forward quickly, lowering her glass.
I guess she wasn’t expecting that.
“Friday at eight?” I continue. “Per Se at the Time Warner Square.”
“I know where it’s at,” she replies.
I’m holding my breath now—and that’s a fucking first.
It’s hard to say what she’s thinking, but she puts her glass down and gets out of the chair.
Standing, she quickly pushes her bar stool in as I rise from my own chair. She begins to walk towards the gallery before turning and looking at me.
“Friday then,” she replies softly, a wicked smile hanging on her lips. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Push.”
She turns and walks away as I admire her ass again, not even blinking.
I can’t wait to get a piece of that.
