ceiling.
My body twitches and quivers. Every color flashes behind my eyes, my body a conduit for extreme pleasure.
I move my left hand down from the ceiling and thread my fingers through Dylan’s silky hair. He responds by driving his tongue against me and sending me over the edge again.
When he finally pulls away and lets me slide back down to the seat, my legs are shaking.
He smoothes my stretchy underwear back into place.
With a sly smile, he says, “Your wild side looks good on you.”
I smooth down my hair with both hands and wipe my forehead with the back of one hand.
“My hair’s all crazy, isn’t it?”
“Not crazy.” His eyes flash. “Just wild enough.”
I would probably blush right now, but my cheeks are already hot and flushed. I look over my shoulder out the car window, making sure nobody’s around.
Dylan moves back over to the driver’s side of the car, cursing as his knee bumps the gear shift on the way over. He groans as he settles into the driver’s side bucket seat.
I locate the seat controls on my side and get my seat back to upright position.
“Did you bang your elbow?” I ask, feeling giggly. “Want me to kiss it better.”
He turns and gives me a dangerous look. “It’s not my elbow that’s giving me grief. But you can kiss it better if you want.”
I glance down at the bulge visible in his jeans. OH MY.
“I meant kiss my elbow better,” he says, still laughing. “Don’t worry about this. I’ll survive, and dinner will be more fun if I’m thinking about what I’m going to do to you next.”
I blink at him, still in a daze. “Right! We’re going to dinner. We already got postponed once, by stupid Nick.”
“Stupid Nick?” He starts the car’s engine. “It was the stupid false alarm, remember?”
I clap my hand to my forehead. “Right. The false alarm.”
Dylan’s eyes linger on me, flickering with suspicion.
I glance at the digital clock readout on the car’s dashboard. “Are we late for dinner?”
He leans over and gives me a quick, comfortable kiss, then backs the car out of the parking spot.
“We won’t be late the way I drive,” he says, grinning.
I buckle my seatbelt.
Chapter 5
Dylan drives fast, but not like a criminal on the run this time.
We arrive at the restaurant only a few minutes late for our reservation. We’re still well ahead of the dinner rush.
The place is cozy, with tables set close to each other.
Our little round table is so small, we can lean across and kiss each other over the low candles.
It’s also French, with a menu I can’t even read, much less order from. I tell Dylan to order for me. My menu doesn’t have any prices on it. I’m worried about ordering something I can’t eat, that’s also expensive.
When the waiter comes by, Dylan asks him questions. In French. He gives the man our order, and the two of them chat away about this and that.
I’m stunned. He speaks French? What else do I not know about the guy?
Something pops nearby, and I let out a surprised shriek.
Everyone laughs, including the other waiter, who’s just arrived and uncorked champagne. As he pours my glass, he apologizes. He says they usually uncork in the back, but I’m so beautiful that all the waiters want to stand by my table.
At least that’s the basic gist of what I think he’s saying. I don’t know, because it’s all in French.
Over the next hour, we are served several courses of food. It’s all tiny portions, on big plates. Everything is rich and filling. I keep eating and eating.
“That’s tarragon,” Dylan says, his dark eyes sparkling in the candle light. “I told you about my friends who own a restaurant, didn’t I? They taught me everything I know.”
“About French food?”
He changes his grip on his knife, grasping it in his fist, like a weapon. “They’re responsible for my table manners. I used to hold my knife like this.” His eyes flick up to meet mine, and he pretends to stab the meat on his
My body twitches and quivers. Every color flashes behind my eyes, my body a conduit for extreme pleasure.
I move my left hand down from the ceiling and thread my fingers through Dylan’s silky hair. He responds by driving his tongue against me and sending me over the edge again.
When he finally pulls away and lets me slide back down to the seat, my legs are shaking.
He smoothes my stretchy underwear back into place.
With a sly smile, he says, “Your wild side looks good on you.”
I smooth down my hair with both hands and wipe my forehead with the back of one hand.
“My hair’s all crazy, isn’t it?”
“Not crazy.” His eyes flash. “Just wild enough.”
I would probably blush right now, but my cheeks are already hot and flushed. I look over my shoulder out the car window, making sure nobody’s around.
Dylan moves back over to the driver’s side of the car, cursing as his knee bumps the gear shift on the way over. He groans as he settles into the driver’s side bucket seat.
I locate the seat controls on my side and get my seat back to upright position.
“Did you bang your elbow?” I ask, feeling giggly. “Want me to kiss it better.”
He turns and gives me a dangerous look. “It’s not my elbow that’s giving me grief. But you can kiss it better if you want.”
I glance down at the bulge visible in his jeans. OH MY.
“I meant kiss my elbow better,” he says, still laughing. “Don’t worry about this. I’ll survive, and dinner will be more fun if I’m thinking about what I’m going to do to you next.”
I blink at him, still in a daze. “Right! We’re going to dinner. We already got postponed once, by stupid Nick.”
“Stupid Nick?” He starts the car’s engine. “It was the stupid false alarm, remember?”
I clap my hand to my forehead. “Right. The false alarm.”
Dylan’s eyes linger on me, flickering with suspicion.
I glance at the digital clock readout on the car’s dashboard. “Are we late for dinner?”
He leans over and gives me a quick, comfortable kiss, then backs the car out of the parking spot.
“We won’t be late the way I drive,” he says, grinning.
I buckle my seatbelt.
Chapter 5
Dylan drives fast, but not like a criminal on the run this time.
We arrive at the restaurant only a few minutes late for our reservation. We’re still well ahead of the dinner rush.
The place is cozy, with tables set close to each other.
Our little round table is so small, we can lean across and kiss each other over the low candles.
It’s also French, with a menu I can’t even read, much less order from. I tell Dylan to order for me. My menu doesn’t have any prices on it. I’m worried about ordering something I can’t eat, that’s also expensive.
When the waiter comes by, Dylan asks him questions. In French. He gives the man our order, and the two of them chat away about this and that.
I’m stunned. He speaks French? What else do I not know about the guy?
Something pops nearby, and I let out a surprised shriek.
Everyone laughs, including the other waiter, who’s just arrived and uncorked champagne. As he pours my glass, he apologizes. He says they usually uncork in the back, but I’m so beautiful that all the waiters want to stand by my table.
At least that’s the basic gist of what I think he’s saying. I don’t know, because it’s all in French.
Over the next hour, we are served several courses of food. It’s all tiny portions, on big plates. Everything is rich and filling. I keep eating and eating.
“That’s tarragon,” Dylan says, his dark eyes sparkling in the candle light. “I told you about my friends who own a restaurant, didn’t I? They taught me everything I know.”
“About French food?”
He changes his grip on his knife, grasping it in his fist, like a weapon. “They’re responsible for my table manners. I used to hold my knife like this.” His eyes flick up to meet mine, and he pretends to stab the meat on his
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