It's a Date

by Jess Epps

  But I don't know much else about him. Emotionally. Personally. But that's what dating is, right? Getting to know someone? Their likes and dislikes. Things that annoy them, frighten them. I want to know more but at the same time, do I? I don't want to fall in love. I don't want to get too close.

  Okay, so it's settled then, Heather. Keep it simple. Keep it fun. That's what guys want anyway.

  Breaking the silence, I ask him "Favorite ice cream?"

  He’s running his hand down the inside of my thigh when he answers, "I like raspberry sorbet. What's your favorite wine?"

  Smiling as I run my fingertip along that vein on his bicep, I reply softly, "Toad Hollow's Risqué. French fries or tater tots?" I peek up at him. "And think about your answer carefully, Ryan: this is a deal breaker."

  He takes my hand and moves it to his lips, kissing my fingers and then playing with them with his own, "I enjoy both. However, I only like skinny fries."

  I groan dramatically. "Skinny fries? Nope...that's it. We can't be friends."

  His laugh is so deep-throated and sexy. "What's wrong with skinny fries? Don't tell me you eat those bullshit steak fries or crinkle fries. Fucking nasty."

  "Hey! I love my crinkle fries. You have to eat, like, a hundred skinny fries just to be satisfied."

  "I don't see the problem there. Do you do anything outside of ballet?”

  “Uhm, not recently. Ballet has been my life. What about you? Are you too consumed in your studies to do anything fun?” I ask.

  “Yes and no. I was a volunteer firefighter for two years in law school, but my workload became too much and I had to stop volunteering.”

  Now that explains all of the muscles. “I see…What is your favorite holiday?”

  He raises his eyebrow at me because he knows I’m stealing his question and asking two in a row. “It was Christmas, but New Year’s just took its place. What do you say I take you out to dinner…and what would be your ideal date?"

  "You mean like an official dinner date?" I ask sweetly as I move and sit on my knees…exposing my breasts to him.

  “Yes, like an official date. If you’re not doing anything else tonight, go get dressed into something tight and sexy, ballerina.”

  “Okay, deal, but I’m not telling you my ideal date. You’ll laugh at me.”

  “I won’t. Tell me,” he demands.

  “Fine. My ideal date would be camping underneath the stars, away from the city and its lights.”

  The smile he gives me is making my knees weak underneath me. “Good answer. Now go get dressed for our date. We’ll make it an early dinner.”

  Suddenly remembering that I have unavoidable plans, I reach for a pillow and pull it to my chest. "Uhm…I have this thing that I need to go to this afternoon. Very soon actually.”

  He raises his eyebrows in question. "A thing?"

  “I have a photo shoot near Times Square. You’re welcome to come with me. It’ll be me and a few other company members.”

  “You’d want me to come with you? Is he going to be there?”

  Leaning forward I bite his shoulder then look up at him when he smirks down at me. “I think so.”

  His body stiffens as he runs a hand into my insane sex hair. “I’ll be going with you then, ballerina. I’ll kill him if he even tries to touch you.”

  I freeze. Don’t panic, Heather. Breathe.

  “Why don’t you go get ready?” He taps my ass and I get up to go shower. I can feel his eyes on my bare ass as I walk into the bathroom.

  A COUPLE OF hours later we walk into the photographer’s studio. There are a few dancers hanging about as Nik is having his photos taken. He’s only wearing his dance tights and I want to gag. All the girls are watching him, all so infatuated with him.

  I'm beyond tense. I can't stand being in the same room as Nik, and from previous experiences with this photographer, I know he’s a sleaze too. I set my bag down next to me as the makeup artist comes over. Noah’s still standing next to me—he’s taking in the entire room. I’m watching him in the mirror as his now icy gaze turns to Nik. His jaw tenses when he looks back down at me.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  Feigning a smile, I nod. "I'm okay. You?"

  He runs his hand over his jaw and nods toward Nik. “Is that ass-hat always around?”

  My eyes flicker over in Nik's direction as the makeup artist applies some blush to my cheeks. "Generally, yes."

  “Do you have to be in these photos with him?” He’s still watching Nik as if he wants to physically hurt him, especially after last night.

  "No. These are just individual shots for the magazine article." My heart is beating rapidly. Ugh! I don't want a scene.

  “Good. I don’t want him touching what belongs to me.” Noah leans down and moves my hair behind one of my ears before pressing his lips to mine while the makeup artist is trying to apply my mascara.

  I smile against his lips. I'm actually turned on by his possessiveness. I find myself wanting to reassure him. "It's going to be okay. Promise. It'll be quick."

  “Do I have to leave? Or would you like me to stay and watch?” He moves back so the makeup artist, who is clearly checking out his ass, can start applying my mascara again.

  "Please stay?" I ask because I don't want him more than five feet from me. And if this makeup artist doesn't stop checking Noah out, I'm going to have a diva moment.

  “I’m not going anywhere, little ballerina. Especially not when that fucker is around.”

  When the blonde makeup artist finishes, I get off of the chair and the photographer calls my name out, but before I can take a step toward him, Noah grabs me, wrapping his sexy, muscular arms around my waist and kissing me greedily. I swear the entire room is watching us, but I don’t care. He’s what I want. Circling my arms around his neck, I kiss him back with equal, if not more, fervor.

  I'm getting lost in our kiss when I hear someone cough behind me. "Miss Lane? We're ready for you."

  His hand is resting on my ass and I know without a doubt that it’s him telling me he’d much rather be buried inside of me than here. He wants me naked and underneath him. Our eyes lock as he squeezes my ass cheekily. I follow the assistant leading me away from my Greek god.

  He belongs to me.

  I’m taken behind a large set of screens so no one can watch me change into the outfit they have picked out.

  I groan when I look at my reflection in the mirror. Well, this should go well. The black sheer lace tights I'm wearing go well with the pink pointe shoes that lace around my ankles. But the black bustier...

  "Dear God, help me," I mutter on an exhale. Okay, so my boobs are pushed up and almost popping out of this thing. Who chose these outfits again? Sighing because I know this isn't going to turn out great, I step out from behind the partition and lock eyes with Noah.

  Noah

  HOLY FUCK.

  Is she trying to get me hard in public? That outfit is showing off everything she has.

  She's looking at me as if she's asking for approval though. I sure as hell don't approve with all of these men around here, but if it were just the two of us I wouldn’t mind.

  Shit.

  I'd fuck her in that for hours, just like we have been. Neither one of us has gotten much sleep these last few nights, but she still manages to look gorgeous.

  I wink at my girl as she sits down on the large white bed. A bed? They want Heather on a bed in lingerie for all these assholes to see? And then on the cover of a magazine? No. There's no fucking way. I look at her again and she looks beyond uncomfortable. I loathe these assholes for making her feel this way.

  My body automatically starts moving toward hers until I'm crouched down next to her while she sits on the bed. "Are you okay with this?" I ask quietly so others can't hear me.

  The photographer pipes in before she can answer me. "Yo, dude, you can't be in here unless you’re her agent or related somehow.”

  I ignore him and turn back to Heather. "Are you okay?" I i
nsist she answer me this time. She shrugs and looks up at the photographer and someone standing behind me. I look over my shoulder at the fucker who I pinned against Heather’s door last night. The douche bag is standing mere feet away, with an evil grin on his smug, cocky face.

  I know they are messing with her mood right now. I want her to enjoy herself, and as much as I hate others seeing her in this outfit, I want to see that smile of hers again. Turning back to her, I try and give her the best smirk I can manage. "You look beautiful, ballerina. Enjoy yourself," I say before cupping her face and kissing her hard, pushing my tongue between her plump lips and tasting her.

  Raspberries. Pineapples. My girl.

  I want all of these dickwads to understand that she belongs to me and me alone.

  I hear one of the fuckers groan then yell, "Come the fuck on!"

  I chuckle against her lips and she's smiling again. "Put on a show for me, Heather."

  She's blushing and I can't stand how turned on I get when that pink color invades her soft complexion. She looks up at the photographer and smiles cheekily. "He's my boyfriend."

  Boyfriend?

  Fuuuck.

  It's been a long-ass time since I've been called that. I don't mind that word coming from her rosy lips though. It belongs there, just as she belongs in my arms, and on my cock.

  I'd do just about anything for this woman. I'd kick both of these perverts’ asses for even looking at her the wrong way. She deserves to be treated with the utmost respect and nothing less. I take care of what's mine—I don’t want her frowning around me.

  I get up and wink at her before stepping away, purposely positioning myself in front of the male ballerina’s view of my girl as the photographer starts snapping pictures. “Beautiful, darling. Don’t move. That’s perfect!”

  My girlfriend.

  As the lights flash, she's smiling at me like she did when I first kissed her. The asshole behind me clears his throat, but I decide not to give him the time of day.

  "Excuse me, jerk," I hear the guy say in a Russian accent. I turn to look at him as he continues to speak. "You're blocking my view."

  I almost laugh at the dick. "Nah, man, I've got a perfect view of my girl right here. Thanks for asking though." I say confidentially before turning back to Heather.

  "Are you fucking with me?"

  He almost yells it, but I decide to ignore him for Heather’s sake. She looks gorgeous with her hair fanned around her on the bed. I want some of these pictures. Shit, I want all of them. She belongs to me.

  "You're doing great, baby," I encourage her while I watch the photos pop up on the screen to the right of me and I'm having the hardest time not ravaging her right here and now. Her smile turns my world on its head.

  "Thank you, my Noah."

  That's right, baby, yours. "Are you wearing that out to dinner?"

  Her blush creeps up on her this time like it's trying to hide in her complexion. "Maybe I'll wear it underneath my coat so you can take it off later," she teases.

  "You won't hear me complaining," I say, but I'm quickly interrupted by the rude asshole.

  "You fucked this prick, Heather? And not me? What the fuck?"

  I'm about to reply for her when she speaks from the bed. "That's none of your business, Nik. Would you please leave?"

  "You heard the lady," I say without looking back. I want to be inside of her.

  He scoffs and mutters something in Russian before walking away. And fuck if it wasn't a smart idea because I'm about to lose it.

  "Watch your mouth around my girl," I call out after him.

  I keep focused on her because if I don't, I'll follow that dick right outside. I'm about half a foot taller than him and I have a good twenty pounds more in muscle. I don't know what in the hell this guy is thinking.

  "All right, gorgeous, you're good. We've got what we need," the photographer chimes in.

  Heather gets up quicker than I've ever seen her move and she scurries behind the partition. I keep back and make sure nobody goes back there.

  While she gets changed, or covers up, I speak to the photographer. "Hey man, nice job. Where can I get a copy of these?"

  He hands me his business card and I slide it into my jeans’ back pocket. “Email me and I’ll charge you.”

  “No problem. I’ll be in contact.”

  Heather walks out from behind the partition. "Are you ready, ballerina?" She nods and pulls her coat tighter around herself before we walk out of the photographer’s studio and I hail a cab.

  After sitting in the stop-and-go traffic for a good twenty minutes we pull up to an Italian restaurant, on the Upper East Side. Once we get out of the cold and into the restaurant we are seated immediately. I take the seat next to her instead of across from her. I want her close—close enough for me to touch her. She’s looking over the menu as I run my hand down the inside of her thigh; the urge I have to bite her there again is intense.

  “Are you still wearing that outfit?”

  Her blush returns as she looks up at me from her menu. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “Well, either way, it’s good to know that we won’t be having dessert here, but rather in a hotel room close by.”

  “Oh? A hotel room?”

  “Why not?” I ask. “It’s closer and I get to have my hands all over you much sooner than I would if we were to drive back downtown in New York City traffic to go to your place.” I inch my hand up some more. The waitress comes up to take our order at the very moment I cup her between her thighs. I think she whimpers as she asks for the Campanelle Carbonara.

  “We’ll have a bottle of Chardonnay, please. And I’ll have the Shrimp Pasta Fra Diavolo.”

  Heather gasps and I swear I haven’t moved my finger an inch over her cunt.

  “I was going to order that,” she says excitedly.

  “Yeah? Maybe I’ll let you share a bite or two. It’s supposed to taste good, so good.” I crook my finger against her cunt so it pushes against her clitoris. “But my dessert is going to taste even better.”

  “Noah Ryan! We are supposed to be on a date.” Her legs naturally open for me as I circle my finger against her. I love how she says no but her body says otherwise.

  “We are, but I know you a little better than any guy taking you on a first date, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Obviously, but we’re in public. Someone is going to see…”

  “No one is going to see, baby.” I lean toward her and kiss her neck. “You have no idea how much you turned me on during that photo shoot.”

  She looks down at my lap and giggles softly. “Oh I think I know.”

  I kiss her sweet lips—her body language is practically begging me for it.

  "I don't think you should have your dessert before dinner," she barely whispers against my lips.

  “It’s a good thing that we can get this to go then. I’d like to play with my dessert, and I want you to watch.” I’m hard as hell under the table and there’s no way in hell I’m getting up right now.

  "We can't take our wine to go." She giggles the cutest fucking sound and pats my cheek then pulls away to take a sip of her water. The waitress comes back and I move my hand from her pussy to her knee as our food is placed in front of us. She’s damn cheeky enough to fork up one of my shrimp before the waitress finishes filling our wine glasses. Well, I’ll be damned.

  “A ballerina who loves to eat. I like it.”

  She's doing a little dance in her seat while she chews and it's fucking adorable. "Ah! I love to eat."

  “Yeah, you love to eat my food,” I joke with her before taking a bite. She’s sipping on her wine and I notice that we’re watching everything the other is doing. Every small movement. I know I don’t want to miss a thing that she does, or her little quirks, and surprisingly, I don’t think she wants to miss mine either.

  "Thank you for coming with me today. I'm sure it wasn't all that fun," she says, as she takes another piece of my shrimp without a care.
>
  I fork up some of her pasta and groan in appreciation of the chef. “No problem. Your boyfriend isn’t very keen on other men watching you in lingerie, so I’m glad I was there. Did you enjoy yourself?”

  She shrugs and I'm secretly glad she didn't say yes. "Yes and no. I don't like it when Nik is there. But I did enjoy the photo shoot itself."

  “Nik…what an ass-fuck,” I say as she steals another shrimp. Squeezing her knee, I switch our plates around so she can have my shrimp pasta.

  I watch her nod. "Yep." She stares down at her plate in silence and I wonder if she's thinking about him. And I can’t stand it.

  In an effort to distract her, I pick up my glass of wine and hold it up to her. “To my beautiful girlfriend.”

  Thankfully she smiles and her beautiful jade green eyes find mine. "Stop it."

  “Make me,” I dare her as I lean in to kiss her tenderly. She’s giggling as I kiss her. “What is it?”

  She shrugs and bites my lip.

  “Fuck. Someone is a little feisty.”

  “Swear jar, Ryan.”

  “I’d comply, but I still don’t have my swear jar, Miss Lane.”

  “You’re lucky I like you,” she utters before biting my shoulder. I know exactly what she needs. What she wants.

  Me.

  I have no doubt that this beautiful woman is ready for me again. How the hell did I get this fortunate? I chuckle and take another bite. "You like me, huh?"

  She eyes me as she chews. “Don’t push it,” she says after she swallows.

  No, this isn't a normal date, because I've already been inside of her. But I still don't know much about this stunning woman sitting next to me. What I do know is she's afraid as fuck to let me in. Not physically...but emotionally. I think she still thinks this is short term. I chuckle to myself because she couldn't be more wrong.