by Whitley Cox
I shook my head. What a name for a restaurant. Was he picking these restaurants solely because of their names? Pillow Talk, now Dirty Girl. What was next, Eating Out? Stick It in Me? What about Rim Job? Where it was all seafood caught along the Pacific Rim.
“You eat everything with your hands. No utensils. That’s why they call it Dirty Girl, I guess. All family-style foods. You order a big dish for your table, and everyone shares. It’s run by two sisters who spent a lot of time in traveling the word. They brought back recipes, particularly those where the locals don’t typically eat the food with utensils, even though in western cultures we would. You know, like rice and stuff. Instead you’re supposed to use all the bread they send along as a transportation vessel.” He rolled his eyes as he pulled a bottle of wine out of the bag. It looked to be a nice merlot from the Okanagan Valley. “At least this is what the website said. I don’t know about you, but seeing as we’re not at the restaurant, I’m cool using a fork. I’m a sloppy eater on a good day.”
“Forks it is!” I giggled. “Somehow Carly manages to make the biggest mess with one chocolate chip. Hand her one as I’m making muffins, turn my back for half a second, and when I turn around again, she’s covered.”
“Yep, that’s me. I can rarely eat a meal where I’m not sporting some kind of stain by the end, whether it be from my eating or the kids.”
I put the last rose into the vase, then carried it over to the table.
“Thank you, again. These really brighten up the place.”
His smile was sweet and languid, but unlike earlier, where a hint of wickedness had been hovering just beneath the surface, there was nothing but genuine boyish charm flying out at me. “Plates?”
“Right!” I pulled two out of the cupboard and handed them to him.
“Spoons?”
“Yes, sir!”
Blue fire flashed in those sexy gems of his as he stopped what he was doing and just stared.
My pulse sped up, and sweat slicked my palms.
“Forks!” This time it was an order and not a request.
“Yes, sir,” I said softly.
I had what he’d asked for in no time at all. “I’m assuming you have a corker?” he asked, a new gruffness, almost a strain to his voice.
“Ooh … you went fancy tonight. No twist-off, eh?”
That boyish smile was back, but only at the corner of his mouth. “Nothing but the best.”
I dug around in the cutlery drawer and drew out a corker. “Aerator?”
“I like your style.”
Pulling two stemless wine glasses from the cupboard, along with the aerator, I went to work deploying the cork and filling our glasses. We worked well together as a team. I handed him his glass, he handed me my plate, then we headed to the living room.
It was a nice place, my basement suite, but it wasn’t huge. But it was just me and Carly, so we didn’t need much. We had one couch, which faced the television. It was big, comfy and great to sleep on. My sister and I had decorated my suite together, with the same color combos as her house upstairs. Lots of yellows and whites, bright and cheery with the odd splash of turquoise blue. Like in the drapes or throw pillows. Even though the place had lots of windows, the bright walls and light furniture made it seem even bigger. It wasn’t bad for seven hundred square feet. Just enough for the two of us. Just right.
Sam put his wine glass down on the coffee table and went to lean back on the couch, his back to a pillow, only he made a face and sprung back up, setting his plate next to his glass.
“What’s behind here?” he asked. “A toy?” He dug around between the cushions for a second only to come up with … you guessed it! My big blue battery-operated boyfriend.
Crap!
Shit!
Fuck!
My mouth hung open. “Oh … ”
He drove his hand back between the cushions and came up with a pair of handcuffs.
Double fuck!
“Uh … ”
“Well, they are toys.”
I was shaking my head. Even though feigning ignorance was out of the question. Who else could those possibly belong to? “I, uh … I keep telling Carly to stay out of my nightstand. Sh-she’s two. She doesn’t always listen. She thinks it’s a magic wand, keeps casting spells on me.”
His bottom lip twitched. “And the handcuffs?”
I lifted one shoulder. “Would you believe I went as a sexy cop last Halloween and those are left over from my costume?”
His eyes narrowed. “No.”
I tossed my hands into the air before I reached for my glass of wine and took a loooong healthy sip. “Fine. They’re mine. Obviously!”
“Obviously,” he agreed. He still hadn’t really shown me a facial expression yet. So far it’d been nothing more than mild interest.
“I’m a grown woman with needs.”
“How long?”
“How long what?”
“How long since you’ve had sex?”
“That’s a rather personal question. Have you already forgotten I refused to answer it last time you asked me?”
“No. We’ve discussed far more personal things than that in the week we’ve been getting to know each other. Is it because you’re not hiding behind a phone?”
There was a seriousness, a new edge to Sam. It scared me. I liked it. And the longer he sat there waiting patiently for me to answer, the more and more this new side of him was turning me on. He was authoritative. He was collected. He was dominant.
I shook my head. “No.”
“How long, Harper?”
“How long has it been for you?”
“Six months.”
So, he’d slept with someone since his ex left. Probably rebound or revenge sex. I can’t blame him for that. My little rebound sex miracle was sleeping down the hall.
“How long?”
I gnashed my molars together before finally biting out my answer. “Three years.”
His chin nearly hit the floor. “Since … ?”
“Yes.”
“Not even once in the last … ?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because my child is my priority. She’s my world now. I’ve been on a few dates, but once they find out I have a kid, they hit the bricks or want to meet her on date two. Not happening.”
He nodded. “Understandable. But what about when Carly’s with your sister?”
I shrugged and sipped more wine. “It just hasn’t happened. She’s a big ol’ cock-block, that kid of mine.”
“So then these”—he shook the vibrator and handcuffs in his hands—“get quite a bit of use then?”
I pointed to my B.O.B. and snorted. “That does, yes. But those,” I reached for the handcuffs, “I’m afraid these have a healthy coat of dust on them.”
“So then you’re into that kind of thing?”
“What kind of thing?”
“Kinky sex, BDSM, bondage … playing?”
My stomach gurgled in protest as I reached for my plate from the table and dug in. Something with Indian spices wafted up toward me, and I closed my eyes briefly, preparing to devour.
“I’ve been handcuffed and tied up, blindfolded. That kind of thing. You know … experiment.” I took a bite of what I guessed was curry and closed my lids again, letting my eyes roll into the back of my head as the flavors swirled around on my tongue in a savory and slightly spicy dance of goodness.
When I opened my eyes again, he was just watching me. “That’s just how you eat then?”
“Excuse me?”
“Like a fucking porn star.”
My fork clattered to the plate. “Pardon me?”
“The way you ate the cheesecake last week, that wasn’t for show?”
Slowly I shook my head. What the heck was he talking about?
“You eat and enjoy your food with the kind of provocative pleasure most people reserve for sex.”
“I do not!”
“I just watched yo
u take a bite of that curry. The way you delicately slid the fork into your mouth, then pulled the food off with your lips. You closed your eyes, tilted your head back slightly and let out the tiniest moan. It was like you were having sex with the curry.”
“I—” Oh my God! Was that how I ate? I had no idea I ate like a porn star. Jesus Christ, how must I look at restaurants? Were people waiting on the edge of their seats, taking bets as to whether a soufflé or flan made me orgasm? Probably. How embarrassing.
His face cracked into a big smile, and he started laughing. “Don’t sweat it. I mean, I’m not kidding, you eat like a nymphomaniac, but that’s understandable when you haven’t gotten laid in three years. All your pleasure comes from food. Well,” he turned on my B.O.B and it started to buzz, “and this bad boy. Does he have a name?”
I wanted to bury my face in my hands, but they were full of food so I just looked down at my plate. “Rock.”
Sam laughed even harder. “Hard as a Rock!”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Harper.” He flicked off the vibrator and set it on the coffee table before picking up his plate of food. “I’m learning so many things about you.”
“Most of them incredibly embarrassing.”
“Not at all. Masturbation is healthy, and in your case probably sanity and lifesaving. Female hysteria is a real thing.”
I reached out to punch him in the shoulder. But with ninja reflexes he grabbed my hand and pulled me forward until our lips were less than an inch a part. “I like what I’m learning, Harper. I like it a lot.”
I’d been preparing myself for a crash of a kiss where I’d end up with bruised and swollen lips, but he surprised me again and instead just brushed his mouth across mine.
“And for the record,” he went on, his breath warm and inviting against my skin, “I’d love nothing more than to handcuff you to the bed, pull on your nipple clamps as I … ” A piece of bread was suddenly between our lips, and he took a bite.
Holy God.
My chest was heaving at this point and a puddle pooled in my panties. My nipples ached and strained against my lacy bra and Sam just sat there smiling smugly, chewing on a wedge of naan bread.
Chapter 8
Sam
Hot damn, she was feisty. And so easy to rile, it wasn’t even funny. Only it was funny. It was freaking hilarious. The way her beautiful brown eyes bugged nearly clear out of her head when I’d pulled out that vibrator followed by the handcuffs. I thought for a moment the poor woman was going to have a stroke. But she’d recovered nicely, if a tad flustered. But flustered looked good on her. Red cheeks, bright eyes, wet lips.
I grinned widely at her as I chewed my naan bread, envisioning her spread out on the bed, wearing nothing but rubber-tipped nipple clamps and a smile as my head bobbed between her luscious thighs, preparing her for a flogging.
God, I miss playing.
That should have been my first clue with my ex. She was not into the kinkier side of sex at all. No spanking, no toys, not even a pair of handcuffs. I should have seen the writing on the wall in month one and gotten the hell out. But then my mind went to my children, and that notion was smacked out of my head faster than it came.
But it’d been a while since I played. Right after Meegan left, with rage in my heart and a twitchy palm, I’d gone to a couple of parties. Fucked four women and flogged six the first weekend. The second weekend I ended up leaving when I realized I was there for the wrong reasons and ran the risk of hurting someone. I wasn’t in the right headspace. I was punishing those women because I couldn’t punish Meegan. I wasn’t ready to play. Thank God I hadn’t hurt anyone. But was I ready to play again? Was Harper a willing playmate? I thought so. She’d been the one to make the comments earlier in the week. Which had rapidly become my fantasy. Images of her writhing on the bed as I tugged the chain between the clamps had fueled my week and helped me survive until tonight.
The question now was: How hard did she like to play? Was it just a bit of slap and tickle, or if I grabbed her hair and forced her to her knees, opened up my fly and ordered her mouth onto my cock, would she obey or kick me out? As I sat there chewing on my naan bread, I mulled it over. She struck me as someone who liked to play but wasn’t overly experienced, but with the right kind of training, the right kind of partner, she’d be willing to do just about anything. But tonight was not the night to test out my theory.
No.
We were still getting to know each other, and her daughter was in the next room, and truth be told, I was a little rusty. I swallowed and gave her a look that asked a hundred questions, ninety-nine of them dirty.
“You going to finish that sentence?” she asked boldly.
I shook my head and dipped another triangle of bread into my curry. “Nope.”
“You’re mean.”
“You’re beautiful.”
Her quick inhale and flushed cheeks made me want to grab her by the back of the neck and bring her lips back to mine. That kiss had been as big of a tease for her as it was for me. But this was the real deal. I liked her, and I wanted to do this right. Seduce. Woo. Court.
“Sam?”
I looked up at her from my plate. Damn, this food was good. I’d be leaving them five stars on their website tomorrow for sure. “Yes?”
“I really like you, too. I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you called me.” Her face held a glimmer of hesitation or what I would more accurately describe as bashfulness, but there was also a strong resolution in those brown eyes flecked with gold.
“Me too.” I glanced at her television. “Movie?”
She nodded. “The thriller you suggested last week?”
“Perfect. That way during the scary scenes you can turn to me for support, oh helpless woman. Member of the weaker sex.”
She made an unladylike noise in her throat and went to punch me in the shoulder again, but I grabbed her fist and instead brought the back of her hand to my lips. “There’ll be no punching in this relationship of ours. Spanking, yes. Flogging? You bet. But no punching, you got that?”
Her mouth created the most beautiful and tempting little O, and her sexy throat undulated on a heavy swallow.
“Got it?” I asked again.
“Yes … sir.”
I had little control over the growl that rolled up through my chest. This vixen was going to be to be the end of me.
Within no time, we were hunkered down on the couch with our wine and dinner, watching what was quickly turning out to be a terrible movie.
I finished my plate and put it down on the coffee table. “More wine?”
“Please.”
I took our plates and empty wine glasses to the kitchen. I knew I wasn’t going to spend the night. Not with Carly home anyway. Had we been at my place with the kids home, I wouldn’t have wanted her to stay over either. So one glass of wine was all I was allowed. But that didn’t mean Harper couldn’t imbibe and enjoy her Friday night. I upended the rest of the bottle into her glass and brought it back to the couch. She snickered as she took it, but then welcomed me back beside her, where she draped a blanket over both of our laps. Our elbows and thighs were touching now. I could smell her, and her scent was divine. Sweet and just a tad spicy. Was that ginger? Or maybe cinnamon?
She already thought I was some corny jokester, and in truth I was, so I decided to continue to play up my geeky side and raised my arms in a long, drawn out and dramatic yawn. Then with the finesse of Lothario, I draped my left arm around her shoulder.
She didn’t look up at me, but I could tell she was smiling. She leaned into me, and within seconds, her head was on my shoulder. I couldn’t stop myself and turned, gently smelling her hair. Ah, it was ginger.
Suddenly, she bounced in her seat and turned her face into my chest, hiding her eyes. I glanced back at the screen wondering what was so terrifying but not really caring. She was in my arms, and that was all that mattered.
“Uh, what’s so scary?” I asked with a chuckle. Not that
I minded comforting her. “They’re driving past a field of wildflowers.”
“I know,” she said into my chest, not bothering to lift her head. “I told you, I have terrible allergies, and a field of wildflowers frightens the daylights out of me. Even just knowing they’re on the screen, my throat is starting to feel tight.”
God, she was a pistol. Cute. Funny and so darn sexy.
My cock was now at half-mast in my jeans and growing increasingly uncomfortable.
“The wildflowers are gone,” I said, my chest jostling with a silent laugh.
I heard her inhale, but she didn’t lift her head. Her fingers were bunched in the front of my shirt, and she tugged ever so slightly.
“Harper?”
“Hmm?”
I swallowed hard.
Slowly she lifted her head. Dark chocolate eyes filled with need gazed back at me. They mimicked the need that grew hot and fierce inside me. God how I wanted her. Needed her. But I felt her hesitation too. We were both vulnerable. I hadn’t felt this way about anyone in a long time. But it wasn’t just my heart that had to be considered now. I had other little hearts whose well-being I needed to think about. I bent my head low, letting my lips brush hers. She whimpered. A beautiful sound that galvanized my own craving and had me spreading my lips and demanding more. She melted into me and opened her mouth, welcoming me in, inviting me with her velvety soft tongue. I swept inside, allowing my tongue to tangle with hers as I explored the recesses of her mouth. She tasted like wine and Harper.
Her free hand came up to wrap around my neck while her fist tightened in my shirt and she pulled me down. I adjusted myself and leaned over, spreading myself on top of her on the couch. I brought one hand up to the side of her face and pushed my fingers into her hair, pulling ever so slightly. She moaned against my lips as her hips bucked up into mine. I felt her smile as we continued to kiss. She’d felt my erection. It was hard to miss; the bugger was trying to punch a damn hole in my jeans.
Languidly we continued to kiss. Like timid teenagers, home alone on a Friday night, curious and horny as hell, but also nervous. I brought my other hand down to her breast, cupping it. They were full and firm and perfect. My thumb grazed her hard peak through her bra and tank top and another moan drifted from her mouth into mine. Wedging my knee between her legs, I pressed down and let her buck up into me, encouraging her to ride my thigh. She did just that.
