by Isabel Love
“I’m so glad you chose this place. I was just craving their enchiladas today,” I tell Max. He’s looking over the menu so I can admire him unnoticed. What he’s wearing is nothing special—a blue polo shirt and jeans—but the way they hug his body in all the right places makes him look amazing. The color of the shirt brings out the blue in his eyes, and those tattoos peek out from under the short sleeves of his shirt. I want to trace them and see where they lead me.
“I’m so hungry I want to order the whole menu.”
“You should get their sampler platter so you can try a bit of everything,” I suggest.
“Perfect.” He puts his menu down and meets my eyes with a smile. The server comes over to greet us and takes our order.
“So,” he says once the waitress is gone.
I laugh at the generic opening we seem to use every time we sit down across from each other like this. “So.”
“Tell me about Monica Morgan,” he commands.
“You already know the basics. What else do you want to know?” I hate talking about myself.
“What was 16-year-old Monica like?” he asks.
Of course, he would ask me that. “Well, this might surprise you, but I was a bit of a wild one as a teenager.” I’m not quite sure why I’m telling him about this; I usually keep that part of my life closed in the past.
“No way! You weren’t a bookworm in high school?” he asks, surprised.
“No. My dad was very strict and I hated how claustrophobic he made me feel. He set limits and I pushed every one of them.”
“I like this story. Tell me more.” He props his chin on his hand and settles in, getting ready for a long story. “What does your dad do for a living?”
“He is a doctor, a cardiac surgeon.”
“Wow. Did you become a doctor to be like him?”
I snort. “No. My dad and I…we aren’t close.” I leave it at that, not wanting to get into all the reasons I don’t get along with my father.
“Tell me about your mom. What is she like?” he probes.
Telling people my mom is dead is always so awkward. “My mom was amazing. She was my biggest cheerleader and my best friend.”
“Was?” Max picks up on the use of past tense. “Did she pass away?”
“Yes. She died when I was 19.”
“Well, that sucks.” He blows out a breath. I can tell he’s sorry he asked me about it, but I’m glad to get it out of the way.
“Yep, it really does,” I agree.
“Tell me your favorite memory of your mom.”
I think back. “I loved to watch my mom dance. She was a professional dancer, although she stopped once she married my dad. She used to give dance lessons, though, and she taught me how to dance almost as soon as I could walk.” I smile, thinking back to when I was a young girl trying to mimic her movements.
“I like watching you dance, and it makes sense now. When I saw you dancing at Club Bailar, you seemed to be connected to the music. Did you ever want to be a dancer?”
“No. Dancing is a release for me, a hobby. I could never turn it into a job. It would suck all the fun out of it.”
“I can understand that. You mentioned you rarely go out dancing anymore—why is that?”
I blow out a big breath. “I don’t know. I don’t seem to have the time these days, even if I had the desire.”
“And you don’t have the desire?” He looks at me seriously, daring me to tell the truth.
“I guess I worry about what other people think. I’m afraid it’s inappropriate for me to let loose in a place like Club Bailar.”
“You think the other doctors and heads of other departments don’t have hobbies?”
“No, I know they do. It’s just…my dad never really took dancing seriously. Once I became a doctor, he always told me how inappropriate it was for me to be seen at a club, and the board of directors is made up of a lot of men that are just like my father. To them, reputation is everything.”
“But take social stigma out of the equation. Do you enjoy dancing?”
“Yes, I still like to dance,” I admit. He beams at me like I gave him the correct answer on a test.
The server carries a tray of food to our table and places the plates in front of us. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No thank you,” we decline.
“So how did wild 16-year-old Monica decide she wanted to be a doctor?” Max asks me as he starts to eat his food.
“My mom always told me I was destined to do great things. At the time, I just kind of rolled my eyes and assumed she was wrong.”
“The general rule when you’re 16.”
“Exactly. But then she died in the emergency room after being in a car accident, and the ER staff was so amazing during that ordeal, despite its bad outcome. It inspired me to want to help other people.”
“Well that’s taking a negative and turning it into a positive,” he says.
“It didn’t happen overnight. It took me a while to get there, but I knew it would make my mom proud.”
“Was it our ER?” he asks.
“No. We lived in Chicago growing up. I moved to Ohio for college and just never left.” I finish my first enchilada and realize he has already eaten half of his plate. “Wow, I’m guessing you like it.”
He puts a hand on his stomach. “Sorry, I tend to inhale my food. It’s all so good.”
“Now I want to know about 16-year-old Max Spencer.”
“I was pretty boring,” he tells me.
“I don’t believe that for one second.”
“It’s true. My dad left when I was six.”
“I’m sorry.” It’s my turn to feel awkward now. “That must have been hard.”
“I think it was for the best. I don’t remember too much about him, but what I do remember wasn’t good,” he tells me. My heart squeezes at the thought of his dad not treating him well.
“Do you have any siblings?”
“I have two younger sisters, Ella and Chloe.” He smiles when he says their names.
“Are you guys close?” I always wished for siblings.
“We are. I’ve been working since I was old enough to get a worker’s permit when I was 14 to help my mom with the bills. When I wasn’t working, I was babysitting the girls, cooking dinner, and helping them with homework. We became a team.” I envision a young Max assuming the role of man of the house. He was taking care of everyone around him at such a young age; it’s no wonder he makes such a good nurse.
“That sounds hard.”
“It was at times, but what else was I going to do?” He shrugs good-naturedly.
“Well, you could have gone out with your friends and disappeared into a bottle.” I think back to my teenage antics and feel a bit of shame. I had it pretty easy at home and didn’t appreciate it at the time.
“Nah. I occasionally drank with my friends Logan and Charlie, but we were pretty good kids. Besides, my mom would have kicked my ass if I got out of line.” He licks his finger to catch some dripping taco sauce and the sight of his tongue hijacks my attention. I look back up to his eyes and he smiles. “Any guesses on where we’re going after this?”
“Hmmm, you didn’t give me very many clues.” What were they again? Touching, right—how could I forget? “Are we going to your place?”
“Nope. Try again.” He shakes his head, biting his lip. My libido wakes up and all I can do is stare at his lips.
“Ummm, my place?” I ask hopefully.
He laughs. “You keep looking at me like that and I may beg you to take me back to your place, but that is not a part of the agenda tonight,” he says pointedly. No sex tonight? Really?
“Okay, then, where are we going? I give up.” I can’t think of anywhere we’d be going where we can touch each other.
“Let’s go and I’ll just show you. It’s almost time anyway,” he says. He places cash on the table and I feel like I should offer to pay, but he’s already paid and I don’t want to make it
awkward. As we walk to the door, I feel his hand on my lower back and his touch gives me goose bumps.
“Cold?” he asks.
“No.” I look over my shoulder at him. He stares down at me and even though we just ate, he looks hungry again.
We make our way out of the restaurant and once we’re on the sidewalk, he takes my hand, pulls me around the corner, and backs me up against the building. “Can I kiss you, Monica?”
I nod and meet his mouth. He tastes of Mexican spices and Max, an intoxicating combination that makes me want more. He wraps me up in his arms and pulls me close, surrounding me with his big body. I feel safe; I feel savored. Slow, gentle kisses make me dizzy and I grab his strong shoulders to hold on. He pulls back abruptly and I chase his mouth with my own, going up on my tiptoes to try to continue the kiss. He chuckles and buries his face in my shoulder.
“As much as I want to keep kissing you, we’re going to be late.”
“Wha…?” My brain has scattered with that kiss, so much so that I can’t find my words. “I thought this was the part where we get to touch,” I complain.
“It is. Come on.” He tugs my hand and I follow after him. We head around the block and I see it: a dance studio. I’ve passed by this place a million times on my way to work, and tonight the window boasts that it’s Salsa Night!
“We’re going to salsa?” I ask Max.
“Yes, we are going to salsa.” He nods confidently and I’m surprisingly excited at the thought of doing this with him.
Max
I think Monica likes the idea. She hasn’t run away from me yet, so that’s a plus. Dinner was a hit, and that kiss set my body on fire. Although it pained me to stop, I’m glad I had a reason to. I’m so attracted to this woman, I tend to go from zero to I-need-to-get-inside-you in five seconds flat. She asked you to take it slow, I remind myself. Slow.
We step in front of the door and I turn to her. “What do you say, want to salsa with me?” I give her my best puppy dog eyes.
She laughs. “Have you ever done this before?”
“No. You can watch me make a fool of myself. How about you?”
“Yes, I know how to salsa, but it’s been…forever. We may both make fools of ourselves.”
“Sounds like fun. Let’s do this.” I reach my hand out toward hers and she takes it. With our fingers intertwined, we walk into the studio. When I called earlier, the instructor informed me that tonight is “learn and dance” night. They start with a dance lesson to teach the basic salsa moves, and then the studio turns into a club where anyone can dance for a small cover charge at the door.
There aren’t too many other couples here tonight, probably about 10 other people. My focus is only on Monica. She is a natural dancer; her hips know just how to sway and her movements are so graceful. My movements, on the other hand, feel awkward and clumsy, but I’m relieved to find that I’m not the worst dancer here. Monica’s cheeks are flushed and she smiles as the instructor praises her. Even though she’s far better than I am, I’m having fun. She is too, I can tell. She looks…completely in her element. Vibrant and happy.
I miss a step and Monica laughs, then falls back into step with me, correcting for my blunder. I keep my hands on her the entire time—sometimes on her hips, feeling them move, and sometimes on her hands, guiding her around the dance floor. I attempt a spin and we get it right. Seeing the way she moves her body while dancing makes me want to take her to bed. She is so effortlessly sexy, and this train of thought needs to end now because my cock starts to get hard, making my pants tighter. Slow it down, Max.
Just as we’re getting into a good groove, they announce that the lesson is over and they are going to open the doors for open dance. As the lights dim and the music gets louder, we take a break to have some water. It seems to be a popular night because people start to trickle into the studio and start dancing.
“Are you having fun?” I ask her, lowering my mouth to her ear so she can hear me.
She nods and smiles. “I really am. Thank you for bringing me here.”
“It was purely selfish on my part,” I tell her.
“Selfish?” she asks.
I nod. “Dancing is the most publicly acceptable way for me to get my hands on you,” I confess.
She flushes. “When you texted me that clue, I had a very different idea of how this night would go.”
“You’re setting the pace, okay? I’d love to have my wicked way with you tonight, but I want you to be 100% certain you’re ready for that step.” She looks into my eyes and her expression softens.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I lean down and kiss her lips softly. “Come on, let’s dance so I can touch you some more.”
We make our way to the dance floor and I’m reminded of that first night we met. Monica looks amazing tonight in a turquoise top that clings to her breasts then sways over her waist. Black slacks hug her hips and thighs and silver sandals show off her purple toenails. She looks young and sexy. I pull her close so our legs slot together while we move to the music and her hips brush up against my crotch, causing my dick to chub up again. I hold on to her waist, feeling her muscles move under my hands. I want to see her do this naked. She feels my erection and looks up at me, smiling seductively.
That look… It’s so powerful, I feel it in my cock.
There’s my sexy goddess. She has me hypnotized with her eyes. I’m not sure if we’re still salsa dancing, but I like the feel of her in my arms too much to care. Sweat drips down my back and my body is screaming to get closer to hers. Dancing like this is pretty much foreplay. My body is revved up and ready, and I need to remind my dick that sex is not on the agenda tonight. When her hands move from my shoulders down the front of my chest to rest on my stomach, I can’t help but want her to move them lower. She keeps her hands where they are, and I relish her touch as we maintain eye contact, the moment intimate.
Time flies while we’re dancing and before I know it, they announce the last song. A slow song starts and we slow our movements to match, but that doesn’t diminish our connection. If anything, it makes it more intense. My cock is rock hard and there is no way it’s going down by the end of this song, either, not with the way Monica is looking at my mouth. The need to kiss her is so strong, it feels like I won’t be able to breathe unless my lips are touching hers. I lower my head so my mouth hovers in front of hers. Her sweet breath touches my lips and she leans forward ever so slightly. Then my mouth is on hers and my hands are in her hair, holding her head right where I want it. She moans and though I can’t hear it over the music, I feel it. My cock pulses, desperately wanting friction.
The song comes to an end all too soon. Mercifully, they don’t turn the lights back on, but they do announce that it’s time to go. We collect Monica’s purse from the locker they supplied before the lesson and make our way outside. I can see her face under the street light, and it’s the picture of arousal. Her pupils are dilated, her lips are swollen from my kisses, and her nipples are poking through her thin top. Fuck. I desperately want to pinch those nipples and suck on them.
She stares at my mouth. “Do you need to go home?” she asks me.
“Do you want me to go home?” I ask her.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I want you to come home with me.”
She surprises me with her response, and my eyes widen. “Are you sure?”
She nods and meets my gaze. “Yes.”
That’s all I need to hear.
You are a goddess.
Monica
The drive home is a test of sanity. It took forever for us to even make it to my car because we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other long enough to walk. I rack my brain trying to remember if I left my bedroom clean this morning or not. Bringing Max to my place tonight was not part of my plan, but my body has other ideas.
I. Need. His. Body.
We don’t talk on the 15-minute drive to my house, enduring the separation silently. My heart is racing a mile
a minute and my skin feels agitated, not to mention the state of my panties. They are so wet, there may be a spot on my car seat. I pull in my driveway, push the button on the garage door opener, and park the car in the garage. As soon as the engine is off, I turn to Max and reach for him.
We kiss in the car until there isn’t enough room anymore. After he bumps his head on the ceiling twice, I pull away and get out. He meets me in front of the hood and we kiss again, desperately. He leans down, palms my ass, and lifts me to the top of my car. My legs wrap around his hips and I feel his erection. It’s hard.
So hard.
I wonder what it looks like. What it feels like. What it tastes like.
He grinds his pelvis into me, hitting just the right spot, but dammit, my clothes are in the way. I let out a groan of frustration.
“Come with me.” I slide down the hood of the car, grab his hand, and pull him to the door into my house. After turning off the alarm, I practically drag him inside.
Max chuckles at my rush. “Hey, where’s the fire?”
I stop in the kitchen and turn to look at him. Desire robs me of my words and I just end up staring at him, panting. His smile fades and he nods in understanding.
“Let me take care of you.”
Yessss.
He steps close to me and looks into my eyes. “Tell me what you want.”
Seriously? I can’t think straight right now, but he’s staring at me, waiting. “Touch me, Max. Please.”
I back up and lean against the island in the center of my kitchen for support. He leans down and kisses my mouth softly. “Arms up,” he instructs as he reaches for the bottom of my shirt and pulls it up over my head. I comply. Goose bumps erupt on my skin, but I’m not cold—not at all. He stares down at me, sitting in my bra and pants, eating me up with his gaze. The backs of his fingers graze my nipples and they tingle and harden even more, begging for his attention.
