6. Tatum
6
TATUM
“ T he Count of Monte Cristo ,” I finally answer. “That’s my favorite book.”
Paxton’s brows hitch. “No shit?”
“Is that a problem?”
He shakes his head. “Not at all. I’ve only seen the movie, though.”
“Movie?” I grimace. “Come on, Pax. The book’s better.”
“The books are always better,” he agrees. “I’ll have to give The Count of Monte Cristo a read.”
“You mean between rock concerts?” I tease.
“Guess so. Favorite food?”
“Lobster roll,” I answer.
He nods his agreement. “Favorite color?”
“Blue. Like the ocean.”
And Archer’s eyes.
His head bobs again, this time slower. “Favorite dessert?”
“Chocolate shake. For real,” I add. “What about you?”
“Anything home cooked, bright orange, and…also a solid chocolate shake, but I like mine with Butterfinger or Snickers chunks.” He smirks. “Fuck, yeah.”
“Favorite book?” I prod. “Wait, don’t tell me. You’re more of a TV show guy, am I right?”
“Right again, Birthday Girl. And I’m gonna go with… Vampire Diaries .”
I nearly choke on my bite of burger before wiping the edge of my mouth with the back of my hand. “Are you serious?”
“Tuke got me hooked. But it’s only good if you’re high?—”
“And have a chocolate shake with Butterfinger or Snickers in it?”
“Exactly.”
Tapping his shoe against my shin beneath the table, he adds, “So, other than a rockstar buying you dinner, do you have any other birthday wishes since I kidnapped you from your friend tonight?”
“Depends. Are we talking achievable or unachievable?”
“Achievable,” he decides, watching as I pick up a fry from the tray separating us.
Not gonna lie. I’m starving. Rory picked me up straight from the airport, then we went to the hotel so I could change and freshen up before my birthday surprise, aka the concert, and we didn’t have a chance to grab food beforehand. I haven’t been back in town since I graduated high school from American Prep boarding school, but when Rory asked me to fly in for my birthday, I couldn’t say no. As I chew, I weigh my options, grateful he didn’t ask for the unachievable because that would’ve been…awkward. Probably shouldn’t bring up my sister’s dead ex-boyfriend on the first date, am I right? Then again, we’ve broached a few no-no’s for first dates, but he hasn’t pushed his luck, and honestly? It’s kind of refreshing.
He’s refreshing.
I swallow my bite and wipe the edge of my mouth with my thumb. “Well, let’s take a look at how my birthday’s been so far.” The night replays in my mind. “Did a shot on stage.”
“Check.”
“Motorcycle ride.”
“Check.”
“Dinner with a rockstar.”
“Check.”
“Hmm.” I take another bite, surprised by the buzzing beneath my skin as Pax stares at me from across the table. “I guess I could always let you cash in on those other perks you mentioned.”
“Such as?”
“Me,” I offer. “Although, in return, I expect a solid orgasm or two. Does that sound achievable to you?”
“Two?”
“What? Too vanilla?” I quip, glancing at the untouched shake on the edge of the table.
Intrigued, he shifts closer and drops his voice low. “And you saying I’m the one with expectations?”
“If we’re gonna point fingers, you’re the one who asked what else I want for my birthday since you kidnapped me and all.” I kick him softly beneath the table. “So what do you say? Are you turning me down, Mr. Security?”
“I should,” he counters dryly. “It might be good for you to be told no every once in a while.”
“Who says I’m never told no?”
“Pretty faces like yours are used to getting what they want,” he murmurs. “But you’re right. After the whole kidnapping thing, I guess I can put out.”
I laugh even harder. “So selfless.”
“You have no idea.” His elbows hit the table, and he shifts forward. “Are we talking dirty bathroom sex, or a little hand play beneath the table, or a quick trip to your hotel before Rory gets there?”
Well damn. I mean, I know I’m the one who suggested hooking up in the first place, but bathroom sex? Hand play under the table? Way to take things to a new level, Mr. Security. I don’t know if I should be proud or a little scared. Not that he’ll hurt me or something, but that he has no issue going head-to-head with a girl like me. I’m not used to being the one knocked off kilter. Usually, it’s the other way around. I kind of like it, though. Being on the other side. The one volleying back instead of serving, so to speak.
His lips curve up on one side as he waits for my answer while refusing to back down or play off his suggestion like it’s a joke.
Who is this guy?
“Is that a dare?” I challenge.
“Just a question.”
“Mm-hmm. Call me crazy, but you don’t seem like someone who asks…”—I lift my hand and do air quotes—“just a question.”
“One game of Rock, Paper, Scissors, and you think you already have me pegged.” He pops another fry into his mouth then shifts back in his seat again and crosses his arms over his chest, playing the bad boy rockstar part like he was made for it.
“Sorry, but pegging isn’t my thing. Or at least, not on the first date,” I add, letting him jump to whatever conclusion he wants by my not-so-thinly-veiled innuendo, er, in-his-end-o.
Snorting, he nearly chokes on his french fry before covering his mouth with the back of his hand and forcing the salty potato down his throat. Once he’s safe from asphyxiation, he wipes his mouth with a napkin and reaches for the untouched shake, conceding, “All right, you win. I’ll eat the vanilla.”
I grin as he shoves an overfilled spoonful of ice cream into his mouth to wash down what’s left of the deadly french fry.
“How’s it taste?” I tease.
“Like victory.”
“Pretty sure you lost.”
Smiling around the spoon, he glances at the front of the restaurant. “Did I?”
“Yup, pretty sure.”
The two workers are busy flirting with each other, oblivious to our presence. They’re probably counting down the minutes to the end of their shift when they can finally hook up, and why wouldn’t they? It’s Saturday night. They want to go home. And honestly, we should probably leave, too.
“Or maybe I’m in it for the long game.” Standing, Pax rounds the edge of the booth and slides into my side.
“What are you doing?” I scoot a little further back so he has room on the cushion.
“Delivering one of your birthday presents.”
As he corners me in the booth, a breathless laugh slips out of me. “Pax, I was kidding.”
“About the pegging, sure.” His hand hits my thigh. “Everything else? I guess I’m here to call your bluff.”
Ooookay, shit just got real. And don’t get me wrong. The idea of being finger-banged at an empty restaurant is a solid bean-flicking fantasy, but actually going through with it? I mean, I’m not crazy.
Am I?
My amusement withers like a flower in winter, though I’m anything but cold.
The air charges around us, and my eyes fall to his hand. I shift in my seat, staring at the contrast of his tan, weathered hands, compared to my milky thighs. “What bluff?” I breathe out.
“That you were kidding about wanting a solid orgasm or two.” He slides his hand a little higher. “Tell me to stop.”
My attention shoots to the workers, still oblivious. “You should know I won’t fake it.”
“I’d be disappointed if you did.” He slips his hand further up my thigh, making my body tremble with interest. “You wet for me, Birthday Girl?”
I keep my eyes on his and spread my legs a little further apart. “Why don’t you find out?”
Heat flickers in his coffee-colored eyes, turning them even darker. Hotter. Brighter. “Fuck, I want to kiss you.”
I swallow, the blaze from his body seeping into mine as my opposite shoulder presses into the wall. “Then why don’t you?”
“Because if I kiss you, I have a feeling I’ll want to fuck you.” His mouth hovers an inch above mine, and his fingers trace the outline of my underwear. He’s playing with me. Teasing me. Toying with me. And holy shit, is it working. I feel like I’m on fire. Like every subtle brush of his fingers is stoking the flames inside of me, leaving me hot and bothered and more on edge than I have any right to be when he’s barely touched me.
“And even though you clearly like it down and dirty,” he whispers, “I think you deserve a bed so I can worship you fully.”
“Who says I need worshipping?”
His chuckle is low and throaty, causing my core to tighten. “Anyone who ever tries to convince you otherwise, send them to me.”
Body aching, I whisper, “And what will you do?”
“Let them watch as I worship you.”
Fuck. The image alone is enough to make me come, but I force the feeling back, watching his chest expand on an unsteady breath. At least I’m not the only one affected right now. So, why isn’t he doing anything about it?
“Let them watch you worship me, huh?” I breathe out. “That’s pretty big talk for a man who isn’t fingering me.”
“I guess watching you ride my hand will have to do.” He presses the tip against my entrance, the scrap of lace acting as the only barrier between us. My hips lift on instinct, longing for more pressure. Eyes hooded, he growls, “You’re soaked.”
“Am I?”
I scoot back a little more, and open my legs further, silently begging him to put me out of my misery. As if he can sense how on edge I already am, he drags his knuckles along my slit, then pushes my thong aside. The cool air makes me gasp, and he tilts his head, moving in for a kiss. Finally. I lift my head to meet him halfway, but instead of closing the last bit of distance, he pushes his forefinger into me. My lips part.
“Fuck.” The word is nothing but air, but he hears it nonetheless, and I fight the urge to let my eyes roll back in my head as another wave of pleasure crashes through me. It’s stronger than before. Sharper. And I swear if he stops, I’ll knee him in the balls.
He hooks his finger inside me, slowly pulls it out, and pushes into me again, rasping, “Do you think they know what we’re doing?”
My eyes cut to the workers. They’re gathered around one of their phones, laughing at whatever’s on the screen.
“Do you think they’re pretending to be preoccupied so I’ll keep going?” Pax adds a second finger, stretching me before pulling out and pressing his wet fingertips to my clit.
“Fuck,” I repeat.
“I wonder if they have cameras. If they’re watching you through an app on their phone.”
My eyelids flutter, and I grip his wrist between my thighs, slowly rolling my hips against him.
“If they do, I’ll have to track down the footage.”
“Why?” I breathe out.
“Because I’ve never seen anything sexier than the way you look right now.” He dips even closer. “Do you have any idea how hard I am? My cock is fucking throbbing. I’d give anything to pull it out and squeeze the tip, pretending it’s this tight pussy.”
He thumbs my clit again, and my heart races faster. I never knew I was a sucker for a guy with a dirty mouth, but this? This is doing it for me. It's clear Paxton knows exactly what he’s doing. With his hand. His words. The slight rasp of his voice. It’s too much, yet not enough. I need more.
“Fuck, I wanna kiss you.” His gaze falls to my lips.
“You know, I think you mentioned that already.”
He smiles but doesn’t let up. “Wanna fuck this pretty mouth with my tongue as I’m buried inside you. Wanna feel this tight pussy squeezing my cock the same way it’s squeezing my fingers. So fucking greedy, Birthday Girl. So fucking greedy.”
Massaging my inner walls, he drags his fingers back and forth, in and out, while I try to slow my breathing. To steady it. To act like we’re talking about the weather instead of filthy words I’ll never forget, even if I wanted to. But I can’t help it. I’m close. Really fucking close. I bury my head in the crook of Paxton’s neck and shift my hips against him, trying to be subtle no matter how much the rhythm drives me insane. We’re going to get caught. We’re going to get caught, and I can’t even find the fucks to give because all that matters is how close I am to coming and how freaking talented Paxton is with his fingers. So much so, I can only imagine what it would be like with his mouth or cock. An image of him licking the shake resurfaces, and I dig my teeth into his neck, falling apart. It’s like he’s pulling a thread and all I can do is unravel.
Shattering at the imagery, I orgasm, and he cups my sensitive flesh, giving me time to come back down to earth as my clit pulses and my thighs tremble beneath the table. As my breathing steadies, I open my eyes, finding his gaze glued to me. It shouldn’t make me squirm. Shouldn’t make me feel like I’m naked in front of a hundred people. But it does.
My eyes shoot to the workers, and I suck my lips between my teeth, praying they can’t see the guilty as hell expression I know is growing on my face. Because let’s be real, even the best liar in the world can’t pretend like what just happened didn’t actually…happen.
Oh my hell. I was just finger banged in public, and it might very well have been the best orgasm of my life.
What now?
Slowly, Pax pulls his hand out from under my skirt and lifts it above the table, licking his forefinger and middle finger as his eyes hold mine. “Well, would you look at that. I found a new favorite dessert.” He smirks. “Told you I was in for the long game. Shall we?”
He’s right. We’ve been here long enough. All things considered, it’s probably best if I get out of here as soon as possible before my brain catches up with my libido and I have to come to terms with the fact that a stranger had his fingers in my va-jay-jay in the middle of a fast food restaurant on my birthday. Oh. My Hell. Even stringing those words together in my brain feels so wrong it’s not even funny.
Ignoring the heat in my cheeks, I smooth out my skirt. “Uh, yup. Yup, that’s a great idea.”
The table’s littered with what’s left of our meal, and I start to clean up, anxious to get the hell out of here when he swats at my hand. “Stay.”
“Stay?”
“Yes. Stay,” he repeats. “I’ll take care of this, Birthday Girl.”
“Pretty sure you’ve already taken care of enough,” I counter.
He crowds me against the table. “Trust me. I’m only getting started.” Then he moves away and begins collecting our garbage.
If I wasn’t still reeling from what just happened—or how hot his not-so-thinly-veiled comment makes me–there’s no way I’d let him order me around. But I’m too stunned to argue as he picks up after us. I shouldn’t notice the way his corded forearms are dusted with hair, or how his fingers are still damp with remnants of what we just did as he reaches for the empty cup of fries we devoured, but I do. My attention snaps back to his, and I gather whatever wits are still in my frazzled brain. “I think I know how to clean up a little mess.”
“Yeah, but do you know how to let someone else clean it up for you?”
With a scoff, I settle back into the booth while he continues picking up every piece of garbage.
The veins along the back of his hands toy with me every time he reaches for something else, and I clear my throat. “Who knew you were such a gentleman?”
“Don’t let the tattoos fool you.” He bends toward me, his body stretching right in front of me as he grabs the last cup. It’s my chocolate shake. Or what’s left of it. Holding my gaze, he steals a bite and licks the spoon, dragging his tongue along the back of it as if he knows it was this exact imagery that pushed me over the edge moments before. Hell, you’d think it has a direct connection to my lady bits. And honestly? With the way they’re still pulsing, it might.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”