Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
“Fuck, this shirt makes me look like a dweeb,” I murmur, turning to face Paulie.
He makes a face at me. “What’s a dweeb, dude? Is that like a nerd? If so, you kinda do. Maybe unbutton that top button. You look way too tight and buttoned up.”
“Fuck you. I do not.”
“You just said you did.”
I roll my eyes and then turn back to the mirror, staring at myself.
“Shit. You’re right. I look stupid.” I tug the shirt over my head and toss it onto the ground. Reaching into the closet, I pull out a suit. It’s the one I wear to interviews and funerals.
It’s also the one I’m going to wear on this date with Colton.
Fuck. A date with Colton.
My heart races, and I feel my skin heat. I can’t believe we went from hand jobs in the woods to this.
Romantic little shit. He knew what he was doing when he suggested this. And I fell for it.
Head over fucking heels.
“What about this one?” I ask, holding the suit up for Paulie to see. He peers at me over the top of his phone. He hasn’t said who he’s texting, but I hope for his heart’s sake that it isn’t Hailey.
“Uh, looks good, I guess. But he’s gonna be here in like two minutes, so you better put it on and hustle.”
I grow frantic at that comment, tugging the shirt on quickly, messing up my hair in the process. The doorbell rings and I curse, pulling the slacks up and tossing the tie over my shoulders.
Do I even need a tie?
Fuck, what if I’m dressing too formal?
What if this is supposed to be casual? I didn’t ask. I should have fucking asked.
“Wow,” Colton whistles, his voice deep and humorous as he takes me in. He leans against the doorframe and bites his bottom lip. “You look like an accountant who just got fucked over his desk. Right near the calculator.”
I glower at him, taking in his ripped jeans and his black t-shirt. I’m totally overdressed. I should have fucking asked for details.
“Shit,” I mutter and begin to undress, but he stops me with a hand to my chest.
“No. Wear it. Just like this. You look hot as fuck.”
“The tie isn’t even tied.”
“Looks good. Like I just undid it.” He drags his finger up my chest and twists the fabric around his finger. “Like I’m gonna take it off and tie you to the bed with it.”
That makes my dick perk up. I like that idea a lot.
He presses his thigh against my cock and rubs against it, teasing me. He knows what he said. He knows what that image does to me.
“Not yet, babe. Soon though. Date first. Then I’ll use this tie. Make you do math while I fuck you.”
“I hate math.”
He grins and leans forward, kissing me roughly. I moan into it, and when he pulls away, his lips are spit slick and red.
“You won’t after this. Now, come on. Don’t wanna miss dinner.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, my mouth opening in amazement as I turn around in a circle.
Colton brought me downtown, and we’re currently on top of a high-rise building, overlooking the city. The twinkling of the lights is so fucking romantic, not to mention the string lights over our heads and the candles on the table.
“Yeah, wanted to make it memorable. You like it?”
“Yeah, I fucking do.” I look at him and feel myself blush at the sight. “Do you do this often? Is this your first-date spot?”
His eyes close for a moment, and he huffs. His eyes open once more, and he meets my stare. “I don’t date, Myles. Never have. Never planned to. Until you.”
He looks so sincere and shy that I suddenly feel ashamed.
“Shouldn’t have assumed. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I get it.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and watches me. “I’m a bit of a man whore. I know why you’d think that. But I think you’ve been on more dates than me.”
“Yeah, maybe I have.”
“Were any of them as nice as this?”
“No, not even close.”
His tongue pushes into his cheek. “So, dinner should be delivered in about ten minutes. You wanna have a seat while we wait?”
I look at the table and back at him.
“Yeah, all right. Will there be a string quartet, too?”
He smirks. “No, smartass, but I did bring a speaker so I could play music. Thanks for reminding me.”
He walks over to the table and pulls one from the chair, setting it to the side. I see him fumble with his phone, his hands slightly shaking as he pulls up a playlist. A moment later, smooth, soft music begins to play.
It makes me like him even more. All of this was so well planned. He really is romantic at heart.
I step toward the table, and he pulls a chair out for me, like a gentleman.
I feel like a fucking princess.
I say nothing as I take a seat. He follows me into the chair right across from me, his legs extending and wrapping around mine, his elbows on the table, his eyes meeting mine.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
I nod.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m so fucking nervous.”
“Don’t be. You’re doing just fine. I’m in the same boat. Never been on a date with a guy before.”
“No shit.”
We grin at one another, and I let out a small laugh, my hand falling gently onto the table, palm extended outward for him to touch.
And he does. He draws shapes on my skin, little hearts, the letters in his name.
I can’t look away, my skin tingling as he etches himself into my heart.
We only part when the food arrives. Once again, it’s the same driver I’ve met a few times. He’s wearing a suit and tie and carrying a plastic bag in each hand. He sets them on the table and gives a curt nod before moving away.
“I hope you pay him extra for this,” I murmur, and Colton grins.
“Oh, you know I do. And plus, Hamish is happy to help.”
“That’s his name?”
“Of course it is. He’s been with me for a few years now.”
He undoes one bag and pulls out a chilled bottle of champagne. The actual kind from France, not the kind that pretends to be French. He uncorks it and pours us each a glass before pulling out the rest of the food.
“Got this from a local Italian place just down the street. They have the best pasta. I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a few plates we could share.”
He opens the first box, and I see garlic bread rolls. The others are pastas in various sauces—white, red, and some wine-based. He sets them all on the edge of the table and glances at me.
“Which do you want first?”
I roll my lips between my teeth, setting the napkin on my lap.
“How about you choose?”
“You want me to feed you?”
He picks up his fork and takes a few noodles from the first box. Alfredo of some kind.
“Yeah. Go ahead. Fill me up.”
He leans forward, and I take a bite, flavor exploding on my tongue. Damn, that’s fucking tasty, but what’s even better is the way he’s watching me. Expectant. Eager.
“This is really good,” I say, picking up my glass of champagne and taking a small sip to wash it down. “You did good, Cavanaugh.”
I can see his blush in the lights of the city.
He reaches over and takes some pasta for himself, but continues to feed me through the course of the meal.
Bite after bite until I’m stuffed full of pasta, bread, and champagne.
And in between bites, we talk about everything and nothing.
He gives me little bits of his life that I didn’t know about, and I share things I haven’t shared with anyone but Maya.
And a few things only he now knows.
“I like learning more about you,” he says softly. “It makes you so much more. Which is frightening.”
“Yeah.” I know what he means. This whole thing with him is fucking scary.
“I have dessert,” he tells me, leaning back and stretching. “We could have some after a dance.”
I peer at him from under my lashes.
“You asking me to dance?”
“Maybe I am.”
Fucking hell. I shouldn’t do it, should keep my heart safe, but I stand up and move away from the table, leaving him to scramble after me. He stops in front of where I’m waiting and fumbles with his phone.
“Fuck, I need a song. I didn’t think you’d say yes. Thought you’d just say no.”
“I let you fuck my ass, but you thought I’d say no to a dance.”
“Yeah, well…I don’t know if you can dance.”
That makes me roll my eyes. “I grew up with three sisters and a single mom. Of course I can dance.”
He grins, a song playing over the speaker. Something sickly romantic, words that I’ve heard on the radio, talking about new love. Obsession. Sex.
His hands fall to my waist, and mine move up to his shoulders, touching the hair that falls against his neck.
His forehead meets mine as we sway to the beat, our bodies getting closer and closer until his thigh is pressed against my hard cock and we’re grinding against each other. Not kissing, but just existing.
Obsessed with one another.
“I should date you more often,” he groans as my fingers thread through his hair. “This is so fucking nice.”
“Yeah, it is.”
His hands slip down to my ass, and he squeezes roughly. “But I told myself no fucking you. Not on our first date. I don’t want this to be about sex.”
“Why can’t it be both?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want you to think this was just to get into your pants.”
He peers at me, and I let out a soft laugh.
“You don’t need to date me to get into my pants. Seems I’ll spread my legs for you whenever, but yeah, we can hold off. For a little bit anyway.”
We tease one another at the prospect of what could happen later tonight, while rocking back and forth to the beat of the songs playing over the speaker. It moves to different songs, all about love and obsession, until the moon hides behind the dark clouds moving in above us.
“Smells like rain,” Colton says.
“Yeah. But we don’t need to leave until it really comes down.”
So we don’t move. We just drink more champagne, eat our dessert, and sway to the music, kissing each other languidly.
Until those first fat drops fall.
Then we move drunkenly down the stairs to the waiting car, Hamish’s lips tilted up in approval as we slide in behind him.
“To the ice cream shop,” Colton tells him, and I lean over and let my face nuzzle into his neck.
“Ice cream?”
“You can’t have a date without second dessert.”
The car stops a few blocks down, the windshield wipers swiping back and forth dramatically. Colton tells the driver to stay in the car, that we’ll be back, and we hop out, large wet raindrops soaking us almost instantly.
We rush through the door of the shop and skid to a stop, our bodies colliding.
His arm wraps around me, and for a second, I lean into it before pulling away.
I don’t know why I do it, but it shifts the mood slightly. Maybe I’m still afraid of someone spotting us, of the rumor mill churning. But at the same time, I don’t really know if I care all that much if people find out.
“Sorry,” I manage to murmur once we have our cones. Colton is lapping at one and meets my stare.
“I get it. Don’t want anyone catching us together.”
“I mean, do you want people to catch us?” I ask, some of the ice cream dripping onto my fingers.
He shrugs. “I guess I wouldn’t mind. You’re a fucking catch. Everyone would be jealous of me.”
My cheeks heat, and he bites his bottom lip.
If he’s not ashamed, I shouldn’t be either.
“Let’s not talk about that, though. What I want to talk about is how I want to lick those fingers clean,” he says, lowering his voice. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere I can do that. Somewhere no one can see.”
We move outside, the rain having finally stopped, but the air is still thick with the storm. He leads me around the back of the shop to an alley, and it’s there that he takes my cone from my hand and holds it up to my mouth.
I lean forward and lick at the melting ice cream, making his eyes darken.
He smears the chocolate across my lips and then leans forward and licks me clean before moving on to my hands.
He pulls each finger into his mouth and sucks until my head hits the brick wall behind me and I let out a small groan.
“Fuck,” he murmurs and tosses his ice cream cone into the trash before sinking to his knees. It’s filthy back here, but he doesn’t seem to care, and I’m too turned on to really make a fuss about it.
“Take it out. Hurry.”
I do as he says, pulling my cock from my slacks and watching as he takes my cone and smears it across my hard length. It’s dripping chocolate and pre-cum until he pulls me into his mouth and sucks it clean.
The sight of it makes my hips shift forward, pre-cum beading on the tip right before he does it again. It’s messy and obscene, and yet still, he doesn’t stand up, and I do nothing but stare down at him. Watching. Waiting for more.
And he gives it to me. Messing up my cock over and over before cleaning it up with his mouth. By the time the ice cream is gone, he just pulls my dick right into the back of his throat and swallows around me.
The sensation, the visual, is enough to have me exploding in seconds, right down his throat and into his stomach.
He takes it all, leaning back on his haunches when he’s done and staring up at me, chocolate smeared across his lips, spit leaking down his chin.
“That was hot,” he rasps, and all I can do is nod.
“Yeah.”
“Your pants are all messy, though. I’ll buy you new ones.”
He stands up and helps me put myself back together. As much as I can be, anyway. He’s right. My pants are smeared with chocolate ice cream and cum. My shirt is untucked, and my tie is on the ground.
“Come on. Let’s get you back home so I can clean every inch of you. Then I wanna tie you up and eat your ass with some whipped cream.”
I’ve never moved so fucking fast in my entire life.