18. About Tiramisu
18
ABOUT TIRAMISU
Finn
I shouldn’t do this. I really shouldn’t.
But the second I shut the bathroom door and lock it, I forget how much I hate lying. Nothing matters but touching her. In no time, I’ve got her up against the wall, and she’s gazing at me with heat in her eyes.
I run a hand down her hip. “What are you wearing then?”
She bites the corner of her lips. “Gee, I don’t remember.”
God, the way she plays. “I’d hate for you to forget.”
“Me too.”
I roam my hand over the fabric of her skirt. “Tell me something.”
“Yes?”
“Did you think of me when you put them on this morning?”
“Yes,” she says, her voice feathery.
“Did you play with your perfect pussy before you went to work?”
She gives a fast, needy nod. “Yes.”
I stare at her, unable to look away from those lush lips, those dreamy eyes. “Did you picture my cock? My tongue? Or my fingers?”
She lifts her chin a little defiantly and answers like a woman who owns her pleasure. “I pictured you coming on me. On my tits.”
Oh, fuck me. She’s so deliciously dirty. I slam my mouth onto hers and take a hot, savage kiss, breaking it to say, “You’re such a filthy girl. With a filthy mouth.”
She pulls apart from me. “What do you want to do with my mouth?”
“Jules,” I warn.
“Finn,” she counters, holding her own.
I narrow my eyes. “I came in here to remind you who’s in charge of your orgasms.”
“And how are you going to do that?” she challenges.
I grab her hip, jerk her against me. “I can make you come in one minute.”
“I dare you.”
She has no idea who she’s dealing with. “Pull up your skirt. Turn around and lift your ass.”
She obeys beautifully, multitasking by tugging up her skirt as she spins.
Yes, she’s wearing a beautiful pair of white lace panties. With her face to the door, she slides her arms up the wood then pops out her ass, showing them off.
“Ah, too bad they’re not the pair I sent you,” I say.
“Such a shame.”
“But this .” I cup her center briefly. “This is too good.”
She moans, wriggling against me.
But I don’t touch her right away. She’s a cautious woman about some things I’ve noticed, and it’s only fucking respectful to touch a woman with clean hands. “My fingers are going to be deep inside you, fucking you hard in a few seconds,” I say as I go to the sink and wash them.
She smiles, like I read her mind. “I like your dirty mouth and mind though.”
“I know,” I say, returning to her. “Now tell me, Jules,” I say, praising her as I curl a hand over one gorgeous globe, plucking at the edge of the white lace. “Tell me who owns your orgasms,” I demand.
“You do,” she gasps, wriggling against my hand.
“That’s right,” I say, then crowd her, kiss her neck, and slide my hand around to the front of her panties and under them. She’s so slick and ready. “I knew you’d be soaked.”
“I am,” she whispers. “I want you.”
“You want me to make you come, don’t you?” I ask, rubbing a soft circle on her hard clit.
She shudders. “Please.”
I kiss the back of her neck, line my body up against her, and nip on her earlobe as I stroke. “Count,” I command.
“Sixty,” she says.
Another stroke, another kiss, another shudder.
She counts down from sixty, quickly losing track, as I kiss her neck and fuck her with my fingers till she’s writhing, and moaning, and dangerously close to letting the restaurant know that no one can fuck her like I can—and in under a minute. “Quiet,” I warn her.
“I’m trying,” she whimpers.
“I’ll help you,” I say, then cover her mouth with my free hand as I play with her sweet clit. “Give it to me. Come on my hand.”
Seconds later, she’s trembling and flying over the edge. And there’s nothing better in the world than her pleasure. As she shudders, I lick my fingers, then turn her around, kissing that beautiful mouth. She grabs onto the lapels of my jacket, then gazes up at me. “I want your dick, Finn. Please let me suck you.”
I groan, then run a finger over her top lip. She nips at my finger, and draws it into her lush mouth, sucking, letting me know with words and deeds what she wants. “Let me,” she says, when she releases my finger.
“You’re such a beautiful beggar,” I tell her. “A beautiful beggar with a dirty mouth.”
“Please,” she says in a needy whisper. “Please, let me suck you off.”
“Beg for it,” I demand.
She answers in action, parting her lips in a lingering O , thrusting out her chest, showing off those tits. “I’m begging you for your cock. Please let me taste it. I want to swallow your come. Want to feel it sliding down my throat. Want to walk out of here after you’ve shoved your dick in my mouth.”
My chest is a furnace. My body is on fire as I shed my jacket and then she’s kneeling on it, unzipping me, and dragging my dick to the back of her throat.
The pleasure is unholy. The clock is ticking. Someone will knock soon. And I don’t fucking care.
She’s too perfect to resist.
I thread my fingers through her chestnut locks. “Look at you. Needing my dick.”
She trembles, clearly loving the praise as she draws me impossibly farther into her warm mouth.
I shake with lust. “That’s right. You take me so fucking well.”
She looks up with eager eyes as she shows off, letting her throat relax so my cock can slide a little deeper. I grip her hair tighter. Hot pulses of electricity jolt my legs. “You want to choke on my cock, don’t you?”
Another savage nod. A fierce yes in her eyes. I curl my hands around her skull, thrusting deeper down her throat. She gags but doesn’t relent, just mercilessly pursues my release. She sucks me until my thighs shake and my balls tighten. My vision blurs and I spill down her throat with a bitten-off groan.
I’m still shaking from the aftereffects as she stands, slams her sexy body against me, and shoves her hand up her skirt. She’s fucking her fingers, chasing another orgasm in this tiny bathroom.
“Mine,” I growl. “That pussy belongs to me.”
“Then shut up and make me come,” she demands, and wow.
That’s hot.
“I’ll give the orders,” I say, “and the orgasms. And you better be quiet this time.” I bat her hand away from her glistening pussy, then stroke her until she’s shivering and coming again, pressing her lips together to seal in her scream of ecstasy. I watch her the whole time, her face twisted in exquisite, stolen pleasure after a business lunch in the middle of Manhattan.
When she’s done, she pants, and moans, and sags against me. It’s breathtaking, and I want to take her to my office, set her on my desk, and eat her pussy till she comes so many times she begs me to stop.
For now, I let go of her, and we straighten up. Once I’ve dried my hands, I hold out a palm. “You know what to do. Give them to me.”
With a delighted smirk—she takes orders so damn well—she reaches under her skirt, shimmies off her white panties, and hands them to me. I ball them up and put them in my pocket. After I sling my jacket over my shoulder, I kiss her. It’s short but passionate, chased by a needy groan.
I wish I could see her again. And I wish I could quit her too. She’s so bad for me.
When I break the kiss, she’s the first to say, “We can’t do this again.”
She’s right. We can’t. “We won’t do this again,” I add, and I’ve got to keep my promise this time.
That evening, after I leave the office, I swing by the shop I now know she likes. You Look Pretty Today is a feminine wonderland, with pink divans and faint notes of lilac perfume drifting through the store, an olfactory complement to the soft music that plays overhead. The whole vibe is subtly seductive.
Everywhere is lace and satin, embroidered flowers and raised butterflies, and lipstick hearts on black teddies. It’s like Christmas morning and a winning hand in Vegas all at once. I feel seduced, lured deeper into an after-dark garden of sensual delights.
I can’t have her again. I just can’t keep crossing lines. But I can give her a little something. She deserves to be showered in gifts.
As I swing my gaze from shelf to shelf, display to display, my head swims with images of Jules in this black bra, in that white teddy, in…anything and everything.
I picture her lounging on a pink divan, stretching out her legs, posing for the camera.
I bet she’d let me take pictures of her with shadows playing across her round ass, her full breasts, and with lace covering only some of her soft flesh. She’d run a hand down her hip and give me the poutiest look.
An invitation to come and get her.
I’d say yes and give her relentless orgasm after relentless orgasm.
“Can I help you find something?”
The shopkeeper’s voice snaps me back to reality. I’m here to shop. Not to daydream of a woman I should not have touched today.
A woman I need to stop touching.
A woman whose panties are in my pocket. I’m a fucking pervert and a panty thief. What is wrong with me?
You want a woman you absolutely can’t have, jackass.
I face the friendly sales associate, a woman with a freckled nose and a welcoming smile. I hold out my hands and ask blatantly for her help. “I need something that says I can’t stop thinking about you…but I should .”
Her smile is kind but a little wistful too. I’m not the first man to make this request, and I won’t be the last. “Let me show you.”
She takes me around the store, and I follow, saying yes to everything. I’m unstoppable. I can’t help myself. I am consumed and if I can’t have her, I want her to have all these pretty things.
Fifteen minutes later, the associate finishes wrapping up an entire set of lingerie. There are several pairs of lace panties, along with a white lace panty and bra set embroidered with red tulips.
I write out a note.
I’ll do better in Paris. I promise.
And I will. When I see her there, I’ll be friendly and professional. I won’t drag her into a dark corner and tear off her clothes. I won’t tell her to choke on my cock. And I won’t demand she come for me again and again.
I swear.
With that done, I pick up Zach from a friend’s home, a kid named Arjun who has a dog named Donut, a friendly, sparky little mutt who barks and scampers.
I’m so screwed.
As Zach says goodbye, I brace myself for the inevitable pooch request, but as we leave, he instead asks, “Can we go to the bookstore? There’s an old Captain Dude that I’ve never read, and I want to read it before the new one comes out.”
Well, that’s much more manageable. “Let’s get it.”
We go to An Open Book, a few blocks away, and the second he slides past the door, Zach is off and running. I catch up in two long strides, grabbing his shirt collar. “Indoor feet,” I admonish.
Chastened, he frowns. “Sorry, Dad.”
He heads to the kids section and grabs the graphic novel. “Can I get some other books too? Daveed’s mom works for a publisher, and she was telling us about all these other cool books.”
“Get whatever you want.” I’m indulging him, and I know it.
But as far as I’m concerned, books are one indulgence that should never be curtailed.
He stocks up, then we head to meet my brother and his son at Neon Diner.
Nick’s kid gives Zach a fist bump. “What did you get at the store, Z?”
“Check this out.” Zach beckons David closer, but he doesn’t show him his haul from the store. He whispers something in his cousin’s ear.
David’s grin spreads across his face. No. That’s wrong. It takes over the city.
“Sure,” David says, and the two cousins slide into a booth together, looking like little stinkers.
Nick turns to me, shaking his head in amusement. “They’re up to something.”
“Yeah, they remind me of a couple of shitheads I once knew,” I whisper, as we slide in across from them.
“They sure do.”
Halfway through the meal, David clears his throat. “Uncle Finn. It’s time you get Zach a dog. I know all the rescues in the city, and I can help.”
Nick barks out a laugh then claps my back. “You’re so screwed.”
Yes. Yes, I am.
But I’m not a negotiator for nothing. “I still travel for work,” I remind my son. “I won’t be home all the time to take care of a dog.”
David nods, his expression serious. “But I don’t travel for work. Tiramisu can stay with Cynthia and me.”
I blink, confused for a hot second, then ridiculously impressed. “You already named a dog we don’t have?”
Zach sits up straighter. “It’s your favorite dessert, Dad.”
Nick covers his mouth but can’t hide the sound of his cackling. When my brother finally shuts up, I get a word in edgewise. “I have to go to Paris in a couple weeks,” I hedge.
“What I’m hearing is after Paris would be a great time.” David turns to my kid. “Are you hearing that too, bro?”
Zach gives David a matching nod, his gaze dead serious as well. “I definitely heard that.”
I drop my forehead into my palm and laugh.
Nick chuckles. “Good luck, Daddy.”
I look up, dropping the smile as I lock eyes with David. “But you better send me camping pictures. Got it?” I point to the chief troublemaker—my brother’s son.
David gives me a good soldier salute.
After we’re done eating, and David and Zach weave to the exit ahead of us, Nick says, “Like father, like son.”
“Yes. Your kid likes to stir the pot.”
Nick rolls his eyes. “I meant yours.”
“Yeah, that seems to be the case.”
I go home with my troublemaker, and I try not to make any more trouble of my own. I’ve got this guy to focus on, and that’s what matters.
A few days later, though, I receive a thank you note in the mail, and it makes me want to break all my promises.
The card is simple, with an illustration of a daisy on the front. Inside it says: Thank you. I can’t wait to wear them all.
It’s a miracle I don’t stalk over to her apartment that instant.