Chapter Five
Austin
There's no way I'm surviving this date. It's not physically possible when Serena's dressed for war in the sexiest dress and highest heels I've ever seen. Acres of olive skin are on full display, her lips painted ruby red.
I jerked off twice before I left the house, and my dick is already straining against my fly like he's trying to escape.
"Jesus H. Christ," I mutter, trying to get my shit together as my gaze drifts up and down her perfect body.
One dark brow lifts. "Is that a compliment or a complaint?"
"Definitely a compliment," I growl, reaching for her hand to tug her forward.
My lips brush her cheek, her lilac scent swirling around me.
I'm not strong enough for this. I already fucking know it.
Her ass may damn well end up on the news again before the end of the night. "You look beautiful, baby."
"Thanks." She places one hand against my chest, her lips curving upward as she meets my gaze. "I thought torture was appropriate, given the situation."
"It's fucking working," I growl. "I'm so goddamn hard, it hurts."
"Poor baby," she coos, her expression savage. "Guess you'll just have to get used to chafing."
"Or we could skip dinner, and I could eat you."
"Mm." She taps her lips, pretending to think about it, before a bright, savage smile spreads across her gorgeous face. "Nah. I think torturing you for a few hours sounds like more fun for me."
"Then you haven't been properly eaten, Serena."
"Guess you'll never know," she says sweetly, grabbing a clutch from her credenza before stepping outside and pulling the door closed behind her. "Let's get this over with, Austin."
Get this over with? Oh, hell no.
I don't give her a chance to turn away. I back her up against the brick wall of her building, caging her in with my arms, my body pressed to hers.
She looks up at me like I'm genuinely going to eat her alive, and I want to do it. Right here and now.
"What are you doing?" she asks, the question nine kinds of breathless.
"Let's get one thing straight, princess," I say, my lips brushing her ear, my voice low enough that only she can hear it. "This isn't punishment. You're going to have fun. Don't make me make you come right here to prove it."
She gasps, her breath stuttering, her body melting against the bricks behind her.
She's a contradiction—fiery, defiant, and yet so fucking soft when I touch her.
I want to tear that dress in half and make her scream, but I resist the urge, because as much as I want her in my bed, I actually want this date.
I want to see what happens when she lets herself forget the photos and just have fun. I want to see what she does when she realizes just how much she wants me.
"This is a date, not torture," I say, nipping at the soft skin of her throat. Christ, she tastes so goddamn good.
Her hands ball in my shirt, her nails biting through the fabric. "Back up," she orders, but the words are breathless, her eyes dilated with desire.
"Not until you admit you want this." I press closer, letting her feel exactly how much I want her. "Tell me you want to go out with me, Serena. Say it."
She clings to dignity for exactly half a second. "Austin, dammit—"
"No, baby." I run my mouth down her neck, nipping and sucking at her skin. "I want to hear you say it. I want you to want it more than you want to breathe."
She whimpers, the sound shooting straight to my cock. "Fine," she breathes, her voice breaking. "I want to go out with you."
I place a gentle kiss on her throat, a silent reward, then pull back to smirk down at her. "See? That wasn't so hard."
She glowers at me, her breath coming fast, her hair a little wild. "Has anyone ever told you that you're the devil?"
"Yeah," I say. "Pretty sure you have a few times now."
"Good." She straightens her dress and strides past me, her ass swaying in the red silk. "Because it's true. You're the devil, Austin Hawkes."
I watch her go, more than willing to play the devil for her.
I follow, keeping a respectful distance because even I know when to quit while I'm ahead. For now.
Her heels click down the sidewalk, her ass swaying with every step. She doesn't turn until she hits the curb, and then she waits with her arms crossed, looking at me like she's daring me to start something.
"Where are we actually going?" she asks, her tone skeptical.
"You'll see."
"That's not ominous at all." She narrows her eyes. "If you take me to a strip club or a sports bar, I will murder you and hide your body in the Potomac."
"Tempting, but no." I hold out a hand, waiting for her to take it before leading her to my truck.
"Jesus Christ." She stops dead, gaping at the truck. "Of course you drive a monster truck."
A loud laugh rumbles from my lips. "A monster truck?"
She waves a hand in the direction of my truck. "That thing, Austin. It's obnoxiously giant."
"It's a regular-sized truck."
"Yeah, for regular-sized giants," she scoffs, stomping toward it. "I swear to God, if my ass ends up on the internet again while I'm trying to climb a beanstalk into this damn thing, I will kill you."
I shake my head, chuckling as I pop the door open and then lift her inside. "Anyone ever told you that you have frighteningly violent tendencies?"
"What? You think I watch hockey for the fun of it?" She quirks a brow at me, smirking. "Please. I'm in it for the bloodshed in the boy aquarium."
"Boy aquarium?" I arch a brow, leaning across her to fasten her seatbelt. "What the fuck is a boy aquarium?"
"A hockey rink looks like a fishbowl because it's surrounded by glass, and we get to watch pretty things inside it."
I stare at her like she's lost her mind. "That…actually makes so much sense." I mean, not the pretty things bullshit, but the rest of it.
She just smiles in response, placing her little clutch on her lap. "I'm aware."
I shake my head, slamming her door. Jesus Christ. Getting tackled by her at Stu's was, quite possibly, the best goddamn thing that ever happened to me.
"Impressive," she says an hour later, one brow arched as she glances around the upscale steakhouse, taking it in.
Candlelight bounces off the mirrored walls, casting a hundred reflections across the dining room.
Salted char and rendered fat from the grill cling to the air, turning every breath into a whole sensory experience.
"You really expected a strip club, didn't you?" I tease, taking a sip of water.
She holds her thumb and forefinger a few centimeters apart, smirking mischievously.
"One of these days, you'll change your mind about me," I murmur, meaning it as a joke, but it comes out more serious than intended.
I could pull it back, but I decide to let it ride instead because, yeah, I do want her to change her mind about me.
I'm not the asshole she thinks I am. I'm just the man willing to play hardball to earn a spot in her life.
Manufactured scandals are survivable. Been there, done that. Will probably do it a thousand more times before I retire. But not taking chances when the chances matter? Well, that's not an option, not with something this important.
She stares at me for a long moment before grabbing her glass like it's a lifeline. I watch her throat work as she sips, my cock twitching.
"You never did tell me why you were at our party," I murmur when she sets the glass down.
"I did. Reasons."
"What reasons?" I growl, genuinely curious how someone like her ends up at a party she clearly didn't want to be at with athletes she wants nothing to do with. I know her well enough by now to know she wasn't just feeding me a line. She genuinely doesn't give a shit about football.
"Fine," she groans. "I was supposed to meet someone at the party to discuss a possible modeling gig. The woman in charge of the campaign was supposed to be there." She huffs out a breath, rolling her eyes. "Obviously, I ended up modeling my underwear for the internet instead."
"You want to model?"
"Not really." She shrugs one shoulder. "But I do want to pay my bills, so I occasionally take jobs when the right ones present themselves."
My brows pull down, a frown tugging at my lips. "Why the fuck can't you pay your bills?"
She glowers at me in response, her entire body rigid. "This is one of the most expensive cities in the United States, and not all of us make millions of dollars to play a professional sport, Austin. Some of us have to hustle to survive."
Fuck. I don't like the sounds of her having to hustle to survive at all.
I open my mouth to offer to pay her bills, and then immediately snap it closed again, already knowing the odds of her kicking my ass for even suggesting it are astronomical.
She's independent, fierce, and she still doesn't trust me much.
If I offer to pay her bills, I won't gain any ground here.
I'll simply lose what little I do have. But make no mistakes, I will be fixing this shit. Pronto.
"What was the job?"
"A bridal designer needed a plus-size model." She takes another sip of water. "I guess I fit the bill."
"What the fuck?"
Her lips curve into an amused grin. "Oh, so the thought of me in a wedding dress terrifies you, huh?"
"No. But you calling yourself plus-size pisses me off."
She blinks wide eyes at me.
"Your body is fucking perfect."
"I happen to agree, but the rest of the world hasn't quite caught up yet," she murmurs. "We're all supposed to aspire to be skinny."
"Yeah, fuck that noise," I grunt. "Your curves keep me so hard, I've chafed my cock, Serena."
Of course our waiter chooses that exact moment to materialize. That's just my fucking luck with her.
She shoots me a death glare, her cheeks bright pink, when he clears his throat, one brow shooting skyward. But he recovers quickly, pretending he didn't hear a damn thing.
I order a rare steak and a bottle of wine, then wait for Serena to look over the menu.