Chapter 20 #2
Around us, the room settles into its rhythm. Someone laughs too loudly near the bar and is gently shushed by Sam’s presence alone. A woman at a nearby table glances over, curious, then looks away when Derek’s attention never leaves me.
“You’ve seen my house,” he says. “That gave you a head start.”
“I didn’t mean to analyze it,” I say.
“I know,” he replies. “Which is why I want to know you on purpose.”
He leans back slightly. “Tell me something about yourself that has nothing to do with work.”
I hesitate. “That’s broad.”
“Good,” he says. “Take your time.”
I think for a moment, mostly because he’s watching me like the answer matters.
“I eat sugary cereal,” I say finally.
A corner of his mouth lifts. “That’s not a confession. That’s an invitation.”
“The embarrassing kind,” I add. “Straight from the box.”
“Which one.”
“Cinnamon Toast Crunch.”
He nods slowly, like he’s filing it away. “That makes sense.”
I smile. “And you?”
“Granola, as you know. The Cheerios I keep a secret, especially from Alex..”
I wait.
“The honey nut kind… with bananas,” he says. “I’m not a monster.”
I laugh, surprised by how easy it comes out. The sound feels too loud in my own ears, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. If anything, he looks… pleased.
“That’s very on brand,” I say.
“For someone you barely know?”
“You’re predictable in specific ways.”
“Careful,” he replies. “I might start testing that theory.”
The wine tastes rich and warm, settling easily. Conversation drifts without effort—small things at first. The kind of things you don’t realize matter until you hear them out loud.
“What do you do when you’re not being responsible?” he asks.
“I read,” I say. “Too much. And I collect things that don’t match.”
“I noticed,” he says.
That catches me. “You noticed?”
“The way you notice things,” he says. “Nothing feels accidental. It just doesn’t try to match.”
“I like things that don’t belong together,” I admit.
He considers that. “I like things that know where they go.”
Marisol returns with the food, setting the plates down with quiet precision. Derek watches my reaction when I take the first bite.
“Well?” he asks.
“It’s perfect,” I say.
He looks satisfied—not smug. Just quietly pleased he got it right.
As we eat, he asks more questions. Not rapid-fire. Thoughtful. He remembers my answers, circles back to them later, like he’s building a picture instead of checking boxes.
At some point, I realize I’ve stopped paying attention to the room.
Stopped noticing who might be watching.
All my focus is on him. On the way he leans in slightly when I speak. On the way he waits.
When the check comes, it feels too soon.
Outside, the night has cooled. The city hums lower now, like it’s winding down.
Derek slips his jacket over my shoulders, fingers brushing my arm just briefly before he lets go.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
“I know,” he replies. “I want to.”
And for the first time that evening, I don’t question what that means.
He puts the car in park but doesn’t turn it off.
The engine hums beneath us, a low vibration that feels suddenly intrusive. The street is quiet. Too quiet.
I turn toward him.
“Thank you for dinner,” I say, and it sounds like an excuse to stay.
His eyes drop to my mouth. “You’re welcome.”
The kiss is slow at first. Testing. His hand comes up to my jaw, thumb brushing my lip like he’s checking permission before he takes more.
When he deepens it, his tongue dipping in, tasting. My breath catches. I shift closer without thinking, my knee brushing his. His hand slides to my waist, steady and firm, anchoring me there.
The windows fog slightly.
I make a small sound against his mouth, surprised by how fast the heat builds. His kiss changes—less careful now, more intent. He follows my reaction, adjusts, presses closer when my breath stutters.
My fingers curl into his jacket, then slip beneath it, exploring. Feeling him tense under my touch makes something flare low and sharp inside me. I lean into that reaction, encouraged.
His mouth drops to my neck. “Audra,” he murmurs, like he means it.
He lifts me over the console so I'm straddling his lap. I can feel his hard cock immediately. I need to touch him.
We kiss again. He undoes my pants, sliding his hand inside. No pause. No waiting. Just taking.
My head tips back. His hand moves with purpose. First one finger, then a second sink into me. I'm so wet it's embarrasing. He moans, so I think he likes it.
He explores, takes his time, finds exactly what makes my breath hitch, what makes my body respond. He doesn’t rush it. He watches me. Pays attention.
I'm not a selfish lover. I unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. My hand makes its way into his boxer briefs. He's hard. Thick. Long. Pulsing. ]
I do my own experimenting, wrapping my hand around his length, stroking up and down. He groans when I cup his balls, then his body twitches when I stroke him harder. He's losing control as he starts to thrust my hand.
"You're so fucking hot, Audra. Fuck my fingers. Let me feel you come."
The car feels smaller now, warmer, filled with the sound of us breathing and the quiet urgency between movements.
I'm there before he is, the orgasm rushes through me. Pure bliss. I cry out and clench around his fingers. That's enough to have him erupting in my hand. We both keep the pleasure going until we're spent.
I'm a bit lightheaded, enough to make me laugh softly when I realize how breathtaking that moment was.
He rests his forehead against mine afterward, breathing evening out, hand still warm in my pants.
“You okay?” he asks, low.
“Yes,” I say, still catching my breath. “Very.”
Then his hand moves.
He reaches into his jacket pocket and brings out a handkerchief. White. Crisp. Already unfolded.
He looks into my eyes when he cleans his come off my hand.
"That's so fucking sexy," he says. His eyes stay on me, steady and heated, like he’s claiming the sight instead of averting it.
When he's finished, I take that handkerchief and shove it in my purse, like I'm hiding the evidence or something. He just smirks, but something else flares in his expression. Possessive. Satisfied. Like he knows I’ll feel this later.
"That was… unexpected," he murmurs.
I nod. Look over at him.
"What I'm going to do to you when I get you in my bed…" he trails off.
He places a chaste kiss on my lips.
“Good night, Audra.”
“Good night,” I manage.
I step out of the car still flushed, still very aware of myself—and of him watching until the door to my house closes.
He drives away knowing exactly what he left with me.