Chapter 7 Pretty Boy, I Like Your Mouth
Pretty Boy, I Like Your Mouth
Sawyer was working the next night, so it saved me having to explain where I was going. In the past, he hadn’t cared if I dated, but I had a feeling he would care about this one. And I didn’t want to be talked out of it.
I already knew it was stupid. But Thorne was so hot, I wasn’t thinking straight. Besides, it was just dinner.
Surely, he would say something offensive and stupid enough it would snap me out of the dick-notism and then I could cut the guy off, block his number, and never see him again.
That probably wasn’t the best mindset going into a date, but I needed to guard myself. Otherwise I’d end up on my back in his bed in no time, and then probably taxidermied when he was done with me.
He’d texted that we could meet at the local Mexican restaurant, and I appreciated that he'd picked something within walking distance. And frankly, it had the best reviews in town for a reason.
Out front, Thorne climbed out of a shiny black SUV. He looked around and smiled when he saw me, and my heart did a treacherous little flip-flop. Sighing, I crossed the road to meet him.
“I’m glad you came,” he said, going in for a hug.
Stiffening, I braced for him to touch me, but he paused, reading my body language. Dropping his arms, he laughed awkwardly and jerked his head toward the restaurant door.
“Hungry?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Rubbing my hands over my arms, I walked to the door, Thorne beside me. He held the door open, and I walked into the warm, homey restaurant.
Golden light glowed from the lanterns hanging above each table. Papel picado banners hung across the ceiling in every color. A hostess led us to a booth, and I brushed my fingers over the vermillion tablecloth as I slid in.
Thorne settled across from me, his head swiveling as he took in the colorful space.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere like this before,” he said.
“What?” I paused, frowning as I watched his face for any clues that he was lying. But why would he lie about that?
“I mean, I’ve had Mexican food. My mom used to make some incredible tamales every year at Christmas. But I don’t eat out much. This is pretty cool.”
“This place is one of my favorites, actually. It’s not always this decorated though, but it is almost Día de los Muertos.”
I pointed to the marigold flowers tucked into the brick-framed windows beside candles. Someone had painted monarch butterflies on the glass of the windows.
“If you don’t mind me asking, is your family Mexican?”
I smiled at Thorne. “I don’t actually know. I grew up in a group home, but they told me I was probably mixed Latina, so I took Spanish in school. I didn’t want to sound like an idiot if I ever met any family members.”
Thorne’s smile softened. I waited for him to ask the prying questions people usually asked following that revelation, but he stayed quiet.
The waiter placed chips and salsa in front of us. He waited until I ate one before picking one up and trying it.
“I hate to say it, but it’s definitely better than my mom’s version.” He laughed lightly.
“I make a mean salsa,” I admitted. “It was something of a special interest growing up.”
“I’d love to try it,” he said, his brows rising in a sweetly hopeful expression.
My throat thickened, and I stuffed a chip in my mouth to avoid answering.
The waitress arrived, and I ordered chimichangas de camarón, and Thorne asked for the same. I cocked an eyebrow. “Did you just copy me again?”
“I want to know what you like. Plus, if you like it, it’s probably really good,” he explained.
Shrugging, I said, “It is. Hopefully you like shrimp.”
“I do.” His eyes crinkled again, and I felt myself softening.
He was so damn nice, and I couldn’t peel my eyes off his face—those dark stormy eyes, the cut of his jaw, the line of his shoulders. That was, until he hunched forward and the muscles of his neck and shoulders flexed with the movement.
Geez, this guy must live in a gym.
“So how long have you worked at the farm store?” he asked, shaking me out of my stupor.
“About three years, almost four,” I said, taking a sip of the margarita our waitress set in front of me. I’d asked her to make it half-strength because I needed my wits about me. “What do you do?”
Thorne paused and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, my family kinda owns a business.”
“Kinda?”
“Okay, they own a business. But my parents are gone, and my grandfather just passed leadership over to my brother. Well, honestly, it was more of a hostile takeover, in my opinion.”
“So what are you doing in town?” I asked, raising an eyebrow as I took another sip of the sweet-and-sour drink.
Thorne pressed his lips together for a moment before answering. “I couldn’t stay there with him in charge.”
“You guys don’t get along?”
Thorne shook his head. “Never.”
“That sucks. I always wanted a sibling, but I guess I always assumed we’d get along. Sorry.”
He gave me a regretful half-smile. “Yeah, it’s okay. So I couldn’t deal with him any longer, so Cole and I took off.”
“Are you and Cole..?”
“Um, Cole worked there too.” His voice got slightly higher when he said it, just like it had when he first said his family owned a business.
I didn’t think he was outright lying, but he was definitely holding back information. And it was none of my business.
“So just coworkers?” I asked, probing.
“Cole and I have been best friends our entire lives,” he said, his tone deepening as he relaxed.
“What did you do for the company? Management?” I asked, imagining him with a silver spoon, a corporate nepotism baby.
“Security.”
“Really?” I said, eyes widening. “Like watching-a-wall-of-security-cameras security?”
“Sometimes. But I can fight,” he said, showing me those straight, white teeth again. They were sharper looking, just like Sawyer’s.
What was it with hot guys and pointy teeth? He ran his tongue over his teeth, and I nearly drooled.
“Like, you know karate?” I joked, trying to think of anything to say other than “pretty boy, I like your mouth.”
His brows furrowed, and he opened his mouth to answer my awkward question, but I was saved by the waitress returning with two identical plates. Thorne thanked her, and I grabbed my fork, starving.
He seemed to like to watch me eat, because again, his eyes tracked my first several bites. It should have been weird, but the idea of him watching my mouth turned me on. Basically, everything this man did turned me on. It was dangerous territory.
Unable to help myself, I lifted my gaze to meet his eyes as I pulled my fork from between my lips. Heat sparked in his eyes, and I swear they had a hint of a glow to them. Thorne licked his lips, and I shifted in my seat, crossing my legs.
What was I doing? I wanted him to repulse me so I could move on, get him out of my brain. But instead, my skin grew hotter, need swirling in my gut.
Thorne leaned over the table, reaching out and wiping a smudge of sauce off the corner of my mouth.
That contact sent sparks through me, lighting up my entire body like a fucking jack-o’-lantern. It took a moment to remember how to breathe.
I watched, rapt, as he sat back and popped his thumb into his mouth. Thorne simply smirked and took another bite of his food.
“Good?” I asked.
His tongue flicked over his lips, and I melted, remembering his tongue in my dream last night.
Fuck, I wanted to experience that in real life.
“Delicious,” he said, his unbroken eye contact communicating that he didn’t mean the dinner.
It should have been the cheesiest, most cringy moment ever, but I didn’t care—I wanted him. Badly. All rational thought had fled, and I was in feral mode.
“Let’s take it to go,” I suggested.
No hesitation.
“Hell yes.”
Thorne signaled our waitress and handed her a stack of twenties. She returned a moment later with two boxes in a bag. Before I could reach for them, Thorne looped his fingers through the handles.
His other hand pressed to the small of my back as we exited the restaurant. It might have looked like a gentlemanly gesture, something a sweet boyfriend would do, but that single touch had me on fire.
As we stepped onto the street, his fingers slipped between my pants and shirt, stretching over my bare skin like he was desperate to touch more of me. The last of my cognitive function went up in a blaze.
At his SUV, I spun, grabbing his shirt and yanking him to me.
His hand stayed under my shirt, now gripping my waist, his thumb stroking up and down over my ribs.
He dropped the bag of food to the ground with a soft thud so his other hand could cup my neck and slide into my hair.
The firm tug of fingers at the nape of my neck had me moaning as our mouths crashed together.
Our dream kiss had started softly and grown more passionate, but this real kiss started at a full-out frenzy. His lips pressed to mine, the slide of them as he devoured me coaxing a second moan. As my mouth opened, he slipped his tongue in, tasting me.
Our bodies pressed together, hands roaming, squeezing, massaging. I needed this man naked, right now. Moving to his belt, I shoved his shirt up, running my fingers over a muscled torso that flexed under my touch.
He broke our kiss, gasping.
“We are in public, Vixen.”
“I don’t care,” I growled, moving to kiss his neck. His skin vibrated under my lips as he groaned.
“I don’t want anyone else seeing you like this,” he said, pulling back. “And I intend to take my time with you.”
Anticipation prickled over my skin, my body singing at his touch and his dominant words.
“So get in the car, love.”
He opened the door, and I slid inside, swaying slightly in my seat as he circled the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat. As soon as he confirmed my seatbelt was buckled, he pulled onto the road.
Streetlights zipped past, and I didn’t even have the presence of mind to ask him where the hell we were going. As long as we had enough privacy and he was willing to fuck me senseless, I didn’t give a shit.
The engine thrummed as he pressed the gas pedal and we accelerated. Energy sparked under my skin, and I couldn’t just sit there squirming in my seat.
Thorne’s profile was outlined in the glow of passing lights. He had a straight, Greek nose, lucious, full lips, and thick lashes under his heavy brows. Working corporate security seemed like a waste of such a sculpted face.
My fingers danced along the top of his thigh, and he leaned his head back against the headrest, his eyes narrowing on the road.
“Autumn,” he warned.
“Thorne,” I purred. Slowly, my hand skimmed up to his waist, and down to brush over the noticeable length in his jeans. Through the thick fabric, I could feel the outline of him. “You got a steel rod in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?”
My touch grew firmer, and he let out a noise between a whine and a growl. The car jerked. I grabbed his thigh, the shock of it breaking through my lusty haze. Thorne slammed on the brakes and threw us into Park.
“It’s private enough,” he growled. “The back windows are tinted. Get your ass back there.”