7. River
RIVER
For the past three days, Sloane and I have talked constantly.
In the morning, I usually text her sometime after ten since I’ve learned she’s really not a morning person.
She claims she usually gets up around eight thirty, but I’ve yet to see her even come close to that, and we spend the rest of the day talking on and off until one of us falls asleep.
Now it’s Thursday, which means our date is later tonight.
I’m not nervous or anxious, but something feels different.
I’m not thinking anything crazy like I’ve fallen in love with her after one high conversation, some sexual tension, and a few days of texting, but I’ll admit I haven’t thought about a woman like this in a long time.
There isn’t an hour that’s gone by that she hasn’t crossed my mind at least once, and I’ve even allowed myself to think about what it would be like to travel somewhere with her.
Okay, so she’s seventeen years younger than me.
Sure, that’s young, but is it that young?
Rowan is nineteen years older than Ellie.
So, if this becomes a thing long-term, it won’t seem so crazy in a few years.
I stare at myself in the mirror because this is wild. I can’t possibly be thinking about this girl in the long-term sense.
Me:
Can’t wait for tonight.
I text her and kind of wish I could take it back because did that come off too clingy? I grab the razor to finish touching up my beard when my phone vibrates, and her name pops up on my screen.
Sloane:
Me too. Been thinking about it all day.
At least it seems we are on the same page. My house is extra tidy due to a last-minute visit from my housekeeper, but I do another once-over, vacuuming a few rooms and making my bed in case we wind up back here.
My phone beeps again, and I’m already wondering what sassy or flirty text I’m going to get from Sloane when I see it’s not from her.
Unknown number:
You coming by tonight? It’s been a while, and I’m off at 10.
I have an idea who this is, but I scroll up through our conversation to be sure, and it is, in fact, a bartender from The Dugout, a bar I frequent. I have slept with her, so I’m guessing that she might be interested in coming over later.
A part of me thinks about ignoring the text, but I don’t want to be rude when she hasn’t done anything wrong.
Me:
Hey, I can’t tonight, but maybe this weekend.
Unknown number:
Sounds good. Hope you’re doing well. X
Another text comes through, but this one’s from Ellie.
Ellie:
Can’t wait to hear all the details about tonight!
I was actually surprised that Ellie hadn’t given me too hard a time about Sloane’s age when I told her.
Maybe because she could tell I kind of liked her after just one conversation.
I thumbs-up her text because I didn’t have time for the thousand questions that would inevitably arise like where we’re going and what I’m wearing.
I leave my house early, which is another sign I like her and might also be a little nervous because I’m notoriously always running five minutes behind.
I arrive at the restaurant in just under an hour, which is almost unheard of at this time of day during the week, but traffic was lighter than usual.
I find parking and make it inside, and I’m shocked to see Sloane already there waiting.
She looks gorgeous in a short white dress that makes her shapely legs look sexy as hell with a brown leather jacket.
Her blond hair spills around her shoulders in loose curls that I want to run my fingers through.
Her lips are painted a bright red, and I already know I’ll be struggling to keep my eyes off them.
“Hey, I didn’t think you’d beat me here,” I tell her as I pull her in for a hug.
“I was raised on ‘if you’re on time, you’re late.’” She chuckles. “But I haven’t been here long at all.”
“I’ll remember that for next time,” I tell her as I guide her to the hostess stand. “You look gorgeous, by the way.”
Her eyes rove over me in a way I’ve seen from women before, so I take it she likes my look.
“Maybe you can take me on a tattoo tour later,” she says as she traces her eyes over my exposed arms. The restaurant is pretty casual, but I still didn’t wear shorts, opting for dark jeans instead, so I’m sure she’s wondering where else I have them.
“You want to see if I have a thigh tattoo, huh?”
A smile pulls at her lips as she lowers her gaze to my covered legs. “Of course, you fucking have one,” she says as we follow the hostess to our table.
Almost four hours later, while leaving the restaurant, I grab her hand and pull her toward me to do what I’ve been wanting to do all night.
Since the flight, actually.
We’d only shared one pitcher of margaritas over the course of the night, so I wasn’t feeling anything other than the high of a great first date and the thought that I wasn’t letting her get away again without kissing her.
Her hand immediately goes to my chest as I cup her cheeks and tilt her face upward to meet mine.
“Thank you for coming out. I had fun,” I tell her just before I press my lips to hers.
She wastes no time opening her mouth, and I slide my tongue between her soft, pouty lips.
Her tongue meets mine, shyly at first before finding our rhythm, and then she meets mine with the same urgency, and I slide one of my hands down to wrap around her waist.
God, she tastes so fucking good.
She pulls back, allowing her lips to slightly rest against mine.
“Me too,” she says. It comes out breathy and so fucking sexy, I find myself wondering when I’ll hear it again.
Neither of us says anything else, while our eyes are still locked on each other, and her hands tighten around the fabric of my shirt.
Her large and gorgeous eyes have a hint of mischief in them. “Want to walk me to my car?”
We head down a side street that isn’t far from the restaurant, and I smile when she leans against a car because it somehow looks exactly like what I’d picture for her—a mint-green Volkswagen.
Vibrant and a little bit extra… just like Sloane.
She pulls me to her by the collar of my shirt, and our lips meet for the second time, but this time, it’s more passionate than before.
The street isn’t busy, and I take the opportunity to pour more into the kiss.
I cup her face as I press her against the car when I feel her foot against my ass, pulling me harder against her.
“Shit, Sloane.” I groan against her mouth.
“You’re so fucking sexy. Been thinking it since the moment I laid eyes on you at the airport,” I confess.
Her hands find my face, and she scrapes her nails against my jaw and over the stubble. “This is so hot,” she murmurs as she drags her nails across my face. “I love a man with facial hair.”
“You do, huh?” I want to tell her that I love a woman who looks and feels exactly like her in my arms, but she continues.
“And these.” She runs her hands down to my shoulders and arms and grazes her fingertips over my tattoos. “I want to see where else you have them.”
Our lips collide again, and my hand finds her ass while she continues to grind herself against me, and with this angle and the fact that she’s wearing a dress, I know she’s trying to create some friction against her pussy.
My fingers slowly slip underneath the dress she’s wearing, allowing me to feel the silk underwear resting against her ass.
Fuuuuck. My mind thinks because while a thong may have been sexier, there was something fucking erotic about the soft fabric that was keeping me from touching her soft skin.
I feel her one leg wrapped around me tightening, and then the tiniest fucking whimper leaves her lips.
“Get in the car, Sloane.”
She pulls back, her blue eyes wide, and I watch as her lips, shiny and smudged from our kissing part, and a soft sigh escapes her before she nods excitedly.
In less than a minute, we’re in her car, our lips attached as we make out over the console.
“Come home with me,” I say, and the begging in my voice is so fucking loud, but I don’t care.
I wanted her bad. I’m thirty-eight years old, and rarely does a kiss make me this hard, but something about Sloane made me feel almost out of control.
My fingers were itching with the need to touch her, and my lips wanted to trail down her body to taste the rest of her.
I was hard enough that I could fuck her right here in her car.
“Fuck yes,” she moans, “but touch me first.”
“Where, beautiful? Tell me where you want me to touch you.”
She grabs my hand and runs her tongue up my index and middle finger before dragging it down her body and under her dress to rest them between her legs.
I’m pressing my fingers directly against her covered slit now, and I slowly slide my fingers up and back against the fabric resting against her pussy. “Feel how wet I am.”
This girl was wild, and I fucking loved it. It’s not my first time with a girl in her early twenties, but none of them were this uninhibited and sure of what they wanted, especially when it came to sex.
I slip my fingers beneath her panties, and the second I touch her wet flesh, a noise comes out of her that I can’t even describe. Almost like a whine mixed with the moan that leaves a woman right before she climaxes.
Christ. I feel the soft curls trimmed neatly around her slit, and my mouth waters at the thought of dragging my tongue through them.
She’s so fucking wet, and our current location is the only thing that’s stopping me from discovering that fact with my mouth as well.
“Fuck,” I grit out. “You got this wet just from that kiss?” I chuckle against her lips.
“I’ve been wet since you mentioned your thigh tattoo,” she murmurs back, and my eyes snap open to find her smirking at me.
My dick throbs, thinking about her being wet over the fact that my tattoos turn her on. “I gotta get you off,” I grunt out. “Right the fuck now.”