Page 41 of The Waiter at Table 6

11

RYDER

We spend almost every day of the next two weeks together.

I don’t know what changed in her mind that day she invited me over, but ever since then, she’s been a new woman.

Or rather, she’s been herself.

The morning after our swim that skipped us over the line of friendship, I was entirely prepared for her to either redraw or cut contact entirely. For her to chalk it up to a momentary lapse, just another night when she got caught up in the heat of desire. I know why she did it the first time—hell, I respected her for it. Whether she did what she thought would better herself once, twice, a thousand times, I wouldn’t have judged her. Even if it would’ve cut me deeper this time.

So, imagine my surprise when, instead of waking up to another mutiny in her kitchen, I got a blow job and the offer of Belgian waffles.

I’ve kept things light between us. She hasn’t explicitly said that’s what she wants, but I didn’t think it was a huge assumption to make. Her marriage ended less than a year ago and it’s obvious she’s trying to focus on herself. Who am I to push for something serious?

Then again, she makes it really fucking hard. I want to spend all my time with her, get to know her better, make her laugh and smile, hold and kiss her. I just want more of her. And it’s hard not to blurt that out sometimes.

Admittedly, the sex is a good distraction. Especially when I walk onto her patio and find her sunbathing. Topless.

“Well, this is a nice surprise,” I say, sliding my sunglasses onto my head so I can stare at her shamelessly.

Goddamn, she’s gorgeous. She’s become more comfortable in her skin lately, wearing tighter clothes and less cover-ups. And she’s got a sway in her step nowadays. Whatever is in the water at that pole dancing studio, it has Vanessa feeling like every bit the siren I’ve seen her as since that first night.

She smiles, reaching her arms above her head as she stretches her body. “I was hot after class, so I went for a dip,” she purrs.

I can’t look away from her sun-kissed body, her skin glistening with sweat or oil or I-don’t-care-with-what. “Did it cool you off?” I manage to ask.

She bites down on her smile, slowly shaking her head.

I nod, as if that’s the end of this conversation. Walking over to the built-in fridge on the other side of the patio, I put away the ingredients I brought over for our at-home cooking date. And then I practically sprint back to Vanessa.

She doesn’t seem surprised when I place a knee between her legs so I can lean down and kiss her body. Or when I keep kissing her, because I become singularly focused on kissing every inch.

After a moment, I hear her chuckle. “Ryder,” she says, her tone admonishing as her hands sink into my hair.

“Just a quick one,” I murmur against her belly.

She huffs a laugh. “Just a quick what? Fuck?”

I grunt my disagreement as I move lower. “No. I just want to give you a quick orgasm.”

Before she can say anything else, I take the string of her bikini bottoms in my teeth. I’m not gentle about it, I simply yank on the string on one side, and then the other. When they’re both undone, I bite into the fabric and lift it away from her skin.

I love hearing her gasp when my teeth scrape against her pussy with the movement. In the next second, my mouth is between her legs, no barrier to dull the sensation.

With a groan, I set to work.

I could eat her for hours. It’s my favorite thing to do, every time. I can’t get enough of her taste, her moans, the feeling of her thighs tightening around my head when she comes. Even now, with my tongue swirling in quick circles over her clit and two fingers driving inside her, I know she’s about to come, and already I want to see it again. Once isn’t nearly enough.

But when I slide my tongue inside her and try for orgasm number two, she lets out a weak groan. “I’m too sensitive,” she whines. “I think you killed me last night.”

She pushes my face away, causing me to pout, but that just makes her laugh. When she sits up, it forces me to straighten into a kneeling position. I move, albeit begrudgingly.

But as soon as she creates the space, she’s flipping onto her hands and knees.

“Fuck,” I mutter, sliding my hand into her hair as she undoes my shorts.

I can only stare at the sight before me as she wraps her lips around my cock. She takes her time sucking me, with deep, slow pulls that drive me crazy. She takes me all the way into her throat before pulling back to the tip. It takes no time at all before my hips start moving.

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