Page 9 of Date with A D*ck

As he pulls back, his eyes hold mine for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, a silent reassurance passing between us. Then, with a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth, he straightens, turning on his heels with a casual confidence that makes my pulse quicken.

Seconds later, his engine growls to life, the low rumble filling the lot as his tail lights glow red against the pavement. I follow suit, slipping into the driver's seat and gripping the wheel, the warmth of his kiss still tingling on my lips as I pull out of the parking lot behind him, his car leading the way through the quiet night.

The road stretches ahead, bathed in the glow of Tomas’s tail lights. My hands tighten on the wheel as my mind drifts, despite my efforts to keep it anchored. The warmth of his touch, the weight of his body, the intensity of being with him on that desk—it all lingers, like embers refusing to die. It scratched an itch I didn’t even realize had grown so sharp, but instead of extinguishing the hunger, it ignited something deeper, something harder to ignore.

I take a deep breath, trying to focus on the road, but another thought claws its way forward—Henrique. My chest tightens at his name.Why now?He hasn’t called, texted, or even pretended to care since he left, and yet, here I am, letting his absence take up space in my head. Guilt curls low in my stomach, unwelcome and sharp, like a shard of glass I can’t quite dislodge.

No.I shake my head slightly, as if the movement could physically dislodge the creeping guilt. Henrique chose to disappear from my life. I’ve spent weeks in limbo, waiting for him to show he cared, and he didn’t. He doesn’t deserve this space in my mind.

But then another wave hits—trepidation, this time. The hum of Tomas’s car ahead seems louder in the silence of my doubt.Am I crazy?I’m following a man I barely know to his house. My pulse quickens, and not in the good way.What am I doing?My fingers hover over my phone, and before I can second-guess myself, I type out a quick text to EJ:

"Following the chef home. Don’t trip. I’ll fill you in later."

As I hit send, I can already imagine her reaction. Her words, her tone. The way she’d probably tell me I’ve lost my damn mind. Without hesitating, I flip my phone to "Do Not Disturb." I can’t risk her calling me, her voice tugging at my better judgment.

The scenery changes, and soon, Tomas’s car slows, his blinker cutting through the dark. I follow as he turns onto a long, winding driveway flanked by trees that sway gently in the night breeze.

My pulse thrums in my ears as the house comes into view—a modern, sprawling structure with sleek lines and walls of glass that glow warmly from the lights inside. It’s stunning, like something out of a dream.

Tomas pulls up in front of the house, parking effortlessly before stepping out. His figure is framed by the soft glow spilling from the porch lights, confident and calm as he glances back at me. My car rolls to a stop behind his, and for a moment, I sit there, gripping the wheel. The car door swings open, and he’s there, hand extended, a quiet command in his presence. His fingers brush mine as he helps me out, his touch firm yet gentle. Without a word, he gestures for me to cut the engine, his gaze steady, urging me to follow. I do.

Grabbing my purse, I trail him toward the house, the sound of our footsteps blending with the night air. The door opens with a soft creak, and the warmth of his home envelops me—a blend of amber lighting, rich wood, and a subtle, intoxicating cologne that seems to linger everywhere.

“A drink?” he asks, his voice smooth, like velvet against my nerves.

I nod, swallowing against the flutter in my chest. “Sure,” I manage, my voice not quite as steady as I’d hoped.

He moves effortlessly, his presence commanding even in the simplest of tasks. The clink of ice against glass, the crisp scentof lemon, and the faint splash of liquid fills the air as he crafts a drink with practiced precision. When he hands me the lemon drop, his fingers graze mine again, sending a spark skittering up my arm.

I take a sip, then another, the sweet-tart drink sliding down far too easily. Before I know it, the glass is empty, my courage bolstered by its contents.

“There’s no need to be nervous, I won’t bite” he murmurs, stepping closer, his breath warm against my temple. His voice dips, a low, resonant hum that wraps around me. “Unless you want me to.”

His words shift, melting into something lyrical and foreign: “Eu quero te agradar, não te machucar. Eu prometo cuidar de você.”

I don’t know what he’s said, but his tone is a promise, a caress, and a question all at once. My pulse quickens, and the only response that comes to mind is yes—a resounding, unspoken yes.

He takes the glass from my hand, his fingers brushing mine deliberately this time, a touch that lingers as he sets it on the counter. Then, without hesitation, his hand finds the small of my back, guiding me through the softly lit hallway.

The air thickens with anticipation as I follow him toward a room I can only assume is the bedroom. His steps are unhurried, his movements purposeful. I offer no resistance.

I’m not thinking about consequences, or guilt, or anything beyond the heat of his touch and the promise in his eyes. Tonight, I am his, and I’ll let tomorrow handle itself.

MIGNARDISES

Tomas

Her breath hitched the moment my fingers grazed her collarbone, soft and deliberate, as if the slightest pressure might shatter her resolve—or mine. The warmth of her skin beneath my touch was electric, a current that shot straight through me, igniting something primal and undeniable. Her lips parted, and though she said nothing, the soft rise and fall of her chest spoke volumes. I leaned closer, close enough to catch the faint, intoxicating scent of her—something sweet and elusive that made it harder to think clearly.

I let my breath skim her ear, lingering there just long enough to feel the subtle shiver it drew from her. “Say my name,” I murmured, my voice low, rough with a desire I didn’t bother to hide. Her pulse fluttered at her neck, quick and unsteady, and I fought the urge to press my lips there, to feel her reaction in every beat against my mouth. Instead, I let my hand drift upward, slow and deliberate, trailing along her arm and savoring the way her skin seemed to come alive under my touch.

When I cupped her chin, tilting her face up to meet mine, her eyes locked with mine, wide and searching. In that moment, the air thickened, every noise around us fading into nothing.All I could hear was the sound of her breathing mingling with mine, uneven and charged. My chest tightened, caught between the pull of restraint and the overwhelming urge to close the gap between us. Her lips were so close, parted just enough to drive me mad, but I didn’t move. Not yet. I wanted to make her wait, to feel the same exquisite tension that coiled inside me, daring one of us to break first.

“Tomas,” she whispers, barely audible.

I summon all the strength I still possess to move away from her, but never taking my eyes away from hers and begin to undress. She watches me intensely, not missing a single movement that I make, her breathing becoming more and more shallow. It isn’t until I am naked before her that she snaps to the realization that she is still fully clothed.

“Don’t,” I command when she moves to take her dress off. Dropping to my knees, I let my hands glide along the curve of her calf, the smooth skin warm beneath my touch. Her heel rested lightly in my palm as I lifted her foot to my chest, the weight of it grounding me.

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