Page 2 of Mountain Daddy

It feels like it takes ten years to walk ten feet. I feel his stare like a touch—skimming up my thighs, curling around my throat. Every step toward him feels like a countdown to something I can’t name but already want too badly.

My brain is short-circuiting as I close the distance to the table.

Is my hair sticking up?

Why does my nose suddenly itch?

Do I walk weird?

What do I even do with my arms?

By the time I reach him, I’m all jumpy breaths, pounding heart, flushed cheeks—the ones on my face—, and body screaming danger with a side of yes,please… .

Standing by his table, I stutter out, “G-good evening.”

Jesus. I can’t even talk in the presence of this Adonis. His bad boy vibes are giving Scarface movie set with a splash of prison sentence energy, unnerving, irresistible. I want to tear off those perfectly tailored clothes with my damn teeth.

They say instant attraction is a myth. Made-up tropes from romance novels.

They’re wrong.

I’ve never felt so instantly obsessed in my life.

He’s staring like he can read my thoughts. I place the menu down and commit the ultimate VIP service sin.

I hit his glass. Of very expensive wine. The glass goes onto the floor. The wine? Into his lap.

“Shit. Sorry—I—I—Oh my God. Sir, I’m so sorry.”

I back away, mortified. My face goes from bright red to plum red.

I have to fix this before Trish finds out. I bend to pick up the glass from the floor, and freeze. What the actual hell…

A sudden cold breeze assaults my inner thighs, splits directions to go straight between my ass cheeks while the other side cozies right up to God.

My black thong feels sheer, invisible, non-existent.

I’m kinda turned on by the feeling, and I kinda want to run. Then I remember I have an audience of one.

Don’t panic. It’s fine. He saw nothing. Accidents happen.

I stand up ram-rod straight, refusing to make eye contact. I can do this. Big girl panties. Well… almost panties.

He clears his throat.

I face him.

Our eyes lock.

Oh yeah. He saweverything.

The world goes still.

No music. No movement. Just him, staring like he owns me.

We skipped dating and went right to domination in my mind.

Like he’s already undressed the rest of me and likes what he sees—he’s hungry for it.

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