Page 20 of Last First Time
“No drink?” he calls from the bar.
“No drinking while doing official paperwork, Kade. That’s the first rule of fight club.”
He appears in my doorway, still grinning and holding that big box with the naughty ribbon around it. “That is definitely not the first rule of fight club.”
“Shut up so I can work, Rich Boy.” I really am almost done, thank goodness. That tempting lure of the giant present box is killing me even more than the tall, hot guy who brought it to me.
He tucks his hand in his pockets, letting his hip rest against the doorframe and that massive box dangle precariously from one arm.
“And don’t drop my present. If it hits the floor, so do you.” I give him my squinty death glare this time, the one that gets even the rowdiest men to pay up and get out.
But Kade laughs at me. “I’d like to see you try it, sweetheart.” I scrunch the heavy desk chair back a little way, but he waves me off. “Not until you’re done with the work part. We have all night for everything else.” The heat of his voice sends a chill across my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.
His eyes light up as they drop to my chest, where my tight, hard nipples are straining at my t-shirt that reads Toodaloo Muthafuckas. Because a bartender wearing a shirt fromThe Hangoveris hysterical, duh.
His gaze is almost as good as his touch, but not enough. I want him again, his hands and mouth all over me. He’s like a drug that I’ve become addicted to, and I am more than ready for another fix.
“All that’s left is bank statements. I’ll need to go the bank, in person, and have them certified.” I stretch my arms overhead, twisting my neck into a head circle movement. Yes, I know it looks sexy, even when I’m sitting down and feeling grouchy and tired. It’s the type of movement that reeks of sex. Belly dance is sexy all the time forever, and that’s the entire point.
When I meet his gaze again, I almost lose my poise at the level of heat in his sharp blue eyes. “Present first,” he rasps out.
Unbelievable. I am obviously ready to hop on him and am even giving him sexy dance moves, and he’s still trying to call the shots here. I slide up from my chair and do my best sexy walk over toward him. My hand latches around his tie, and I can hear him swallow, hard.
“You sure, Rich Boy?” I undulate my hips barely a few inches away from him, where I can see that he is already hard for me.
“Please, Kar. I need to know that you like it.”
“Oh, I like it,” I purr, and then rub myself shamelessly against him. He is so hard that I know he probably hurts, and that somehow turns me on even more. “I like it so much, Kade.”
He sucks in a sharp breath. “You’re killing me, Kar. Please.” He sounds like a man who is suffering. I love it, and I want more of it. When he wants me this badly, it’s an aphrodisiac unlike anything else.
“Well, since you asked so nicely.” I grind up against him one last time, a slow hip circle that leaves both of us short of breath. “Let me see what’s beneath this pretty ribbon.”
He moans something that was maybe words once but turns into nothing more than a sound of deep lust in this moment. Yes, please. But first, the present.
I slide the red ribbon between my thumb and first finger. It feels like sin and a night full of naughty times. I want him to wrap the ribbon around my wrists, tugging them up and attaching them to the headboard. And then he would tug and loosen the ribbon at exactly the right moment, exactly as I do, opening the box. I give him a very meaningful glance and let the ribbon drop onto my chair.
And at long last, I put the oversized box on my desk with a grin, then rip the top off because I waited so much longer than I wanted to for the present part of the evening. Distracted by dick again. When I see what’s inside, my mouth drops open. “Oh my God, Kade. What did you do?”
It’s a ballgown, so apparently, he has been entirely serious about that actual date in public part last night. But it isn’t some frou-frou debutante type ballgown. He brought me a heavy metal ballgown: leather corseting, a black lace overlay, a scandalously high slit up one leg. It’s perfect, as if he pulled the best possible dress from my imagination.
“You can’t be serious,” I mutter.
“I’m always serious, aren’t I?” He hasn’t moved from the door frame, watching me carefully as I inspect the merchandise.
I snort in an extremely unladylike manner. “You’re hardly ever serious with me and you know it.” I caress the buttery soft leather and the chrome colored eyelets for the corset top. “It’s too much. People are going to get the wrong idea about us.”
He clears his throat. “As long as they stop talking about seeing me as a useless playboy, then that’s a big win for my entire campaign.”
“They’re going to talk about us. They’re going to know wonder if you’re really dating me and why now.” Fear at being so publicly exposed for the choices I make about my sex life leave my voice tight and high.
“They’re going to talk about us, yes. But they already talk about me, and I don’t care if everyone in town knows how lucky I am to be on a date with you this Friday.” He gives me a sharp look. “Nobody would ever believe I was lucky enough to have you finally say yes to my eight millionth request for a date.”
“I think it’s only been like six million pathetic requests, you manwhore.” I lick my lips, tracing the elegant curves of the dress. “Do you want to see it on me?”
“Only if I get to take it off you too.” He gives me a dangerous look again.
I giggle at him. Ugh, I never giggled until we started this whole stupid thing together and now all I do is laugh and smile all the time. What is this man doing to me? “I suppose that’s only fair. You basically own the gown, so you get to decide when it comes off.”
