Page 18 of Torrid Passion
“I’m okay now. Thank you.”
“Wow. You’re a bundle of nerves tonight.”
She cocks her head to the side, the redness gone, replaced by something in her eyes I can’t quite read. “You have no idea,” she says in a pleasingly low voice.
Don’t go there.
I firmly put away any curiosity about what she’d sound like when she climaxes. It’s for the best. If I don’t carefully tuck Kyla O’Keeffe into the mental compartment labeled baby sister’s best friend, my cock may accidentally end up in her pussy.
And that can’t happen.
“If you’re here alone, you’re in luck. So am I. Care to join me?”
She studies me for a beat. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”
I extend my hand as an invitation.
She slides onto a stool and I do the same.
“I must look like a hot mess after all that coughing,” she says opening her black clutch. She pulls out a small gold mirror and checks her reflection.
I watch, completely mesmerized.
In a city where blondes abound, Kyla’s dark brown hair stands out. I also like how she doesn’t wear colored contact lenses to change the rich color of her eyes. She’s a natural beauty. You can tell not a thing on her body or face is enhanced. Not even her lips. Thank God.
She runs her index finger under her eyes. Her lashes are so thick and full. They flutter like the wings of a butterfly. She then traces the outside of her plump lips, wiping away a fictitious smidge.
And help me God if my mind doesn’t drop into the gutter faster than an elephant drops from the sky. Images of me kissing those lips flash in front of me. I’d give her nude color lipstick a good reason to be all over her face.
Fuck.
“Okay, I look decent again.”
I don’t answer. I can only smile.
She drops the mirror back into her clutch, snaps it shut and drops it on the counter. She crosses her legs, revealing the iconic red soles of her shoes and a peek of the smooth skin of her thighs.
Jesus Christ. Did Kyla O’Keeffe always have legs like this?
I wonder if she’s hiding black or hot pink lingerie underneath her sexy outfit.
My cock twitches at the thought.
Damn—
What’s wrong with me?
I will myself to stop devouring her with my eyes, but when I drop my gaze to her feet, it’s a lost battle.
For God’s sake.
Those open toe heels are going to make their way to my already bulging spank bank. Same goes for those perfectly painted toes. Navy blue might be my new favorite color.
“I’m all yours,” she smiles.
If she only knew how dangerous those words are.
“I’m honored,” I say simply. “And for the record, you could never look like a hot mess. The woman sitting next to me is the complete opposite. Elegant. Poised. Refined.”
