Page 30 of When It's Us
Her eyes meet mine briefly. “Do you even eat salad?” she asks, quieter now.
“’Course I do.” I pick up the little cup of dressing and dump it all over the salad. Then I pick the fork back up and dig into her salad. “Just eat the burger. Fries too,” I say around another bite that I’m going to have to gag down.
Seriously, we are not paying for this.
She exhales again but picks up a fry and bites into it. I swear her eyes almost roll back in her head. It reminds me of the little sexy faces she makes when she comes.
“Good, right?” I ask and try to push that mental image from my mind. The last thing I need is a fucking hard-on in the middle of this diner.
Too late.
Hesitantly, she nods, the tiniest twitch to her full pink lips before quietly admitting, “I haven’t had fries in years.”
I cock a brow at her. “You’re kidding, right?”
She bites her lip and then ducks my gaze like it’s the most embarrassing admission she’s ever made.
“Here,” I say, swiping an extra-long fry off the plate. I dunk it in the milkshake, then hold it out to her.
“What?” Her expression is uncertain as it dangles in the air between us.
“You’ve never dunked your fries in a milkshake?” Jesus, where has this woman been living, under a rock?
Her expression turns a little uncomfortable, before she quietly admits, “Not since I was about ten years old.”
The ice cream at the end of the French fry is about to melt right off, so I pop it into my mouth before swiping up another.
“Then it’s long fucking overdue,” I say around the bite and dunk the fry, holding it out to her. When she moves to take it, I pull it back.
“Close your eyes and open your mouth,” I tell her.
Her spine stiffens, and she glances around the diner. No one is paying us the least bit of attention, but it’s like she’s afraid to relax, just being in the moment for fear of what other people will think. It’s different. Normally she’s so full of snark and sass it’s weird as hell seeing her all sheepish and almost willing to comply. Almost.
She shakes her head again when she looks at me. “You’re not feeding me.”
“Come on, California. It’s a French fry. Live a little.”
She leans her elbows on the table, mirroring my position, eyes hesitant. “Why?”
I nudge her foot under the table. “Just close your eyes and open for me.”
She inhales sharply. I didn’t mean it to sound like that, but her eyes stay locked on mine for a couple beats too long. Like the weight of this moment might be a promise of something more. Like I’m asking her to trust me with something deeper.
Christ. It’sjusta French fry. So why does it feel like a dare I’m not sure either of us is willing to take?
With one last assessing look around the diner, she lets her eyes slip closed, her lips parted a bit.
So this is what she looks like when she actually lets go of some of the control. Fearing I might lose my chance, I reach forward and touch the ice cream-coated fry to her bottom lip, smearing the milkshake a bit.
She startles at the cold, but the tip of her tongue darts out to taste the cool ice cream before she takes the fry into her mouth.
Filthy fucking images slam into my mind, and I have to fight the groan that works its way up my chest. It’s her own groan ofpleasure that has my dick jerking to life in my pants under the table. Images of her taking my cock so perfectly in her sweet mouth flash before my eyes.
She runs her tongue along her lips, and my eyes drop there, wishing I could taste her.
What is with me?
She hums as she chews and then swallows. “Can I open my eyes now?”
