Page 66 of Sunshine
I roll my lips because he’s got me, and it makes me want to smile. “Especially the hat.”
Dylan’s grin is young and cocky, his quirked eyebrow flippant and fun. “Knew it.”
He steps forward and I freeze, stunned into stillness by the animated statue that is Dylan Davenport. With a mouth that curves with sexy arrogance, he removes my bag from my shoulder and sets it on the floor, then takes my hands and leads me to the table. Once he pours a flute of sparkling wine for each of us, he plucks a strawberry from the basket and holds it up to my lips.
I open my mouth to accept it, but he pauses with the fruit hovering just out of reach.
“I know we didn’t talk about this,” he murmurs, eyes on my mouth. “And we’re not… This isn’t… I don’t expect anything.”
He grimaces like he just heard his own words and how odd they sound coming from a man wearing so little he might as well be naked.
I gaze up at him, the strawberry inches from my tongue, every fiber of me humming at his offer of forbidden fruit. “I know.”
“Tonight is about you,” he says. “And it doesn’t have to mean anything. It can be one night if that’s what you want.”
There’s a question in his voice like he wants one of us to draw a line. But I think of the texts we’ve been sending over the last week, the image of his orgasm sprayed across his stomach, and I can’t find the willpower to walk away.
“I wantyou,” I tell him.
The corner of his mouth lifts a little. “Open wide.”
I open my mouth and wrap my lips around the strawberry, biting into the ice-cold fruit and closing my eyes as the tangy sweetness explodes on my tongue. When I open them again, Dylan’s gaze is hot on my mouth, and it grows hotter as he watches my throat work with my swallow.
“Good?” he asks.
“Delicious.”
Dylan lifts my chin with a single finger and runs the tip of his tongue over my top lip. “Now it’s my turn to taste you.”
I part my lips as he dips in for a kiss. His mouth is soft and tender, and his tongue strokes deeply once, twice, and again before he stops and smiles against my mouth. “Thank you, Sunshine, but that’s not what I meant.”
Sunshine. He called me Sunshine. And it feels like the sun itself just rose inside my chest.
Dylan unbuttons my cardigan and pushes it off my shoulders. When he slips his cool fingertips under the hem of my t-shirt, I shiver and lift my arms so he can peel it off. Next to go is my bra, and I moan quietly as my nipples furl in the cool air.
“These keep me up at night,” Dylan says as he circles his palms over the pierced, tingling peaks.
Hot, heavenly zips of electricity spark in my clit, and I close my eyes. Dylan tweaks one, then the other nipple before he closes his mouth over one silver bar and plays with the side still bare. My knees tremble as my pussy throbs, and he grips my hip with one firm hand to steady me, looking up from my chest with a satisfied glint in his eyes.
“You like my tongue on you?”
I watch his lips move with words instead of kisses and let a little of my petulance sound in my reply. “Yes.”
Dylan slips a hand between my legs to cup my pussy outside my jeans, rolling his palm against me and coaxing out a needy whimper. “Yes,Chef,” he murmurs.
He squeezes me hard, and I groan, eyes floating closed again as I lift on my toes and scramble to put my thoughts in some kind of order. “What?”
“This is my restaurant.” His voice is low and firm as he massages the seam between my legs, and when I open my eyes to better understand what he wants from me, he moves his fingers to the waist of my jeans so he can undo the fly. “And in my restaurant, you sayYes, Chef.”
My breath hitches, and I latch onto his shoulders as Dylan pushes my jeans past my hip bones. “Yes—Ah!” He slips a finger into the side of my panties and runs it along the fabric, sweeping his touch between the wetness clinging to me and the damp spot in my underwear. “Yes, Chef.”
“Good girl.”
He kisses me again, longer this time, then drops his forehead to mine and closes his eyes. “What do you taste like, Penelope?” he whispers, and his use of my full name sends a shiver up my spine. He kisses me with a slow, languishing, open mouth that saps all strength from my muscles. “Sweet like sugar?” Another kiss, and I moan. “Rich like honey?” A kiss so good I never want it to be over. “Sharp like citrus? Salty like summer sunshine? Like vanilla and cherries and sex?”
He kisses me one last time and then cups my face. “Here’s whatIwant: you naked on this table so I can spread those thighs. I want to eat you so hard and for so long, you’ll never forget the first time you came on my face, and I’ll never forget the first time I had the flavor of you on my tongue.”
Dylan meets my eyes and holds me there with his stare alone. The stark hunger in it buckles my knees for real, and I brace myself with one hand on the edge of the table.
