Perfect Strangers

18

Then he reaches around the table, grasps me by the arms, and drags me onto his lap.

He kisses me with a fierce desperation that takes my breath away. With one arm wrapped around my back and a hand gripped around my jaw, he eats me with kisses, his mouth hard and demanding, until I’m shaking and making soft noises of need low in my throat.

He breaks away, breathing roughly, and mutters, “Fuck.”

My fingers are clenched in the front of his shirt. My armpits are damp, my n*****s are hard, and there’s a throbbing ache between my legs. I’m dizzy and panting, my taste buds and nose full of him, my skin in flames.

Without opening my eyes, I whisper, “More. Please, more.”

He doesn’t hesitate. His mouth slides back over mine. Gentler this time, slower, but somehow even hungrier. He takes my head in both hands and makes fists in my hair, holding me still for his tongue to probe deeply as he takes what he wants and gives me what I need, his erection big and stiff against my bottom.

This time when he breaks away, he’s softly groaning.

And I’m about to explode with desire.

Someone clears his throat. “Ahem. Excusez-moi.”

My lids drift open. Standing beside our table is our waiter, smiling politely. He says something in French, pats the leather billfold he’s holding, places it at the edge of the table, and leaves.

I say breathlessly, “I think that’s our cue.”

James gazes at me, his face inches from mine, his eyes hazy and hot. He adjusts my body on top of his, using a belt loop in my jeans to pull me closer and a little lower, so I’m leaning back in his arms, my face tilted up toward his. I’m a purring kitten curled up in his lap.

He says in a guttural voice, “I’m not ready yet,” and takes my mouth again.

These kisses of his…they’re demanding and possessive. They’re hungry and deep. They’re the kisses of a man who wants more of a woman—who wants everything—and isn’t going to stop until he gets it.

I cling to him and tremble, knowing I’m going to give it to him. Knowing deep in my bones that whatever it is James demands of me, I’m going to give it, no questions asked.

He moans into my mouth. I arch into him, growing more desperate by the second, digging my fingers into his arms, then sliding my hands up around his strong shoulders so I can dig my fingers into his hair. All that thick, silky hair. And his neck—God, even his neck is beautiful, strong and hot, his pulse pounding wildly under my palm.

We slowly melt into each other, our lips fused, our bodies on fire, until I can’t tell where I end and he begins. He squeezes my ass and flexes his hips, breathing hard through his nose as he presses his erection against me and drinks deep from my mouth.

If he pinched one of my n*****s right now, I’d climax.

Another throat clearing, this one louder.

Breaking our kiss, James turns his head and glares at the waiter as if he’s going to kill him with his bare hands. He says something low and sharp that makes the waiter’s eyes widen and has him taking a step back. Then the waiter recovers his composure, sticks his nose in the air, and whirls around and leaves.

Reeling, I watch him stalk away. “I hope he’s not off to call the police.”

James presses a kiss against my jaw, another—firm and quick—against my mouth. “If people could get arrested for kissing in public in this country, the police wouldn’t have time to do anything else.”

He takes me with him as he rises, sets me on my feet—steadying me when I wobble—and pulls his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans. He throws a wad of cash on top of the billfold, then grabs my hand.

I barely have time to pluck my handbag from the back of my chair before I’m following James at a half run toward the front door of the restaurant, pulled along helplessly in his wake like a swimmer caught in a riptide, headed out into dangerous waters as the shoreline swiftly recedes.

Outside on the street, he hails a taxi with a whistle and bundles me inside. As soon as the door is shut and he’s instructed the driver where to go, we’re on each other again, frantic and grasping, as horny and hurried as two teenagers on a curfew, wild for each other, oblivious to everything else.

With a suddenness that’s shattering, he breaks away.

For a moment I’m so surprised, I can’t speak. When I do, my voice is a rasp. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Collapsing back into the seat on his side of the cab, he holds his arm out between us like a barrier. I’m not sure who he’s protecting, me or himself.

“Wait. Wait.” He swallows, gulping air and sweating, his hand shaking along with the rest of him. “We haven’t talked about—the rules—the terms you wanted—we didn’t go over any of that.”

I’m so bewildered I just stare at him as the city passes by the windows in flashes of light and color. “You want to talk about that right now?”

“I need to know…before we…I need to know what’s off limits. What’s allowed. What might drive you away—”

“Drive me away?” I repeat, growing more and more confused.

He just stares at me, his eyes wild, his chest heaving up and down. He appears as if he’s restraining himself from lunging at me.

His look of raw need is electrifying.

Whatever’s behind this hesitation, I understand instinctively that he won’t go any further with me unless I articulate what I want and don’t want from this situation.

From him.