“How do you know there was ahe?”
“Same way I knew there was a he behind your being in Mexico alone. Is it the same guy?”
I push out a breath. “Yeah, but I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Good, because he’s old fucking news anyway. Do you need to go straight home?” he questions, changing the subject.
Looking at the time on the dashboard, I blink. It’s close to eleven-thirty. Way past my usual quitting time, but my body still buzzes with adrenaline. I shake my head. “No.”
“Good, let’s take a drive.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask where we were driving to, but I refrain. I don’t need to know the plan. I don’twantto know the plan. I just want tobewith Emanuel.
“What are you thinking about?” He makes a right, heading toward one of the main highways leading out of the city of Williamsport.
“How good it feels to be with you,” I say honestly.
He gives me a quick glance, and I see mischief in those eyes of his.
I gasp when he hits the gas pedal and his Mustang begins picking up speed. I giggle.
“What’s that about?”
I turn to him. “I knew you’d have a car like this.” I pause, making sure I want to verbalize my thoughts. “I imagined what kind of car you drive, how you decorate your apartment, all of that.”
“And you pictured a Mustang?”
“Either that or a Thunderbird.”
“That’s on my list to get whenever I buy a home with a garage to fit both of my babies.”
I laugh, tossing my head back. “I should’ve known.”
There’s silence for a little while but not an uncomfortable silence. It’s one that doesn’t need filling. I lower the window to get some air even though it’s fall and the night temperatures are dropping. I watch as we pass a sign on the road that says “Leaving Williamsport.” We continue driving into a more secluded wooded area. Emanuel picks up speed.
“Do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Lift up your dress.”
My breath hitches and I go to ask him if he’s serious but the look in his eyes tells me he absolutely is.
“Emanuel, I can’t,” I say.
“All you have to do is use your hands to bunch up the sides of that dress, show me those sexy little thighs of yours.”
I swallow the lump of lust and tension that has formed in my throat. I don’t even realize what’s happening before I look down and see my hands doing exactly as his instructions dictated.
“That’s it, butterfly. Pull it up to your waist.”
I do so, lifting my hips to pull my dress up until it bunches at the sides of my waist.
“Bikini cut panties. Sexy,” he growls. “Put your hand into them.”
Never would I have ever imagined myself doing something like this with a man I was technically on a first date with. At least, our first date here at home.
“Is she wet?”
