It’s likely nothing could render my cock useless after watching her make me dinner in that dress and those heels. And it’s not the bubbly making the show erotic.
It’s simplyher.
And a smidge of the bubbly.
Definitely a smidge of the bubbly.
To include the third bottle that I opened in the limo on the way here.
I hiccup.
Bea smiles, and it’s so charming and ridiculous at the same time. How is one woman’s smile more charming than another’s?
“Eat, Simon,” she says.
I lift the corn dog and study the one dog that appears to be three. “Do you make burgers—hic!—on sticks too?”
Her low, throaty laughter makes me temporarily forget where I am. “I’ll look into that.”
“What about your chips? Do you intend to place them on sticks too?”
“I’d have to charge extra for a basket of fries on sticks.”
She bites into a chip and smiles at me again.
My lightheadedness goes lightheaded and my horniness grows hornier.
I want to lick her dimples.
I want to lick her dimples and her lips and her neck and her—dear god, whathasthis bubbly done to me?
The bottle stares at me.
I frown back at it.
It giggles conspiratorially.
“Do I have to feed you?” Bea leans across the table and pushes my hand toward my mouth, the warmth of her fingers and palm making my skin want to lick her skin too. “Eat the corn dog.”
That’s an excellent idea. But I wave my three corn dogs at her.
My one corn dog.
Just one. One that looks like three. “I only eat if someone tells me a secret.”
“You need a dinnertime secret?”
“Yes.”
“Do you need bedtime stories too?”
Ah, bedtime.
My favorite topic. “If the correct—hic!—storyteller is present and naked.”
She shakes her head and shoves the corn dog straight to my lips.
“Secret first,” I say against the fried dough.
