I pull on the hem of my dress. I almost forgot my panties were in his pocket. The thought turns me on. “Well, I was kinda thinking maybe we could continue more of what we were going to do in the elevator. I think doing more of that before my heat would help me with feeling more comfortable about having my heat here.”
Griffin leans in, pushing a strand of my hair away to whisper in my ear. “Where would you like me to continue eating that delicious pussy, Emily? Your place or mine?” A chill runs up my spine. I've never been with a dirty talker before, and I find myself enjoying it exponentially.
“Maybe yours? Maybe getting used to places outside of my comfort zone will help?” He leans in and places a feather-light kiss below my ear.
“Let’s get your coat and our phones from the front desk. Do you have a car here?”
“No, I took the T.”
He grunts and ushers me to the concierge, where he collects my purse and his phone as well as my jacket. He holds out the black peacoat for me, and I gingerly place each arm in. The girl at the front desk hands him a parking voucher and we head out the front door. One thing I will never get used to in New England is just how cold it gets during the winters.Not my favorite. However, I enjoy a nice comfy day by the fire with hot cocoa wrapped in a warm blanket.
I shiver as the cold air hits my skin, and Griffin puts a protective arm around my shoulder for warmth. We walk around the corner and he stops in front of a rather swanky car. I know next to nothing about cars, but it looks expensive. It's matte black with a sleek tan interior. He opens up the passenger door for me and I take a seat as graciously as possible. Once Griffin takes his seat, he starts the ignition and a warm burst of air hits my cheeks.
“Do you want the seat warmer on?” he asks me.
“Oh, yes!” What can I say? I like warm, cozy things. He chuckles and turns the seat on for me.
“Are you hungry?” My stomach grumbles at exactly that point.
“Er, yeah,” I reply. It’s like he is finely tuned into my needs...
“Do you want to sit down and eat, or get take out?” If we sit down and eat, the more time between when I get to sit on top of him, so with that logic...
“Takeout sounds great.”
He smirks at me like he knows my exact thought process.
Before we go anywhere, he pulls something up on his phone and starts clicking away. “I ordered the sweet potato ravioli as an appetizer and Bolognese for myself. Pick anything you want.”
I look over the menu, and this is not my typical takeout food. Most of these entrees cost next to forty freaking bucks! The gnocchi with the short ribs, mushrooms, and gorgonzola is calling my name. I quickly add that to the cart. Unable to help myself, I click over to the dessert menu.
“Oh, they have a special dessert! cherry-misu...like tiramisu, but with cherries. Do you like cherries?”
He lets out a little laugh. “Emily, I fucking love cherries. Add it to the cart, sweetheart.”
I quickly add the dessert to the cart and click the checkout button. He must order from here a lot because his credit card information is already saved.
“Thank you for dinner.” I smile over at him, and he pulls out of the Heat Haven parking lot.
I look out the window and fidget with the hem of my dress throughout the ride. Thankful for the seat warmers at this very moment, my behind is extra cold with no panties on. Not that I would have wanted to put those soaking wet things back on. I wonder if he intends to keep them.
He drives down Somerville Avenue and I’m starting to get nervous about where Griffin lives. While this is the direction to get back to my place, I highly doubt Griff rents a condo near Logan Airport.
I like Boston a lot, I truly do, but during January it’s pretty depressing. Sad little mountains of dirty snow riddle the sidewalks and everyone is in a perpetually despondent mood. There is truly only a small sliver of time where the snow looks pretty in Boston and that's between when it falls and rush hour traffic. Once Griffin takes a right instead of a left when we pass by Mass Gen, I know exactly where he lives. Does he live in freaking Beacon Hill?
My curiosity is piqued. I don’t know anyone who can afford Beacon Hill unless they’re a part of a pack with multiple incomes.
I clear my throat, “So, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m an intellectual property attorney. I’m also extremely good at investing my money. My house, though, if that's what you're wondering about, was purchased by my grandfather in 1978. So, don’t give me too much credit for living here.”
I wince, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to judge or pry.”
“Don’t worry about it. I want you to feel comfortable asking me anything. How about you? What do you do for work?”
“Right now, I’m a nanny for an Alpha couple. They don’t live too far from here.”
“Do you enjoy being a nanny?” he asks, eyes still on the road, looking for a place to park so he can grab our food. With the mounds of snow piling up on the road, street parking is a nightmare.
