“Hungry?” she asks innocently, sliding a menu toward me.
“Starving,” I mutter, not looking at the menu. Not looking at her. Looking at her is dangerous.
“The burger is supposed to be good,” she offers, as if we're just two normal people having a normal conversation.
I finally glance down at the menu, not really seeing the words. My brain is too busy cataloging everything about her—the way her collarbone peeks out from that slouchy top, how her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip as she studies her own menu, the soft tapping of those red and white nails against the table.
“Good evening, folks.” A server appears beside us, notepad in hand. “Can I get you started with some drinks?”
“I'll have another glass of the cabernet,” Hennessy says, gesturing to the half-empty wineglass in front of her.
“Whiskey, neat.” I barely look at the server, my eyes drawn back to Hennessy despite my best efforts.
“And are you ready to order, or do you need a few minutes?”
“I'll have the burger,” Hennessy says. “Medium, with extra pickles.”
“Same,” I grunt, handing the menu back without looking at it. “Medium rare.”
The server nods and disappears, leaving us in a silence that feels too heavy for the space between us. Hennessy doesn't seem bothered by it. She just picks up her glass, taking a small sip before setting it back down and tapping her nails against the stem in a slow, hypnotic rhythm.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Red and white stripes catching the dim light of the lounge.
She's not looking at me now. Her eyes drift to the window, watching the snow pile up against the glass. Then she scans the room, taking in the other guests—her eyes tracking the few other people trapped here with us. Hersilence is somehow worse than if she were teasing me. It feels like she's waiting for something, and the anticipation is making my skin crawl.
I want her next to me. Not across the table where I can only look, not touch. I want her pressed against my side, her thigh against mine, close enough that I could slide my hand under her clothing without anyone noticing. Close enough to feel her breath hitch when I whisper all the filthy things I want to do to her.
But I can't have her. I shouldn't want her.
I repeat this to myself like a fucking mantra as I watch her fingers dance along the stem. I shouldn't want her. I can't have her. I shouldn't want her. I can't have her.
It's bullshit, and I know it. I've already had her. I've already tasted her, already claimed her. And I want to do it again. And again. And again until I've fucked her out of my system or died trying.
The server returns with our drinks, setting them down. “Your food will be out shortly,” he says before moving on to someone else.
I shift in my seat, adjusting myself discreetly. This is fucking torture.
“Snow's getting worse,” she finally says, still looking out the window.
“Looks that way,” I respond, grateful for the mundane topic. “They're saying we could be stuck another night.”
She hums in acknowledgment. A small drop of red clings to her lower lip, and she catches it with her tongue in a quick, unconscious movement that sends heat straight to my groin.
“You're awfully quiet tonight,” she observes, tilting her head slightly. The movement causes her hair to cascade overone shoulder, exposing more of her neck. I can see the faint mark I left there, barely visible but definitely there. “Something on your mind, Coach?”
Everything. You. Your body. Your taste. The way you felt wrapped around my cock. The sounds you made when I filled you up.
“Here we are,” the server announces, appearing with two plates. He sets them down with a flourish. “Anything else I can get for you?”
“We're good,” I answer before Hennessy can speak.
The burger looks good—thick patty, melted cheese, toasted bun. My stomach growls in appreciation. I've been running on coffee most of the day, and my body is demanding actual fuel.
Hennessy picks up her burger with both hands, those nails framing it like a fucking Christmas present. She takes a bite, and the sound she makes is practically pornographic—a low, appreciative moan that goes straight to my dick.
“Oh my god,” she sighs, eyes closing briefly. “So good.”
