When I opened the door, I let out a small gasp. Dustin was shirtless, shoeless, and sockless, though he still had on his khaki shorts from our golf outing.
He seemed surprised to seeme, which was precious.
“Hey,” I managed to squeak out, though I was sure my voice sounded gargled.
“You made it,” he pitched back to me.
He was holding a carton of chocolate ice cream in one hand, and a spoon in the other. With his eyes locked on me, he spooned a big bite into his mouth and pulled it out slowly, leaving a little bit of chocolate on the spoon.
It was the silliest thing I could ever picture him doing.
It was also the hottest.
“I guess I missed dessert,” I breathed.
He furrowed his brow and waved me inside. The penthouse was massive. It was like something out of a movie.
The door shut behind us, and Dustin led me down a spiral staircase to what I guessed was the main floor.
“Why would you say that?” he asked.
“Uh, because you’re already eating ice cream, obviously.”
He let out one soft chuckle. “Oh. You were thinking ice cream for dessert?”
I set my purse on the kitchen island countertop and turned around, my ass pressed into the marble. “Well, it seems like the obvious choice.”
Without saying a word, he took a big scoop of chocolate ice cream from the carton. “Open up,” he said.
I opened my mouth and he spoonfed it to me.
“Damn, that is good!” I exclaimed. “What flavor is that?”
“Chocolate Mousse. It’s the best.”
I cleared my throat. “So ... I’m confused. Why don’t you have a shirt on?”
He smirked. “Because I didn’t want to get dessert on my shirt. I’m a messy eater.”
“Oh. Well, I think you did get a little dribble of chocolate right there.” I pointed at his chest and fingered a tiny drop of melting chocolate, then licked my finger.
He watched me as I did.
“There,” I said. “I’ll clean up your dessert for you.”
He took a step toward me and palmed my cheek. I put my hand on his side and felt his hot skin. “I think you’re confused, Kit Cat. I didn’t take off my shirt because I was afraid of the ice cream I’d get on it. I was afraid of something else.”
“Oh? What’s for dessert then? Do you have a cheesecake hidden away in that refrigerator, too?”
“I was talking,” he said, and slowly ran his hand down my side. “About you. You’re my dessert.”
He set the ice cream and spoon down, and my heart began to race so fast, I worried it might explode.
“Oh,” I swallowed. His lips and eyes were hypnotic, and I felt heat building between my legs. “I see.”
My insides flipped as his hand wrapped around my outer thigh. He pulled me up by my hips and sat me on the kitchen counter. My legs hung off the counter, and the marble felt cold on the underside of my legs, but Dustin’s hands were hot in contrast.
We kissed and he tasted like chocolate mousse. Or I tasted like chocolate mousse, or we both did.
