One glance up.
He’s licking grease from his thumb.
My hips jerk. I bite my lip so hard I taste blood. Slide two fingers inside myself. Eyes on him.
Fuck my own hand to the rhythm of his jaw working that burger.
It takes maybe thirty seconds. I’m that far gone. I come hard, thighs clamping around my wrist, breath fogging the driver window. A strangled little whimper slipping out.
When the stars clear from my vision, I peel the ruined panties down my legs. And tuck the warm, wet lace right between the pages of his Juliet notebook like a pressed flower made of sin.
Page marked with my scent, my come, my victory.
A perfect mirror for his gift.
Let him open that notebook and drown in me.
Let him jerk off with my panties wrapped around his cock and my taste on his fingers while he reads my dinner invitation.
I catch my reflection in the window.
Flushed. Wrecked. Dripping.
Vitaly would gently wipe my forehead. Make me tea. Ask if I’m okay.
Reid would take a picture and use it as evidence.
Vitaly is cream and safety.
Reid is gasoline and danger.
That’s why need them both.
Completing flavors.
I leave the Tic Tacs on top like a cherry on his mental breakdown, spritz the driver’s seat with my perfume.
Crotch height, obviously
I smooth my dress, fix my lipstick in the rearview, and stroll out bare underneath, air kissing every sensitive inch of me like a promise of what’s coming Wednesday.
At my car I drop the coat. Pink dress, no bra, nipples staging a full revolt. Lipstick fresh.
I stroll past to table like I own the sidewalk and every dirty thought in his head.
Drop the Heath bar right on his precious case files.
His eyes snap up. Recognition. Hunger. Panic.
All in one delicious second.
I steal an onion ring, bite slow while I hold his stare.
“Checkmate in two, Detective.”
He cocks his head. Confused.
That’s right lover.
