“Does the same concept apply to foreplay and sex?” I murmur, my voice sultry.
Normally, I’d stumble over such an intimate question, but Walker’s speech about not being afraid to take up space gives me the courage to be bolder and more playful.
“You ever heard of edging?” Walker’s voice is so low I have to move in closer, our mouths nearly touching.
I shake my head. “No.”
“It means bringing you to the brink of climax repeatedly, stretching the anticipation until you’re trembling and begging for release.” His warm breath brushes against my upper lip as he speaks. “And when you’re finally given permission to let go, the pleasure will be beyond anything you’ve ever experienced.”
I have a sinking suspicion he’s spot-on, and the handful of times I’ve been close to bringing myself to orgasm pale in comparison to what he’s describing. I’m clinging to his every word—suspended between restraint and surrender. Every nerve ending is alive at the thought of him holding my pleasure in his hands, controlling every touch, every tease.
Our gazes remain locked, and neither of us has moved, teetering on the edge of a scorching-hot kiss that, unfortunately, never comes.
Walker and I both startle when the concession worker shouts, “Next.”
We step apart, and I notice we’re the last ones left in line.
“You lovebirds planning to order, or are you too busy giving each other googly eyes?” he drawls, amusement edging his tone.
“We’re experts at multitasking.” Walker moves to the window and rests his elbow on the steel counter to get a better view of themenu. “We’ll take an order of nachos and cheese, a soft pretzel, a side of fries, two bottled waters, and a bucket of popcorn. Toss in some mustard packets, will you?”
Normally, I’d bristle if a man ordered for me, but with Walker, it’s kind of hot watching him take charge—especially when he chooses exactly what I would have, right down to adding mustard to dip my fries in. We’ve spent plenty of time together over the years, but I never expected him to notice such minute details like that.
The cashier jots down our selections on a small notepad. “Wanna add any candy to your order?”
“No thanks,” Walker says, turning toward me. “Unless you want something. I know you love licorice, but they only have Twizzlers. Don’t worry, though—I stopped by the grocery store earlier and grabbed Red Vines since they’re your favorite.”
“You remember my favorite candy?”
At this rate, I’m in real danger of melting into a puddle from all of his thoughtfulness.
“How could I forget? Last summer, I was buying my mom a hummingbird feeder, and when I got to the register, I found you doing a happy dance because they’d started stocking Red Vines.”
“I could never resist the opportunity to celebrate my favorite candy,” I answer with a wistful smile.
I remember that day vividly. My mama had taken a nasty fall the night before, leaving my dad and me shaken. Thankfully, she didn’t break anything, but I was distracted at work. As ridiculous as it sounds, spotting our favorite candy on the shelf made me happy, reminding me that I’d still get to see her after my shift—and that she’d be as okay as possible given the circumstances.
What truly made that day so special was Walker buying me a pack, claiming he’d never seen anyone as passionate about anything as I was about Red Vines, and he wanted me to enjoy them. His sweet gesture was a bright spot in an otherwise roughweek, and I’ve always wished I could thank him properly for turning an ordinary candy into a memory I got to share with my mama—one I’ll never forget.
“That’ll be twenty-seven dollars and fifty-two cents,” the cashier says, pulling me out of my memories.
“I’ll cover this one, since you got the tickets,” I tell Walker, rifling through my tote for my wallet.
I pause and look up when he rests his hand over mine. “Not a chance, sweetheart.Alwayslet the guy pay. If he ever suggests going Dutch or asks you to pick up the tab, run.”
“Preach,” the cashier chimes in, sounding as invested in our conversation as I am.
Walker takes out his wallet and hands the cashier a fifty-dollar bill.
“Keep the change, kid.”
He blinks. “Seriously?”
“Consider it a thank-you for helping me teach my girl that a gentleman always pays,” Walker says.
“Shame you’re not a gentleman,” I whisper so only he can hear.
“Definitely won’t be one when our next lesson starts.” He winks.
