I kiss him passionately, wholeheartedly, holding nothing back. When we kiss, our lips brushing together roughly, our bodies hot and close, there’s nothing complicated about this at all. He slides his hand up my leg, squeezing hungrily.
My core aches and pulses… again, not complicated. My nipples rub against my bra, tempting me.
He leans back, breathing hard. “If I don’t stop, I’ll take you right here. How thefuckdid I forget how good that curvy body feels, angel?”
My cheeks heat up, my heart picking up speed.
“Maybe we should wait for the stars to come out,” I murmur.
He nods, trembling a little. “Plus, we’re here for a date. I thought we’d watchFrida. It’s about?—”
“I know what it’s about,” I say, smiling. A famous surrealist painter. A movie tailor-picked for me.
“Have you seen it before?” he asks.
I shake my head.
He smirks, coming closer again, his warm breath whispering over me. “Why do I get the feeling you just lied to me?”
I mirror his smile and seal our lips. He groans, kissing me hungrily. “I want to watch the movie, big scary mafia man. Isn’t that enough?”
“I better not be big and scary to you,” he whispers, kissing me softly.
“Well, not scary. But big?”
He smirks. “Okay, I can take that.”
I rest my head against his shoulder, turning to the giant screen. “So, are we going to watch the movie or not?”
He turns and wraps his arm around me. “Like a normal couple.”
“In a movie lot you hired just so we could have it to ourselves…”
He kisses me on the top of the head. I love it when he does that. It makes me feel nestled in and safe. Special somehow. “Almost normal is as close as I’m going to get, angel.”
“I think that’s better anyway.”
I’m not sure how he does it, but exactly when we’re ready, the movie starts. Neither of us talks for the entire duration. It’s enough to just be together, to experience this journey about art and perseverance.
He finally turns to me, emotion on his hard-lined face. “You know what I’m going to say.”
“Don’t,” I whisper.
“She reminded me of you.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s insulting to her. She had it worse.”
“Maybe,” he agrees. “But her passion for art. Her dedication to it. Never giving up. That’s all you, Ava.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, moving slightly closer for a kiss.
I barely have to move. A twitch is enough for him to surge forward, claiming me with that ever-present hunger. It’s like it’s bubbling under the surface even when we’re just sitting together.
I feel it too, a tight ache between my legs, my clit rubbing hard against my underwear as though in protest.
“What now?” I ask.
He nods to the sky. “It will be getting dark soon. I’ve arranged for us to have dinner under the stars.”
