“What?” I say.
“You can’t do that,” he says. His voice is rough, strained in a way that makes my stomach flip.
“Do what?”
“Make those fucking sounds while you’re eating,” he shifts in his chair, adjusting himself under the table. “I don’t want a fucking boner while I’m trying to eat dinner.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “Oh, as if.”
“Feel it if you don’t believe me.”
I stare at him.
He stares back, dead serious, with that cocky challenge written all over his face.
I wipe my hand on my napkin, then reach under the table. My palm lands on his thigh first, then I move upward, pressing my hand against the front of his jeans.
Sure enough, he’s hard. Straining against the denim.
“Well,” he says, his voice dropping lower. Darker. “While you’re down there...”
I yank my hand back and slap his arm. “Not now. You bought me dinner, and your cock isn’t going to stop me from eating it.”
He laughs.
I take another bite of my burger on purpose, keeping my eyes on him.
He tosses a few fries into his mouth and chews casually. But his eyes are still dark, still watching me.
“Your mouth should be fucking illegal,” he says after a moment. “The sounds you make. The way your lips wrap around that burger. It’s obscene.”
“Then stop watching.”
“Can’t.” He takes a drink of his Coke. “You’re too pretty when you eat.”
I roll my eyes but I’m smiling. I can’t help it. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re sitting there moaning over a burger when you could be moaning on my cock instead.”
“Romantic.”
“I’m a romantic guy.” He grins. Shameless. “What can I say?”
We keep eating. The banter flowing easy between us. Filthy and exactly what I need after the day I’ve had. He makes another comment about my tongue. I tell him where he can shove his opinions. He suggests I shove them somewhere else entirely. I threaten to finish his fries, but he pulls his plate closer and guards them possessively.
By the time we finish our burgers and fries, my sides hurt from laughing. My face hurts from smiling. The heaviness that’s been sitting on my chest all day has lifted just enough that I can breathe again.
I wipe my hands on my napkin one last time, then stand.
His eyes follow me. Curious. Hungry.
I climb into his lap and straddle him, with my hands resting on his shoulders.
“Now,” I say, my voice low. Teasing. “Where was I?”
His hands find my waist immediately. Grip tight. Possessive. “Pretty sure your hand was on my cock.”
I lean in, my lips brushing against his, barely touching. “Right. I remember now.”
