There goes my clit again. Can I have it surgically removed? Not permanently. Just while I’m around Reed to carry out this plan to see what the FBI knows about the crimes I’ve committed against my will. Then I’d like my clit back in working order. Perhaps a numbing cream would work, assuming such a product exists. Probably some BDSM thing. It’s worth a web search.
He digs into his pasta, which also looks divine. Hungrily, I watch him chew, my lips parted and tongue dancing.
Hungry for a taste of him? The pasta?
Both.
The scent of nirvana wafts straight into my nostrils. My vision falls to the deliciousness in front of me before I force them to return to the bossy grump across the table.“What’s it to you, anyhow, Mr. Dirty Dimples?”
Ignoring the term ofunendearment I’ve bestowed on him, he finishes his first bite and dabs his lips with a napkin. “Lila, I’ve watched you starve yourself and eat like a bird since you were a preteen. It’s maddening to see you suffer needlessly.”
Hmm. Not exactly a fan of how it feels knowing he’s paid attention to my eating habits over the years. My emotions riot inside me, shock brawling with shame and... affection.
Because he cares. About my suffering.
About me.
A fry levitates into my mouth, courtesy of my hand. Then another.
Dang, those are so flipping good. The perfect temperature. So salty and crispy on the outside with fluffy, carby goodness on the inside. The taste lingers on my tongue, and I savor it. My eyes practically roll to the back of my skull.
How long has it been since I’ve had a fry? A year? Two? I don’t often indulge in even a taste because it’s a slippery slope. One fry leads to another. Next thing you know, you’re turning tricks in the alley behind a McDonald’s.
Dang. These are delicious, though.
If they had cheese sauce for me to dip them in, I’d climax on the spot.
My clit twitches out of horniness for the fries almost as much as for the man across from me.
A genuine smile changes Reed’s entire visage as he watches me chew. “That’s my good girl.” Then he winks.
The rest of my pussy clenches in concert with my trampy clit, all but soaking my panties. My entire nether region is betraying me.
Still avoiding the burger because I don’t want to flood the booth, I nibble at the fries while struggling to refrain from shoving a fistful into my mouth. I sip my low-carb beer, cringing at the lackluster taste. I’d haveloveda glass of wine. Or that amber beer flavored with citrus the server was raving about. But too many calories.
Ironic timing for that thought. Reed’s getting into my headabout suffering. But...
“It’s not needless, you know,” I voice my inner musings.
“What’s not?”
“Choosing to eat healthy.”
He lowers one ear toward his shoulder. “You mean starving yourself.”
“Dieting,” I amend, offering a compromise. “Idon’tstarve myself. I make good choices.”
Even if they don’t work most of the time. I think my body was made to be this size. No matter whether I’m dieting or not, this is me. Period. Tiny fluctuations up or down, always returning to my homeostasis. My genetics, probably.
“When’s the last time you had a cookie?”
My head kicks back like I was blasted with the garden hose. “I don’t know.”
“That long, huh? Not even one?”
I push my plate away, the burger no longer appetizing. “I don’t want to talk about this. Drop it, please.”
Using two fingers, he slides the plate closer to me. “Why do you do it?” No anger or snark in his tone. Just curiosity andwarmth. It’s so unlike his normally gruff exterior. “I can understand eating healthy most of the time if it makes you feel good, physically or emotionally. After all, food does contribute to our overall health. But?—”
