Dirty Read online

  “I made you laugh. That’s good, right?”

  I ran my finger across my lip and bit my finger gently before taking my hand away. “That’s good. Yes.”

  The food was good. The wine better. The conversation easy and flowing, and as relaxing as anything could be, for me. It helped that his plates had a multicolored pattern of dots on a dark background. Counting the dots between bites kept me occupied.

  He kept my glass filled, the sneaky bastard, but I didn’t mind. The wine was good, a rich, dark red with a fine flavor that was a pleasure to drink. I didn’t realize how much I’d had until I stood and had to grab the back of my chair.

  “Whoa,” I said with a small laugh. “Wine.”

  “I’ll take that.” He stole the plate and silverware from my hands and put it in his dishwasher. He lifted my wineglass and reached for my hand. “Living room.”

  “You’re always doing that,” I told him, though I followed him willingly enough.

  “What’s that?” He looked up as he settled my glass on the coffee table and moved the pillows on the couch so I could sit.

  “Telling me what to do.”

  As I sat, he grinned and leaned in very close, his mouth not quite touching mine. “You like it.”

  “And that,” I breathed. “Telling me what I like.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  I turned my head a little, smiling. “So far…I don’t think so.”

  He nuzzled my earlobe. “But you’d tell me if I was. I’m sure.”

  I turned my head more, this time not to keep him from kissing me but to encourage it. “Of course.”

  He’d put both hands on the back of the couch, one on each side of me. His lips brushed the side of my neck, then down, stopping at the small bump of my collarbone. He licked it. I shivered.

  “Because you don’t really need me to tell you what you like. Do you?

  “No.”

  “Because you already know.”

  I smiled at that. “Yes.”

  He pulled away and put a finger to my chin to turn my face toward him. “Or is it that you know what you don’t like?”

  I looked into his eyes. “That, too.”

  “Nothing wrong with that, Elle. Not a thing.”

  He kissed the side of my neck again, then sat next to me. I licked my lips, and his eyes followed the motion of my tongue before he looked back into mine. He stretched his arm out along the back of the couch, his fingertips an inch from my shoulder. I wanted to move closer. I didn’t. Then I did.

  “Thanks for dinner,” I said after a moment of us staring without speaking. “It was delicious.”

  He buffed his fingernails on his shirt. “Aw, it was nothing. Really.”

  I reached for my wine and sipped it slowly. My head was buzzing, but unlike other times, when I’d sought oblivion, I wanted to savor the taste. Not get drunker.

  We stared again in silence for what seemed like a long time. It became a game, like seeing who’d blink first. He put a hand on my shoulder, toying with the ends of my hair in a way that sent shivers creeping along the back of my neck.

  “Elle.”

  “Dan.” I liked the way his name tasted, like wine and garlic.

  “I want to kiss you.”

  Chewing my lower lip is a bad habit but one I can’t break myself of. Again, his eyes focused on my mouth. Self-conscious, I slid my tongue over the place I’d gnawed and forced myself to stop biting.

  He moved closer, his hand moving closer to the slope of my neck. His thumb pressed against my pulse. He leaned in, moving with slow precision and concentration.

  At the last second I turned my face. His kiss landed at the corner of my mouth, his breath hot on my skin and his lips soft. He didn’t pull away.

  “No?”

  I wanted to give a glib answer. More than that, I wanted to turn and let him kiss me on the mouth, to feel his tongue on mine, to open for him. I wanted so badly to open for him, but I simply…could not. I gave a minute shake of my head instead.

  Dan kissed my jaw, then down toward my neck, and his lips found the place his thumb had caressed. My heart thumped harder when he kissed me there, and I imagined he must be able to feel the rush of my blood beneath his mouth.

  The hand on my throat moved down to cup my breast. A sigh eased out of me, followed by a quick intake of breath when he passed a thumb over my nipple, already straining against the lace. He tweaked it through my clothes, then put his hand flat over it again. A hand over my heart and his mouth on the pulse in my throat, so in two places he could feel my blood rush through my veins.

  His other hand slid up to curl around the back of my head, fingers threading through the hair at the base of my neck and tangling a little. Tugging a little. He sucked on my skin as his thumb traced another path over my nipple, and every muscle in my body thrummed under his touch. He pulled me closer as the hand on my breast moved down to inch up my skirt over my thighs, and he curled his fingers over my knee, caressing the skin with soft feather touches that made me jump.

  “Ticklish?” He moved to breathe the question in my ear.

  “A little.”

  He slid his fingers higher, tracing little circles on my skin. “Now?”

  I let out a small gasping giggle. “Yes.”

  “Want me to stop?” A little higher, stroking.

  “No.” A whisper.

  Higher still, until his fingertips teased the lace of my panties. “Now?”

  “No.”

  When he finally touched me I moaned. He bit down on my neck as he put his finger inside me. His other hand pressed my back as I arched against him.

  “Tell me what you want me to do to you, Elle. I want to hear you say it.”

  Heat crept up my throat to burn my cheeks, and surely he must have felt it, but I gave him what he asked for. “I want you to touch me.”

  “Where?”

  “There. Where you are—”

  He moved his hand against me. “There?”

  I nodded and had to swallow hard to answer him. “Yes.”

  “That feels good?”

  He pulled back a little to look at my face. I blinked and faced him, acutely aware of our position, him with his finger inside me and all our clothes still on. He took his hand away, but slowly, so it didn’t feel like he was abandoning me but rather taking the time to take care of me.

  “Do you always wear skirts?” He smoothed the hem up and down over my thigh.

  I leaned back against the pillows, my hand still on his shoulder, his collar between my fingers and the side of his neck. “Not always. But usually.”

  “I like that.” He smoothed the skirt higher, exposing my thigh. He rubbed my skin. “You don’t shave up here.”

  I blinked. “I…no.”

  Dan scooted down so fast I didn’t have time to react until he kissed my bare thigh, just above the knee. “How come?”

  “The hair is blond, and it’s very fine. Shaving is more of a pain than it’s worth.” My answer was honest but difficult to give, as his mouth on my leg distracted me.

  “I love it” came his answer as he ran his fingers up and down my leg.

  I laughed, moving back a little away from him. His position made me nervous. “Do you?”

  He nodded, looking boyish with tousled hair and that grin. He held my leg in his hands and ran his thumb over my knee. “What happened here?”

  “I fell.”

  He kissed the scar, and I frowned.

  “Don’t, Dan.”

  He looked up at me again. “Why not?”

  “Because it’s ugly.”

  “You think this scar is ugly?” He rubbed it lightly with the tip of his finger. “It’s not. It’s part of you.”

  I shook my head. “It ruined my knee.”

  “How’d you fall?”

  “I was running, and I tripped. I landed in some gravel. It tore up my knee. Then, when it was healing, I ran into a coffee table and opened it up again.”

  He wouldn’t