“Nice meeting you too.” I smiled at him and dropped my eyes to my plate.
“Think you’ll call him?” Miles asked, dumping a pool of ketchup onto his plate.
“Maybe.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“Because I know you, Nixon. What is it?”
I glanced at him, and he was so cute, and so concerned, and we were such old friends that I almost figured, fuck it—I’ll tell him the truth.
Almost.
I faked a smile. “Nothing, really. I’m just thinking about my shop. Thinking about what I’d do with it if I decided to do something different.”
That seemed to satisfy Miles, and we spent the rest of dinner chatting about the possibilities. When we were done, Miles wanted to take me to a place called The Sugar House for drinks, which was just across the street and down a few blocks. We said goodbye to Nick and left the restaurant, and Miles grabbed my hand as we hurried across busy Michigan Avenue. He didn’t let go when we got to the other side, my heart beat quicker as we strolled hand in hand in the dark. God, I wish things were different. This feels so good with him, so easy.
Inside the bar, a narrow old storefront with high ceilings, brick walls, and, oddly enough, big game heads mounted opposite the long wooden bar. Huge, ornate, floor-to-ceiling drapes on the window and a chandelier in a cozy front alcove gave the place a little Victorian hipster vibe, as did the three tattooed bartenders, who wore ties and vests, their shirtsleeves rolled up and held with garters. They all had thick facial hair, one wore a top hat, and they took their cocktail-making very, very seriously.
Miles and I sat at the bar and ordered drinks, and mine was so delicious I ordered another one right away. Maybe it wasn’t wise to consume so much so quickly, especially since I’d already had two beers at dinner, but the more I drank, the hotter I was for Miles, and that was a much safer feeling than brooding about what could never be. I finished the second drink even faster than the first, and Miles asked if I wanted another.
“Oh, God. I really shouldn’t.” I giggled. “I’m already goofy. I’ll get drunk.”
“Good! You should get drunk. You should get drunk and let me do ridiculous things to your body.”
I leaned toward him, put my hands on top of his thighs. “I don’t need to be drunk for that, silly. You can do anything you like to my body.”
“Uh, in that case. Let me get the check and get you home.” He leaned in too, and spoke low in my ear. “Did you wear that short little skirt just to torture me?”
“Uh huh.”
“You wicked little slut,” he whispered, making all my nerve endings tingle. “I’m going to make you pay for that.”
While I used the bathroom, Miles paid the bill, and by the time I came out, he was waiting for me at the door. Grabbing me by the hand, he ran through the bar, out the door, and down the street toward the parking lot so fast I could hardly keep up.
When we reached the Jeep, he backed me up against the passenger door and kissed me hard, one hand fisted in the back of my hair, his erection pressing against my abdomen.
“Feel that? I’ve been hard for you all night, ever since I saw your legs in that skirt.” He tightened his hand in my hair, and I gasped at the needles of pain prickling across my scalp. “I want to do such bad things to you. Such bad things.”
My heart threatened to pound right out of my chest as he crushed his mouth to mine once more.
“Get in.” He unlocked the door and practically threw me into the passenger seat before storming around to the driver’s side.
On the ride home, I unzipped his jeans and took his cock in my hand, and he slid his hand up my thigh and inside my panties.
“Already wet for me. I like that.” His fingers easily slid inside me, and I grabbed his wrist with my free hand, holding him against me as I swiveled my hips.
“I want you so badly,” I whispered. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”
“Trust me. I know the feeling.” He pulled his fingers from me and touched them to his tongue. “Fuck. Your taste. I can’t get enough.”
He drove home so fast I was amazed he didn’t get a ticket, and we ran so hard through the parking garage to the elevators I was gasping for air by the time the doors opened. As soon as they closed and we were alone, Miles and I went at each other, lips sealed, hands groping, feet stumbling. At the twenty-third floor, we didn’t even stop kissing when the doors opened, and barely made it into the hallway before they closed.
We moved awkwardly down the hall with our tongues and legs tangled, hands sneaking beneath clothing, until he picked me up and I wrapped my legs around him. I have no idea how he knew where his apartment door was, but somehow he unlocked it and got us in without ever taking his mouth off mine.
Inside, he kicked the door shut and went right for the stairs without even turning on the lights. I thought he’d go right for the bed and throw me down, so I was surprised when he went into his closet.
“What’s this?” I laughed against his lips. “Wardrobe change?”
“Wardrobe removal.” He set me down and whipped my shirt off, breaking the kiss only to allow it to go over my head. His shirt was next, then I kicked off my flats as he removed my bra and shoes and skirt and panties. But when I reached for his zipper, he stopped me. “Wait.”
It was dark in the closet but I heard hangers being shoved aside on a bar and then a drawer open and close.
Next thing I knew, he had something over my eyes and he was tying it at the back of my head. A scarf? A tie? “What is this?”
“Shhh. This is your punishment for teasing me tonight with that little skirt.” Once the blindfold was secure, he took both my wrists, brought them over my head and wound something around them. “You’re not allowed to use your hands.”
I gasped. “I can’t see you or touch you?”
“Not if you want to come tonight.”
“Oh, God.” My heart pounded as he moved me beneath the bar where he’d cleared space, and secured my wrists to it.
“Perfect.” Miles pulled a final knot tight. “I’ll be right back.”
“What? You’re leaving me like this?”
He laughed and kissed the top of each breast. “Yes. You stay here and think about what you did.” A final pinch on the ass and he walked out, leaving me tied up, blindfolded, turned on, and alone. In his closet.
Now what?
Holy fuck.
Holy. Fuck.
Natalie Nixon, good girl next door, was naked, blindfolded, and tied up in my closest.
Just seeing her standing there, arms over her head, back arched, her fair skin radiant in the dark, that head full of tousled blonde hair that always looked like she’d just been fucked…I nearly shot my load right then. But I didn’t want to rush—I wanted to tease her, savor her, linger over every inch of her perfect body. What if I never had this opportunity again?
I walked out of the closet and through my room in case she could hear my steps, but then I fucking bolted down to the kitchen, where I pulled a bottle of my favorite Kentucky bourbon and a glass from the cabinet. If I’d had whipped cream or chocolate syrup or anything else to eat off her body, I’d have brought that too, but I was me, so I had nothing but Cap’N Crunch and Doritos, which I didn’t think would be too sexy. But the bourbon would be delicious licked off Natalie’s vanilla skin…fucking hell, I was so excited my legs were shaking as I ran back to the stairs and darted up three at a time. I slowed down when I got near the closet—just to torture her a little.
“You’re back,” she said.
“Yes.” I moved past her into the bathroom and turned on the light, so I could see her a little. Her rosy pink nipples were puckered, and her chest rose and fell with labored breaths. Oh, fuck, I want her.
“Well, now that you have me like this, what are you going to do?” A hint of nerves edged beneath her tone, and it made me fucking crazy. My cock was like steel in my pants.