For a few seconds, I’m lost imagining a version of Katie where she’d risk discovery just to be with me. Where she’d risk some sort of legal penalty just to feel me hike up one of her prim little dresses. I can imagine just such a scene—Katie looking out over the edge of the Empire State Building at night, me easing my cock into her silky smooth pussy from behind, her coming so hard she can barely enjoy the spectacular view.
Shiiit!
“Are you okay?” Katie asks. I’m standing on the sidewalk in front of the diner. My hand is on the handle of the door, but I haven’t opened it yet. I’m just staring down into the eyes that I see even when she’s nowhere around.
Her forehead is wrinkled in concern. God, I want to touch her cheek, put my hands in her hair. Kiss her. But I don’t.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just . . . thinking.”
“About what?” she asks, slipping through the door when I finally have the presence of mind to open it for her.
“You don’t wanna know,” I caution. When she glances back at me, I wink and her eyes widen a fraction. “But then again, maybe you do.”
She’s stopped just inside the tiny, retro restaurant and I’m less than six inches away. I feel the magnetism between us like a tangible thing. There might as well be hands on my back, physically pushing me toward her. I feel the pull that strongly.
“Maybe you can tell me about it later,” she says softly, glancing around nervously. When her eyes find their way back to mine, they’re like coals of fiery want in the shy field of her face. She’s the most amazing contradiction I’ve ever met. I could explore her for days. Weeks. Her body, her mind. Her soul.
“Promise?”
Her answer is a single nod and a slight curve to the corners of her mouth. So prim. So bashful. Such a little vixen when my lips are on her skin.
My balls throb in agreement.
“We’d better order,” I say, my teeth gritted in determination. “Before I throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here.”
From the corner of my eye, I see her lips twitch up into more of a grin. I love teasing her. But I might love making her smile even more.
After we are seated, the waitress brings our drinks. “You ready to order, sugar?” she asks. For most other women, that would sound too . . . old, but somehow this cute, young blonde pulls it off.
I smile politely. “I think I’ll have the double bacon cheeseburger with fries and a side salad.”
“That’s enough protein, even for a man like you,” says the waitress, eyeing me appreciatively. I don’t think much of it. It happens a lot.
She watches me for a few seconds longer before she finally drags her eyes over to Katie. Her demeanor cools considerably, which pisses me off. I know how catty women can be, especially ones like this waitress and most of the conceited starlets I work with these days, but it rubs me the wrong way to see anybody treat Katie with anything less than kindness and respect.
“And what’ll you have?”
Katie’s small smile is the same polite, hollow gesture I’ve seen all too often. “I think I’ll have the Cobb salad. Ranch dressing, please.”
She puts her menu back in the stand, but I tack on dessert for her. “And a piece of pie.”
“What kind?” the waitress asks when she turns to me, all warm and smiley again.
I look to Katie. “The green kind?” I can’t imagine what flavor it might be. Pistachio? Key lime?
Although still small, her grin turns more genuine, this time reaching her eyes. “How do you know I like the green kind?”
I don’t answer; I simply nod to the waitress. “The green kind.”
“One piece of key lime it is.”
“With extra whipped cream,” I add before she walks off.
“The cream is the best part,” the waitress says, looking back over her shoulder.
I ignore her in favor of bringing my attention back to the fascinating creature seated across from me. Her eyes are slits as she studies me.
“How did you know about the pie?”
“The day I was in here and Victoria found me, you were eating right over there,” I say, pointing to the booth she and Mona sat in. “You were right in my line of vision. I watched you eat your whole meal, but when you got to the pie . . . Holy. Shit.”
“What?”
“That first bite you took . . . God! You slid that fork into your mouth and closed your lips around it. Your eyelids sort of fluttered shut and you pulled the fork out so slowly, like you were already enjoying the taste on your tongue. You didn’t chew for a few seconds. You just sat there with your eyes closed, the expression on your face something like it is when you slide down on my cock. Like it’s so good you wanna savor every second of it. God! Damn, it was so hot.” Despite the fact that we’re in a greasy spoon, surrounded by people, blood gushes south to bring my dick to life. I shift uncomfortably. “I’ve never wanted to be a piece of pie so bad in all my life. To feel those lips wrapped around me . . . to feel that tongue licking my skin . . . Hell, I’d do almost anything.”
Katie’s chest is rising and falling more quickly. She leans back, folding her hands together primly in front of her on the tabletop. “Well, we’ll see what the afternoon holds,” she says, avoiding my eyes. “I like more, ahem, flavors than just key lime,” she adds, reaching for her water and taking a sip. Despite her refusal to meet my eyes, despite her unaffected manner, I know she’s feeling this, too. Her hand trembles as she sets her glass back on the table.
I smile. I’m sure it looks wolfish. It feels wolfish. “I can’t wait.”
Her lips curl. Just at the corners. So demure. So deceiving. I know what lies behind it now.
And I’ve never wanted her more.
TWENTY-FIVE
Katie
I wasn’t ready for lunch to end, but the bright side is that if I don’t get to see Rogan on set, I’ll evidently see him tonight. He hasn’t yet said when, but he talks about it as if it’s a foregone conclusion.
Some feminists might take offense at that, but I don’t. I like that he makes it obvious that he wants me, that he wants to spend time with me. It’s not like I’m really man or dating savvy anymore. I mean, I had no clue that Ronnie would attempt what he did at the lake. I guess I’m to the point now where I kind of need things spelled out for me.
I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s two forty-five and I’m caught up with my work for the moment. I think of Rogan’s last words to me when he left me at my door after lunch. He had a hungry look on his face that made me ache to feel his skin against mine.
“Come to the set if you get a chance. You . . . inspire me.”
He reached out and brushed his thumb over my bottom lip, like he couldn’t not touch me anymore. He did it so quickly that I couldn’t complain, and then he was gone. My lip felt warm and tingly for at least half an hour after he left.
I don’t know why he wants me to come and watch him, but I’m inclined to go, mainly because I want to see him. A few minutes this morning and an hour at lunch isn’t enough. It seems the more I see of him, the more I want to see of him.
Throwing caution and my over-thinking ways to the wind, I lock the drawer with my purse inside and head to the other end of the complex, to the stage where Rogan is filming. I sneak in without much notice. Whether because I’ve perfected being unobtrusive or because I’m as unnoticeable as a wallflower, I don’t know, but no one seems to be attuned to me, especially not the way Rogan is.
I’m standing along the back wall, watching the part of the scene that followed what Rogan and I rehearsed. I could only assume that there would be a steam after it. I mean, the dialogue seemed to be leading up to it, but also because it’s a cable show. Liberties are taken to add some naughtier material. I knew this. I just never knew what it might feel like to watch Rogan.