Her hand has been creeping up my leg for an hour now, teasing me for this whole meeting, entirely deliberately. She probably thinks she started when her strong but gentle hands landed on my forearm while we laughed at pictures of my child trying to stand on her head so she could rocket a peanut M&M into the air from her nostril. She didn't have to lean so close. She definitely didn't have to rub a breast against my shoulder. She didn't have to do any of those things to ramp up my awareness of her. Her perfume electrified my brain before any of that happened. Add in her voice, which grabbed me with a sweet and sticky binding, and I was instantly reminded I was hers.
She really didn't need to escalate things by having him text me, reminding me I'm his, too. "The hand on your leg is going to beat you tonight unless you're a good girl." Of course, I'm always a good girl, but I still hope I get beaten a little. She's never had her hands on me like that, and thinking about it makes me press my thighs together. "You know where. 8 PM. I'll have food. Wear something that shows off some cleavage, and your blue contacts," he concludes. I haven't worn those icy blue contacts in years. I'm surprised he remembers them, but I probably shouldn't be. His memory is obsessed with me.
***
Dawn is wiping tomato sauce from her cheek when Alex escorts me into the kitchen of his home, 8 PM sharp. "Hey girl." She slinks over to me, pulling me into a tight embrace. From the corner of my eye, I see his intense gaze trying to weld us together. I oblige him, pressing my hips against hers. After enjoying our extreme proximity for a moment, she parks her face above mine. "It just occurred to me that I got a little over eager our first time and didn't even say hi. I felt bad."
"You made up for it since then," I tell her.
We chuckle together before she jerks her head back. "Those are new." Her forked fingers point at my eyes.
"Old, actually. His idea." I direct an accusatory head tilt his way.
"And just why did you think she needed those?" Her inquisition will not be denied, driven home by the pointed gaze she rotates toward him.
"She didn't need them," he deflects easily. "All I did was put hot fudge on the ice cream."
She narrows her eyes, annoyed at his perfectly reasonable and adroitly phrased response, before those same eyes return to examine my face critically, nose inches from mine, lips quirked upward. "You know you're beautiful without them, right?" Blush creeps into my cheeks, which receive soft kisses.
"You hot fudge excuse is acceptable," she judges in her sultry drawl, raising her head to stare him down. His satisfied smile is glued to his face and entirely fireproof. She shakes her head slowly, giving him the point, but not the game.
"I made piles of stuff, family style," he tells me, arms in a wide, encompassing gesture, "so pull up a plate. You'll need your strength." I slide between him and the food, plate at the ready, reviewing his offerings with my eyes and nose. His hand clamps onto my ass. "No being lazy this time."
"Hey!" she yells at him. "No spoilers!" I can't see his face, but something happens between them over my head, the magic of her fire meeting his iron.
She frees me from his unrepentant grasp and steers me around the kitchen island, delivering her critique of his culinary efforts. Several dishes get high praise, but the artichoke dip is dubbed too much vegetable for her tastes. I fill a plate, and it's halfway back to empty before I notice that, while she's chatting idly with him, she won't stop staring at my lips.
I decline the special banana pudding. Edibles and I don't have a great history, and they're both much more experienced, so dessert is likely way too strong for me. "I made sure I was almost out of whipped cream," he tells me after building a towering swirl of it atop her bowl. His finger beckons me closer, and I obey.
"Be a good girl and hold still." He knows what calling me that does. I pull a deep breath into my lungs. He takes advantage of my inflated chest and sprays a line of whipped cream between my tits, which he promptly fishes out with his tongue.
"Hey! I didn't say you could play with her yet." He shows me a small, insolent smile, hidden from her, before he puts on a steely mask of command. A quick turn and few steps carry him back to her. She holds her ground easily, but a small uptick of her lips betrays how much she enjoys him being near her. Up close, their size difference is suddenly exaggerated when his silhouette eclipses hers briefly as he crosses my vision. He strokes the backs of his fingers up her neck before capturing her chin between his index and middle finger, gently turning her face to the side and tilting her head back. His other hand sends a small stream of whipped cream onto her neck, which he laps up with a single, glacially slow pass of his tongue. When he's done he releases her, and she eyes him critically, but ultimately she can't keep the smile on her face from growing wider. "I guess that's better," she concedes.
He kisses her cheek and nips at her jaw before spinning to face me. A strained gurgle fills the kitchen as he shoots the last of the whipped cream into his mouth before offering me the can.
"Aww, you remembered my favorite," I snicker.
"You don't get to do that until you're naked."