Page 49

SIX

Daphne

“Do I stink?” I tug at the damp fabric covering my chest, taking a sniff with a disgusted grunt, all the while trying to cover up my delight that I’m sitting here locked in a closet with Dutch.

“Doll, you could never stink.” Dutch eyes me from his seat on a metal folding chair surrounded by cardboard boxes. “Although, I know there are parts of you that smell pretty fucking good.”

My cheeks sting with a blush, remembering the perfection of Dutch’s mouth as I wiggle my rear end on the milk crate across from where he sits. Our knees are touching, the single light bulb casting long shadows down his face, the scent of dust and dampness doing nothing to distract me from admiring the gorgeous man sitting across from me.

The music and sounds from the bar are muffled as I reach over and try the door handle again. “How are we going to get out?”

Dutch shrugs. His eyes are locked on me. He is just effortlessly sexy. The most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. “Don’t know. Don’t care.” Even his voice is sexy. His words slow, measured, low and thick with an undercurrent of that calm, I got this attitude.

I click my tongue. “Really? I mean, sooner or later one of us is going to need the bathroom, or a medical procedure. We can’t stay in here forever. Shouldn’t we bang on the door? Someone will hear us.”

He shakes his head. “Not yet. I’m enjoying just looking at you. Making memories with you.”

“Memories?” I look around the small, cramped room. At some point when I was probably still in diapers, someone tried to pep it up with Smurf-blue paint, which now just looks extremely sad.

“Yeah. Fifty years from now, when our grandchildren ask us what we did on our first date, we’ve got a pretty good story to tell them. Like that old couple in your letter.”

“Date? This?” I wave my hands around toward the crowded, dark shelves, filled with off-brand cleaning supplies and stacks of plastic-wrapped paper napkins and coasters. “This is our first date?”

He runs his tongue over his front teeth, pausing for a second on his crooked, left incisor. “Sure is. You, me, out, stuck in a closet. Plenty of time for all that traditional, out to dinner, see a movie sort of stuff. This…” He jabs a finger at the floor. “This is the stuff that makes good memories.”

“So, fifty years from now, huh? Grandchildren?” I cock my brow on a squint, wiggling my foot, trying to keep calm and not hurl myself back onto his mouth, my clitoris leading the charge

“Sorry, baby. Your fate was sealed the moment my mouth tasted that sweet cunt-honey you have. Your flavor ran through me like a tsunami. Later tonight, like I said, I’m going to finish the job. Plant myself in your belly, I hope.”

Even though I’m sitting, I can feel my knees weaken instantly. I feel all churny and bubbly and hot. “Are you out of your mind, Dutch McCabe?” I run my hand down the tops of my legs, trying to ease the ache pulsing between them. “You don’t even really know me and I don’t even really know you. You’re on some sort of release-day delusional high.”

He crosses his arms, looking cocky. And borderline pissed. “Aren’t you fucking sassy?”

I push my lips together. “Yes, I am. Yet another thing you didn’t know about me.”

He inhales long and slow, tracing my curves with his eyes. “Well, what does it take to know someone? What’s the benchmark we’re using here? In a year of letters, I’ve probably told you more about me than anyone else in my life. You told me a helluva lot, too.”

God. I flash back to him jacking off with my letters around him. And I wonder how many times I’ve done the same. “I mean…we haven’t really talked.”

“Okay, then, my little detail-oriented doll. Let’s talk. Ask me anything.”

I give him a hard stare, but deep down I want to ask him so many things. I want to know him like I’ve never wanted to know anyone else before. But I know this isn’t the right time for Some Big Conversation. So I search my mind for somewhere to break the ice.

“Okay.” I sit up straight, shifting my rear end up on one side, slipping my hand under my butt, then do the same on the other side while I think of my first question. “What is your secret talent?”

He snorts on a chuckle. “Secret talent?” Dutch runs a hand down his face, gripping his beard as he thinks, then smiles. “Not sure I have one.”

“Oh, come on. You smiled. You’re thinking of something.”

“Okay, no laughing.”

I bring my hand up and swipe it in an X over my chest. “Cross my heart.”

He grunts and clears his throat. “I can recite any tongue twister without making a mistake.”

“Oh, come on,” I sneer. “That’s not possible.”

“Sure, it is. Give me one, I’ll do it.”

I furrow my brow while I think. “The only one I can think of is the Peter Piper Picked a Peck of Pickled Peppers.”

Dutch sniffs, then recites the entire tongue twister at breakneck speed not missing or slurring a word. “That’s an easy one.”

“Okay then, Mr. Smartypants, what’s a hard one?”

He sucks a breath through his teeth then reaches down, adjusting his balls with a smile.

“Really?” I smirk.

“Sorry,” he says in a not-sorry-at-all kind of way. “Just, you know, making some space.”

God. “Go on then. Wow me. Prove you’ve got the fastest tongue this side of the Mississippi.”

“The one that is considered the hardest in English is The six sick sheik’s sixth sheep’s sick.”

“Hold on. The six sheik’s sicks sitxx…” I try the first few words, but I start to laugh, knowing I’ve already screwed it up. “Okay then, go, let’s hear it again. Faster this time.”

I listen as he enunciates each word flawlessly, pulling my hand from under my butt and pressing the backs of my fingers over my lips to stifle my laughter. But honestly? It’s incredibly impressive.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh,” he says, raising his eyebrows. Scolding me almost.

“It’s just,” I trail off, lowering my eyes, then lifting them to meet his gaze again. “Well, it sort of explains things.”

“Oh, does it now?” He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, looking doubly cocky now. “Explains what exactly?” His mouth is slightly open, his full lips taunting me.

“How you have such a talented, um, tongue. You keep it in good shape. Tongue twisters are like some hardcore circuit training for your mouth.”

He nods as my heart pumps harder, and I curl my fingers into fists in my lap, remembering the intense pleasure his tongue gave me earlier today. A snapping flame of desire shivers through me, from my clit and down through the bones of my thighs.

He reaches across the small space between us, his warm hands tugging me forward, centering me on his lap facing him.

We stare at each other for a long moment. The bar noise fills the space but it seems so far away. He slowly drags his fingers down his sideburns. And just looks at me. Looks at me like nobody has ever looked at me. Like I am his. And he is mine. And this is how it’s going to go.

He spreads his knees wide, doing that sexy man-spread, then leans forward, and drags me across the floor on the milk crate where I’m sitting until I’m right up against him.

“I think my tongue needs another workout and you’re the only piece of gym equipment I’m ever going to need baby.”

I can’t stand it anymore. I don’t know if I kiss him first or he kisses me but finally, we’re kissing. Our mouths come together as wetness seeps from my overheated sex. His lips are soft against mine as I open for his tongue, moaning as I kiss him back.

His hands run up my back as mine sweep around his hard shoulders. He pulls me against him, his hard length pressing into me, making me dizzy and hot.

To hell with waiting for midnight.

I don’t care that we are locked in a dingy closet in the back of a bar.

Wherever I am with Dutch, it just feels right.

“I want you.” He draws back, growling the words into my ear as he rocks us together, a low rumble coming from his chest. “I’m going to practice every tongue twister I know on that wet little pink doll pussy of yours. Then, when you’re good and ready, my cock’s taking what’s mine.”