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“You smell good enough to eat,” I said.
Her hands tightened on my waist, and I loved the look of need that crossed her face. I cupped her ass and squeezed it. “You’re picturing me eating your sweet pussy, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she said shamelessly.
“If you’re a good girl during dinner, I’ll consider letting you ride my face afterward,” I said.
Anxiety flickered across her face before she smoothed it away. I squeezed her ass again. “Let’s eat, baby.”
Five minutes later, we had the food dished out and Riley took her first bite of lasagna. Bliss crossed her face as she chewed and swallowed. “Oh my God, this is good.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” I said.
“I am. Truly.” She smiled at me and sipped some water. “Did you want to borrow the books you were looking at?”
“Yes, unless you’re the kind of person who doesn’t share their books.”
She laughed. “Who doesn’t share books? That’s part of the joy - sharing a story you love with others.”
“Some people are very possessive of their books,” I said.
“Is some people you?” she asked with a grin.
“Maybe,” I said.
“Is that why you bought me the Lisa Gardner book instead of just offering to let me borrow your copy when you were done?”
“I have no idea how you treat your books. What if you’re one of those people who fold the page to mark their spot,” I said.
“I’m a bookmark user,” she said.
“Sure, I know that now,” I said. “But I’m not handing out my precious books to just any hooligan who loves reading.”
She laughed hard. “Now I’m a hooligan?”
I shrugged and ate some pasta. “To be fair, your books are not shelved alphabetically.”
“I’m the worst,” she said with a grin.
“Not the worst, but I’m definitely sneaking over here someday, breaking in, and shelving your books correctly.”
“I think you’ve missed your calling as a librarian,” she said.
“I would have been a great librarian,” I said.
“You’re young. There’s still time for a career change.”
“I’m thirty-five. That’s not young.”
“It’s not old,” she said with an eye roll.
“May I be indelicate and ask how old you are?”
“Indelicate…” she snorted. “Maybe you are an old person.”
“Making fun of my age is not being my good girl, Ms. Gates.”
She wrinkled her nose at me before saying, “I’m twenty-five.”
