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I pause to admire the sheepish smile spreading across her face and slide the short pour of whiskey before her. “And then there are my younger brothers: Conor, Liam, and Finn. You?”
“Only child.” She lifts the glass to her lips with her eyes locked on mine as she takes a slow sip. Lowering the glass, a sly smile tugs at her lips. “What do you say instead of the same monotonous questions we’ve both answered on every first date, we make this a little more interesting?”
Cocking a brow—and very fucking intrigued—I coax, “And just what do you have in mind?”
“Twenty questions.” She smugly mirrors my cocked brow, “But if you ask it, you also have to answer it.”
“Deal.” I take a drink from my glass and gesture for her to go first.
“No lies. What are you thinking about right this second?”
“How fucking gorgeous you are, not to be outdone by how fucking intrigued I am with you,” I admit, retaining the fact I also can’t stop thinking about what she’s hiding beneath the thin silk of her dress. An adorable blush creeps over her cheeks, and she lightly chews at her plump, pink lower lip as I wait for her to share her answer to the question she posed.
“And to think, I was going to say how fucking hungry I am,” she teases as the waiter returns with plates of both balsamic beef and shrimp crostini.
After enjoying our food and a couple of liberal refills of whiskey, the questions have quickly moved from innocent to flirtatious.
While I’ve taken my fair share of women to dinner, not one of them has been like this. Like Layla. I’ve learned more about her in the span of a few hours than the handful of women I’ve had long-standing relationships with. She has a sharp wit that is only emphasized by her sarcastic sass, and I’m absolutely fucking enamored with her.
“Most outlandish thing you’ve ever done in bed?” she coyly questions.
“Darling, I own a slew of international sex clubs. There isn’t much I haven’t done in or out of bed.”
“You own the club being built by the bar?” Layla’s tone is a mixture of shock and excitement. “I suddenly feel like my wild, drunken, almost threesome story does not seem nearly as wild as I thought.”
“I’m taking it you’ve never been to a club or a dungeon before.”
She shakes her head as she responds, “No. Does this mean you’re one of those guys who’s into handcuffs and paddles?”
“They have their place.” I pause to finish the whiskey in my glass, entirely fixated on her inquisitive chestnut eyes. “But my kinks are geared more toward obedience and submission.”
“Oh…” Her response is short and soft before she mutters, “I’ve never… nothing like that.”
“Anything goes?” I clarify before upping the ante of the line of questioning.
She finishes the bit of food in her mouth, washes it down with a sip of whiskey, and nods. “Anything.”
“Would you like to?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LAYLA
His light touch shoots across my skin like electricity. My heart pounds against my chest, both from his hand resting on mine and the nervous excitement coursing through my veins from his question. Swallowing hard, I answer, “Yes.”
Tristan discreetly flags down our waiter and passes his credit card to pay our bill. “Add a room to my tab.”
“Here?” The sole word bubbles from my lips. While he’s not the first man I’ve slept with on a first date, knowing his experience and vaguely knowing his interests, this is the first time in a long time that I’ve been this nervous. My experiences—although extensive—have been strictly vanilla in nature compared to what I am imagining will be happening tonight.
The fact that I actually really like him is only exacerbating the butterflies in my abdomen.
“I’ll take you home if you prefer.” He pauses when the waiter returns with his credit card and a room key. Standing from the table, he takes my hand and holds it as we walk toward the elevator. Keeping his voice low, he divulges, “But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been thinking about my hands and lips on you all night. Knowing you want them, too, I can’t fathom waiting as we drive back to SoHo.”
Stepping into the empty elevator cab, I take a deep breath and ask, “What floor?”
“Twenty,” he responds, and I press the button, causing it to light up. Only two floors down, the elevator doors seem to open within seconds, and he lightly ushers me toward our room.
My heart slams against my rib cage, the thumps so loud I can’t believe he can’t hear them as he swipes the key card and opens the door. The moment the door clicks behind us, Tristan’s large hands grip my waist, and he confidently pulls my back to his chest.
