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“Nothing but the best for my baby girl,” I say, puffing out my chest a little. But then I lean in close, dropping the bravado as I capture her gaze with mine. “And nothing but the best for you, Gail. I want this, us, more than anything.”
Her eyes water, and I know I’ve hit home. A smile breaks across her face—a sunrise after the longest night—and she bites her lip in that way that drives me wild.
“Thank you, Mickey. This means so much.”
“Come on,” I urge, offering my arm like we’re old-timey courting or some shit. “Let’s go get something to eat.”
The restaurant we go to is one of those places where you cook your own food at the table, a Korean BBQ joint that smells like heaven if heaven were marinated in soy and garlic. It’s busy and loud, the kind of noisy that makes you feel alive and buzzing. We snag a booth in the back, and there’s an electric grill between us begging for a sizzle.
“Ever done this before?” I ask, tossing an apron her way. The headshake I get in return is answer enough.
We throw slices of beef onto the hot metal, the sound of searing meat mixing with our laughter. Gail’s got this glint in her eye, the one that says she’s up for anything, and I’m just the guy to give it to her.
“Watch out, it splatters,” I warn as I flip a piece, but it’s too late—a drop of grease lands on her cheek, and she yelps, mock-angry.
“Ah, you’ll pay for that!” she threatens, but the playful lilt in her voice undercuts the menace.
“Promises, promises,” I tease back, leaning over the grill to wipe the spot with my thumb. The contact is brief, but it’s like I touched a live wire—we both feel the buzz.
“Is that how it’s gonna be?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Only if you want it to be,” I say, my voice low, thick with promise.
This is how it should have been between us all those days we spent together; easy and fun instead of the intense anger we’ve both experienced. Talk about regret.
The food cooks, we eat, and every bite is an explosion of flavor. But it’s nothing compared to the taste of her lips when I steal a kiss between mouthfuls. Her laugh is my favorite song, and the way she leans into me, her body language shouting that she’s right where she wants to be, sends my pulse rocketing.
“Damn, Gail,” I murmur, licking my lips after a particularly delicious bite, “this is perfect.”
“Everything’s more fun with you,” she says, her foot finding mine under the table and stroking up my calf in a move that’s anything but innocent.
“Careful now,” I warn, my voice rough, “or we’ll be giving these folks a show they didn’t pay for.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she purrs, but her footwork says otherwise.
I slide my hand under the table, feeling the heat of her skin through the fabric of her leggings. It’s a dangerous game we’re playing, teasing each other like this with the hum of conversation and clinking glasses around us. My fingers inch up her thigh, slow, deliberate. Gail’s breath hitches, but she keeps up her end of our playful banter.
“Having fun?” I murmur, leaning in close as if to steal another taste of her lips.
“Yes,” she whispers back, her eyes darkening, betraying the wildfire building inside her.
Her legs part slightly, an invitation I can’t—and don’t want to—refuse. The edge of my thumb brushes against the sensitive spot I know will have her gasping. She bites her lip, hard enough to hold back any sound that might escape as my fingers slip beneath her leggings and the lace of her panties.
“Fuck, Mickey,” she breathes so low it’s almost lost in the ambient noise of the restaurant. Her hand grips the edge of the table; knuckles white.
“Shh… wouldn’t want to cause a scene, sweetheart,” I tease, though we both know that’s exactly what we’re doing. My finger circles, dips, then slides home. She’s wet, so damn wet for me.
Gail’s eyes lock onto mine as I start to move, slowly at first, then building a rhythm that has her thighs trembling. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and I know she’s close. I press just a bit harder, curl my finger, and that’s all it takes. Her orgasm rolls through her silently but fiercely, her grip on my hand under the table like a lifeline.
“God, you’re beautiful when you come,” I rasp, my voice rough with desire.
We’re both breathing heavy when I withdraw my hand, and I lick my finger clean right there at the table. Her blush is delicious, her eyes shining with that mix of satisfaction and disbelief at our audacity.
“Ready to go?” I ask, already knowing the answer from the way she nods, eager.
Mickey
“Did you enjoy it?” I ask.
