by Tessa Vidal
“What even gave you this idea?” Sara patted her stomach, her plate already half-empty. I loved that she didn’t feel self-conscious about eating or drawing attention to her midsection. She didn’t suffer from “Don’t look at me!” syndrome and that was sexier than the sullen confidence of any model.
“You did.”
“Me?” She looked surprised and it gave me tingles to know that I was the cause of it. It was one of the few emotions I had the pleasure of inciting in a woman. Lust, sure. Excitement, a sense of giddiness, maybe even a little anxiety — all of those came with wooing my many one-night stands, because I was creative and knew how to play on what women wanted. But this surprise, it was nice. Like handing someone a gift and watching them unwrap it.
“You said you love the outdoors, so I decided this was the perfect way to have a date. Besides, there’s the added benefit of not being surrounded by people.” I left the rest unsaid. We both knew what I meant — people who would know either of us, friends who would warn Sara away from me, and conquests who would try to get me back in their bed for the thrill of winning me away from another woman. Even for just one more night.
But there was only one woman I wanted to give more than a single night to, and she was sitting across from me on the blanket. Sara looked ridiculously adorable and I wondered how much longer I would have to wait to touch her again.
She made the decision for me.
Sara moved toward me so quickly, I had no time to react. She wrapped her hands around my neck and pulled me toward her until our lips met. I groaned and clutched her to me, wishing my hands could reach lower on her body. They settled on her hips, my fingers curling into her, while I imagined her backside was soft and perfect for grabbing.
Why did she have to do this to me, test my control like this? I’d known she wanted me, but didn’t expect her to make the first move. I’d also been holding back, waiting for her to feel comfortable, to invite me to make a move. Now, it looked like she’d issued the invitation I’d been waiting for and heat shot through me from head to toe.
Despite my frustration that her clothes had the audacity to stop me from touching every inch of her, I savored the kiss. Sara moaned against my mouth and I pressed her toward the ground.
It didn’t take much to move myself atop her welcoming curves, to situate myself comfortably between her legs, and let one hand drift to her inner thigh. Everything about her was so soft and her warmth was so close. Inch by inch, I could brush my fingers up her thigh, feather them over the fabric that separated me from her heat, and make her arch against me. It would be so easy...
But even when she circled her hips, grinding against me, I didn’t move any closer to the parts of her body that promised ecstasy. Instead, I traced her lips with the tip of my tongue before plunging it back into her mouth. Given enough time, I would claim every inch of Sara, fuck her thoroughly and then do it again and again and again. She wanted me badly enough that I could have done it here in the middle of the field. I wanted her too, but I continued to hold back. It was the only way I could show her she meant more to me than a random notch on a belt.
Without her help, I wouldn’t be able to do that, so I broke the kiss and said, “Open your eyes, Sara.”
She blinked up at me, her gaze distant and hazy. I could get lost in that expression, but I rubbed my thumb over her face and focused. Lust morphed into confusion, which only made her cuter, and I smiled as I tried to find the right words.
I settled on, “We haven’t even had dessert, yet.”
The breath Sara let out told me she hoped it was a euphemism, a pervy little hint of what we could do right there on that blanket. As I pushed myself up over her, palms flat against the fabric on either side of her shoulders, I pondered the possibility. Oh yes, I could easily move down between her legs and have dessert, for sure. My tongue would enter her wet core and she would moan, grasp at my hair, fingers tangling in it while she screamed my name. I could penetrate her with my fingers and tongue, lap at her folds, lick her clit, and give her the kind of bliss she’d probably never known with any other woman. It was one of my favorite things to do.
Sara was practically panting for it. Normally, I would already be down there, plunging my face between a woman’s legs, inhaling her signature scent, and going to town on her luscious body.
But I drew back even further, hoping I hid my desire well. She had to know I wasn’t about to treat her like other women. If it wasn’t obvious, I would make it obvious. When we first met, the whole reason she put me off was because she knew my reputation. The whole reason I chased her was because she was the first woman to ever turn me down. That challenge was becoming so much more to me.
“I saved the best for last,” I told her, withdrawing a small, insulated bag from the basket. Dragging my gaze from her and back to the food helped me cool down a little. “Strawberry shortcake with plenty of whipped cream.”
“I have a place you could put the whipped cream,” she whispered, wriggling invitingly.
Oh, did she? The idea was tempting, but I took out the can of whipped cream, shook it, and sprayed a bit on my finger before offering it to her pouting mouth. As her lips fastened around my finger, I muttered, “I’ll bet you do.”
Chapter Seven
Sara
It was cruel and unusual punishment, the way Dylan carried on that day. She was a complete lady, through and through. The entire day, she opened and closed the car door for me, made sure I was well-fed and relaxed, and kept her hands to herself unless I gave her a reason not to. That last one was the most difficult thing, realizing she wasn’t treating me like other women. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it.
By the time she dropped me off at my apartment, I was a wet, needy mess. After everything I’d believed and been told about Dylan’s reputation – not that anyone needed to make it clear what kind of person she was – she surprised the hell out of me. Which was why I was determined to make our next date special. Another level of special. A get-me-laid kind of special.
I’d gone out with her that first time hoping to get her attention... in bed. With the way that turned out, I knew Paige was right. That wasn’t the way I did things and I couldn’t handle that kind of one-night fling. But after Dylan’s hard work to make our second date something to remember, I wondered if maybe I wasn’t setting myself up for heartbreak after all.
Even if I was – or especially if I was – I decided I wouldn’t let another date go by without learning what made Dylan so infamous.
“If you’re going on a third date and want to get laid, you need...” Jennifer tapped away at her phone, the pause leaving me on the edge of my seat. “...a Brazilian bikini wax. I’m making you an appointment with this hot new waxer.”
I furrowed my brow. “Is that a pun?”
“Shush, you.” Her own face was scrunched in concentration, extra-long acrylic nails clicking against the screen. Hard to believe those things were still fashionable after years of gracing the hands of secretaries and strippers alike. “There you go. You’ll be in and out immediately before your next date. It’s Friday night, right? I got you an afternoon appointment that day. Perfect timing.”
I did my best to ignore the sliver of doubt that lodged in my chest, but by the time I limped home after my appointment on Friday afternoon, my entire body shook with frustration.
Jennifer eyed me as I crossed the apartment. Nothing seemed to disturb her. Not even the way I hunched my way over to the sofa, where she was curled up with her cell phone. She blinked a few times before asking, “What’s wrong?”
“Look, I can deal with the indignity of having my ass scooted up against the very edge of a table while some woman is down there, tidying up my bikini area,” I started, “but, holy crap, Jennifer. She robbed me of everything I’ve got. Everything. And hot or not, I don’t think anyone explained to her about after-care.”
“After-care?” Jennifer’s nose wrinkled. “Like in BDSM?” Her dirty mind would go that route. And s
o would mine... if I wasn’t in so much pain.
“Like in waxing!” I exclaimed, flapping my arms up and down until my bald vagina twinged and sent waves of agony shooting through my crotch. “She ripped out massive swaths of hair and maybe even skin! There’s no way I can go on this date tonight.”
Her mouth dropped open just as someone knocked on the door. “I don’t think that’s an option now.” Jennifer grinned at me and shrugged. “You weren’t planning on having sex anyway, were you?”
“You know damn well I was, but now I can’t because my crotch is on fire. I wanted action and now there’s no way I can let her touch me there.” Ever since the picnic the previous weekend, I’d dreamed of our delicious kisses, of the sensation of Dylan atop me, and the possibilities for our next date. With a simple waxing, those dreams were dashed in a million, stabby pieces.
Jennifer rose from the couch, approached the door, and reached for the knob. “I can send her away, but I don’t think you want to disappoint her like that.” Something ominous hung, unspoken, in her words. The reminder that Dylan could have anyone she wanted. If I didn’t go out with her that night, she would find someone else.
At least, that was how Jennifer and Paige, and everyone else saw Dylan. That’s what they warned me to expect. But I’d seen a sweeter, softer side. One that could be selfless and caring. Dylan chose to listen to me and make an effort to do something I would like. It was an olive branch, a gesture that said I mattered to her. I didn’t want to hold onto it or count on it, but I also didn’t want to let it slip away from me.
“This date is totally going to happen,” I declared, and turned to seek refuge in my bedroom. The murmur of voices beyond my closed door told me Dylan was in the apartment, chatting with Jennifer. Off with the comfortable sweats I’d put on after the disastrous waxing and on with a navy blue a-line dress that flared out around my thighs and disguised my thick arms with sheer, but iridescent blue sleeves. It wasn’t the kind of slinky outfit one of Dylan’s models would wear, but it suited me. Working in fashion had taught me a thing or two about enhancing what I had, instead of hiding my body.
The real challenge was underwear. The idea of sliding anything but soft cotton over my tender lady bits made me cringe. I hadn’t exactly planned to wear granny panties tonight, but it was my only option. Lace would rub the burning rawness and I’d be so, so sorry.
Only the softest underwear would do, followed by a quick freshening of my mascara and lip gloss.
When I opened the bedroom door, Jennifer had vacated, leaving Dylan sitting on the sofa. She looked so out of place in our apartment, tall and lithe, with that hint of butch that added to her appeal. Those pristine white shirts and black slacks of hers already pushed all my buttons, but she’d added a thin black tie today. Be still my heart. She unfolded herself from the sofa with her usual grace, swagger in every move she made.
“Hello, Sara. You look beautiful.”
“So do you.” It felt hard to breathe, like something was squeezing my chest, and I wondered if maybe I’d gained weight, but no. It was just her proximity. She pressed against me and wedged her thigh between mine as she leaned in for a kiss.
Without time to recover, my body throbbed and burned. The last thing I needed down there was friction. I pushed back on her shoulders, wishing I didn’t have to, and murmured against her lips, “We better get going. You said when you set this up that you made reservations.”
“I did, but some things are worth missing out on.” Her breath fanning over my face was seductive. I wanted to give in and I would have if my crotch wasn’t screaming at me to get some distance.
“Maybe... next time,” I suggested lamely. “I had a long day and I’m famished.”
Dylan narrowed her eyes, confusion evident. She must have asked me at least three times if I was okay as she drove to the restaurant. I reassured her that I was and said, “Why don’t you tell me where we’re going.”
“Well, it’s definitely not the latest restaurant opening, because I don’t want to run into anyone I know.” She smiled in an almost sheepish manner, looking more humble than I’d ever seen her. Plus, she’d made another move calculated to show she care about me and what I thought. Oh man, if she was going to pull out all the stops to be this attentive, it would turn into making out sooner or later, and then I’d have to tell her what happened to me.
As a woman, maybe she’d understand. I’d play the evening by ear and choose the right moment to tell her. No matter what, it’d be mortifying... but maybe funny. Maybe.
I sucked in a breath and nodded, with a glance at the passing buildings. Instead of fretting about what we couldn’t do tonight, I focused on all the firsts ahead of us, like our first night at a restaurant where no one we knew would barge in on the date. I hoped, anyway. New York was huge, but that didn’t mean it was easy to get away from the people in it. Especially when you were a household name in the magazine industry.
After we parked and walked down the street, I tried not to stare. The place in front of us was a little hole-in-the-wall type restaurant, warm light flooding onto the street from a glass door set into a gently curving brick arch. It was the kind of place you only saw in movies about New York City and found in real life if you were really, really lucky.
“I hope you like Italian.” Dylan flashed me one of her heart-stopping grins.
“I love it. Italian is nothing but carbs. This fat had to come from somewhere, you know.” I patted my hips, but Dylan took my hands in hers and shook her head.
“You aren’t fat. You’re beautiful, Sara. And you’re also wrong.”
I wasn’t sure which statement to address first, so I asked, “What am I wrong about?”
“Italian isn’t all carbs. It’s not just bread and pasta. Those are some of the best things about it, though, so don’t think you’ve got me beat with your carb game.” That smile of hers made it clear she was genuine and I shuddered. The tremor must have passed through my arms and into my hands, because Dylan’s smile became even wider.
“Then lead on,” I told her, putting my cell in my clutch. It was the only thing I could bring myself to say, because the woman next to me looked absolutely edible. Maybe it wouldn’t be so difficult to tell her what’d happened only an hour before she picked me up, why I’d have to say no to sex on what was technically our third date.
Annoyance settled in my stomach. We should have had sex during our picnic, in the field. It would have been poetic. Not filled with burning, throbbing crotch regret.
The hostess seated us and I shifted constantly in hopes of finding a comfortable place on the wooden chair. Dylan leaned forward and the smell of her body wash made me go all weak again. “Okay, are you going to tell me what’s wrong or do I have to guess?”
Making her guess might be a fun game, but I didn’t want her mind concocting the worst possibilities. So, I made myself as small as I could, hunching against the table, and whispered, “It’s a woman thing.”
“Oh, really?” She cocked one eyebrow and also leaned in, so I could whisper. “I’m all ears.”
It was now or never. Better to set the tone for honesty than hide the truth, only to have her find out later. Looking at it like that helped. “I had a waxing malfunction today. Jennifer thought I needed a Brazilian for our date and she set me up with some heartless beast of a woman who ignored my screams of pain.”
Dylan’s face went red, the color spreading from her chin to her forehead. At first, I thought she was angry. It made sense that she would get upset that someone took away what I was going to give her tonight. And then she started laughing, loudly. No, she was howling, hand smacking against the table. I glanced around the restaurant. People were looking at us.
“Okay, thanks for your sensitivity,” I grumbled.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help it. I can’t believe you did that. Don’t you know Brazilians are just for porn stars and magazine centerfolds? Oh my gosh, did she at least leave a little landing strip?” Dylan conti
nued to chortle and wiped at the tears in her eyes.
“Uh, no, for your information. She took everything down there. Everything.” Dylan’s reaction wasn’t at all what I’d expected and it didn’t make me feel better. I folded my arms across my chest and fixed her with a glare. “I could use a little more empathy right now, you know.”
Dylan’s chortling subsided somewhat and she winked at me. “Don’t worry. I’m sure we can find a way to make you feel better.”
The offer made me think of one thing, of course, and I must have pulled a face because Dylan’s eyebrows lifted. Before either of us could say a word, though, the too-perky waitress appeared next to our table. I picked up my menu, but as I ran my gaze down the list of appetizers, I picked up something else. The way the waitress’s voice lilted while she spoke with Dylan, openly staring, I could tell she was flirting.
I tried to watch without looking like I was paying attention. Dylan smiled and ordered an appetizer. A glance at the waitress showed me she was hot. Mega-hot. Way cuter than me with her shoulder-length red hair and a delicate nose piercing, not to mention slender in all the right places, with an enormous rack. She barely looked my way when I placed my drink order.
As soon as she left, I locked my gaze on Dylan’s face. “I don’t know if I want your way of making me feel better.”
“Why not? You might like it.” Dylan’s eyebrows lifted and lowered comically.
“I might, but how many other girls have liked it? Seeing the way women react to you reminds me of the person you are, and I’m not sure I can handle that.”
Dylan stopped the silly eyebrow wagging and stared back at me, unblinking. She froze me to the spot with a glare. “Was, Sara. That’s the person I was and I can’t change anything about my past. I wish I could, since it bothers you, but all I can do is move forward. The same goes for you. Maybe you can’t change the heartbreak you’ve suffered, but you need to learn to trust people again.”