Dinner and a Movie

by S. D. Grady

  Dinner and a Movie

  S.D. Grady

  Published by Purple Sword Publications, LLC

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  DINNER AND A MOVIE

  Copyright © 2011 S.D. GRADY

  ISBN 978-1-61292-014-6

  Cover Art Designed By Dawné Dominique

  Edited By Traci Markou

  Stop and Look Twice

  Liam rolled to a stop right behind the shiny, fat ass of a 2010 Chevy Camaro. Under the amber glow of the city, the maroon paint glistened. The taillights dulled as it pulled away when the light changed. Damn, he always wanted one of those—some hot little sports car, with a motor able to leave anybody in the dust. He revved his pale blue Volvo and grimaced. Maybe he didn’t drive a muscle car, but he could still dream.

  He pulled up by the Camaro at the next light. The blue circles of the dash glowed from the interior. The dark shadow of the driver, a woman, swayed back and forth. She flipped her hair in time to the music…his music, he realized. He spun the knob on his radio and let the thump and twang of Brad Paisley take the fantasy to the next level, her shoulders continuing to move with the rhythm.

  In his mind she would be tall, slim with plump cherry red lips. There would be no talking, just hard, fast sex on the hood of her car. Five inch heels and a tight leather skirt wouldn’t hurt, either.

  He shifted in his seat, adjusting his cock, until the magic popped in his brain. Who was he fooling? The driver wouldn’t be his dream girl. She would take a look at his athletic, 6’2” build, conservative haircut, tasteful suit of pin-striped black and peg him for money and her next sugar daddy. He loosened his grip on the wheel and sighed.

  Stifled, he rolled down his windows. The warm, summer breeze wafted into the car. He checked his mirrors and paused when he noticed five long fingers with nicely manicured nails flick a butt out the window of the Camaro. Slim and sexy…damn.

  Her elbow rested on the door while she played with curly, red-brown locks. A pretty chin, he allowed. And even from here he could see the generous swell of her breasts. She was tall and full of curves. Perhaps not so far from that dream girl, after all.

  The song ended and segued into something slow and mournful.

  She checked her mirror, giving Liam a better view of full cheeks and long lashes. Eye color? He chuckled. Why would he need to know? They were stopped at a light, it would change, and they would drive off into the sunset.

  She tossed her hair over her shoulder and caught his gaze. Liam smiled and so did she. Then she laughed. The phantom sound floated over the rumble of their engines and tore right through him; a deep, throaty chuckle. She pursed her lips, kissed her hand, and tossed it his way.

  The light changed to green. Liam sat in the dust. Her taillights vanished in the late evening traffic.

  * * * *

  Bernie stepped from her Camaro, clutching her white pocketbook and pulled down on the hem of her brown leather mini-skirt. She had to wiggle a bit to settle the loose-fitting white and rhinestone silk blouse on her shoulders. If she twitched too far one way, it slipped down her shoulder, pull it in the other direction and the deep valley of her cleavage screamed an invitation for men to dive into. She preferred something in between—a little tease, but not the whole plate on the buffet. Tonight was girl’s night out. First dinner here at Fredo’s, followed by dancing at Dusty’s Tavern. If she picked up a date along the way, great. If not, she’d survive. She always did.

  She tripped over a shallow pothole in the middle of the lot, stopped and reached down to pull the buckle tight on her ankle-high boots, with pointy toes and low heels—she left the cowgirl hat in the back seat. Her stomach growled. Her friend, Sheila, had been waiting almost an hour inside.

  A car horn blared.

  Irritated and late, Bernie flipped the driver off as she trotted toward the entrance. “Oh shit.” She stalled once again to open her pocketbook and peer inside.

  The horn honked again. A guy yelled, “Hey! Move it!”

  Damn. She’d left her wallet in the console. She turned to walk back to her car and stopped when she realized the pissed off driver sat behind the wheel of a pale blue Volvo—the one from the stoplight. She laughed, waved and blew the guy a kiss, again. She wondered if he recognized her without the Camaro. Probably not. They never did. She frowned as she hit the remote to unlock the door. She was too tall, too buxom, too wild, too…just too. She tried to diet, but it never did any good. Dad was 6’6’ and Mom a healthy 5’11’’. There was no way in hell Bernie Watkins would ever be anything but the woman no man wanted.

  * * * *

  No shit. Liam watched her bend over to reach into the console, the full globes of her ass strained against the leather of her skirt. He hissed with appreciation, and then released it in a low whistle. Jesus, look at those legs. A mile long. The hem of her skirt picked up the shadows cast by the parking lot lighting. She stood up on her toes a bit as she rummaged…

  Another horn honked.

  Liam chuckled. Yep. First pissed off at the idiot female fixing her clothes in the middle of the parking lot and now he was trapped by his body’s reaction to…his brain kept returning to the possibilities hidden by that skirt. A thong? Maybe some lacy hipsters. Or better yet….nothing to hide that pretty pussy from his hungry gaze and hands.

  The driver really laid into it this time. Liam pulled into a space three down from the Camaro and hustled to get out. He wanted to talk to her. Heck, it wasn’t every day you bumped into your dream girl, or at least the physical version of her. Maybe he could catch her before she got into the restaurant.

  She scurried now, clearly in a hurry—probably to meet a date, he figured. The door to the restaurant began to swing shut. He ran to grab it just before it closed on her. Even if she was meeting somebody else, this compulsion urged him on. He must speak to her. Would her voice be low and gravelly? Or sweet, soft… He shook his head. Already the echo of her cries in the throes of passion rattled around his mind. What kind of creep did this make him? She drove a hot car and lived in a body that cried for sin and she probably didn’t want him pestering her for her name.

  She stood at the reception desk, pointing into the dim environs of the dining room. Her shirt slipped down her shoulder to expose creamy skin. The host nodded and started to lead her down the steps into the dining area.

  “Uhh…” His voice shook. Liam cleared his throat and tried again. “Excuse me.”

  The girl and the host paused, turned to him and waited.

  For the barest instant, he fought the urge to stare at his toes. But something in her dark brown eyes drew him up to his full height. “I hoped I could speak to you for a moment?” There. That didn’t sound too awkward.

  The host looked back and forth between him and the girl and returned to his desk. She waited, with her head up and a firmed jaw. She probably figured he wanted to chew her out for holding traffic up.

  Liam stopped at the top of the stairs; she stood on the one just below. Even so, her head came to the middle of his chest. He grinned. Her scent, something spicy and unique, wrapped its way around his mind. The usual greetings stumbled over one another and stuck in his throat. After a few attempts he shrugged, smiled and asked, “Can I talk to you?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You just a
sked that.”

  Ah, yeah, he did. “Well, more like over there.” He pointed toward the small hallway that led to the restrooms.

  She peered into the shadows, sized him up and then shook her head. “If you wanna call me a bitch for tripping in the parking lot, go ahead.”

  Just like that. Blunt. In your face. Her challenge pumped up his heartbeat another notch, and also his cock. Damn, but she really revved his engine. Unable to suppress the impulse, he ran his finger up her arm, and reveled in victory as she shivered. “I’d rather do it in private, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  * * * *

  Bernie’s mouth went dry. Bumps broke out across her skin. She took a breath, but it caught in the back of her throat. She cast a quick glance at the shadowed hall. It beckoned to her.

  Do something impetuous…he’s interested.

  Are you an idiot? Can’t you see his hard-on? He’s some kind of perv.

  Her nipples tightened against the silk of her lacy bra. What kind of perverted things would he want?

  She backed down one more step and checked who might be witnessing the tall guy’s advance. The host ran his pen over his reservation book—no help there. A couple of teenagers hovered near the door, clearly hoping to be seated. At last she looked over her shoulder, peering in the depths of the dining room. Sheila sat in the far corner, sipping at a martini. Would she really care if Bernie…

  The guy grinned and muttered in his low voice, “It’s only just over there. I’m not going to abduct you.”

  Tall, well-built, an educated voice, carefully trimmed hair…his entire body screamed conservative, safe. Bernie quelled the urge to frown. She didn’t want safe, but this was the first guy who seemed to be interested in her in an eternity. And there were the goosebumps…

  His long fingers wrapped around her wrist. “Come.” He tugged.

  Bernie’s stomach did a little flip and her panties dampened with desire. Then the little voices started again.

  Come on, admit it, girl. You want him. Live a little. Maybe take him to bed. Your big girl boobs wouldn’t crush him. He might even be able to get you to orgasm.

  She took one step up. And then another. “Just for a moment.”

  His grasp firmed as he led her toward the restrooms. “What’s your name?”

  The careful little girl pushed her demon to the side. “I don’t know yours.”

  “Liam.” He edged her against the wall between the men’s and ladies. “Liam Clarke. Are you meeting somebody?”

  Bernie attempted to slow her breathing. The wall at her back and his wide chest in front made her feel small. He left a tiny opening to their left, but it wasn’t really enough to escape through. He still held her. Her wrist tingled from his touch. She pulled once, her stomach dropping when he failed to release her. “Yes, Sheila’s already ordered drinks.” She tamped down the seductive tickle of fear as he leaned forward.

  “Just your friend?” His breath tickled her ear.

  She licked her lips, swallowed and stared up into light green eyes that didn’t smile. He appeared focused on her every small move. His inhalations matched hers in depth. What was she doing? Bernie tugged again at her wrist—she wanted to touch. Flashes of skin and sweat shot through her body.

  “Your name?” he persisted.

  Something inside her surrendered. “Bernie.”

  “Bernie.” His lips brushed her hair. “My God, you have a beautiful body. I want it. I’ve never wanted a woman like this.” His other hand grasped her upper arm, pulling her closer to him. “And Sheila? What were your plans tonight?”

  A question…he asked a question. “Dinner and then dancing.”

  He exhaled a deep breath of disappointment and then released her. She sagged against the wall. Every muscle quivered with want. His lips, a dark, dusty rose were just an inch too high. His very size encouraged her to be bold, hungry. This man possessed enough muscle and height that she didn’t need to fear hurting him with her size. Her demon urged her to push away from the wall, then to run a finger down the long length of his chest, pause and then brush the swell of his cock under his neatly pressed pin-stripe suit.

  “And you?” she asked. “You must be meeting somebody.”

  He crowded her back, his weight pressing against the entire length of her body. Her clothes felt too tight, too many. Her thong bit into the swelling flesh around her pussy.

  “A business meeting. One of the equipment reps is in town. He wants to sell me some weights. We both like Italian.” Time passed as sweat beaded on his upper lip. His eyebrows tightened while he appeared to think. Bernie had no idea how he was managing that feat at the moment. She couldn’t stop staring into his clear green eyes…

  “Perhaps you might accept the request of a double date?”

  Bernie rested her head against the wall. His hands skimmed over her hips. Free, hers ran up the front of his suit. Hard muscles beneath a dark blue silk shirt met her seeking fingers.

  In the recesses of her brain, the dutiful little angel answered his question. “No date. Sheila is just divorced. Tonight was gonna be a night just for her. I couldn’t ruin it.”

  Her eyes closed in bliss as he traced her lips. “You have a soft heart, Miss Bernie.”

  Small bursts of joy rippled through her body in response to his compliment. But the use of ‘Miss Bernie’ created new urgent responses deep within. She purred and arced into him. Her demon murmured into his ear, “Say that again, Mr. Clarke.”

  She pulled back just enough. Heat and moisture collected in the wisp of space between their mouths. A spark leapt across the void.

  His mouth took hers, hard. His tongue surged past her teeth and ferreted out every crevice of moisture remaining in her mouth. The light from the wall sconce dimmed. The sounds of silverware and glass vanished, leaving only his pulse pounding against hers. Her limbs weakened. Her entire world tilted.

  Anything. She would do anything for this man. His touch. His voice.

  He released her mouth. Dazed, Bernie rested her head against the wall and stared at the ceiling. He continued to place a trail of fire on her throat, nibble the cords of her neck and suck. She moaned as the sharp pain triggered an erotic tightening in her belly.

  “What do you want?” she asked. Whatever the answer, she would give it.

  Liam groaned, placed his hands by her head and seemed to struggle to push away from her thrumming body.

  An antique clock in the foyer ticked, the tock grew louder with each moment that he watched her. Invisible strings pulled her forward. It would only take a moment to loosen his tie, unbutton the top and expose the triangle of flesh—the bit that beckoned her tongue. She would lick it and leave it wet and wanting….

  He chuckled, a sound that reverberated between them. “At first I just wanted your car. And then your legs…” Long fingers kneaded the back of her thighs. “When you bent over to get something from your car, it killed me.”

  He drew her into another kiss, brutal and short.

  “I want your body splayed open, waiting for me to take my pleasure. Are you wearing anything under this skirt?”

  Bernie’s eyes rolled back in her head as she tried to think. “God, I wish I wasn’t.”

  “What is it?” His voice lowered with desire.

  “A thong.” She ran her fingers through the short locks at the back of his head. “And it is soaking.”

  “Shit.” He pushed himself away from her and rubbed his neck.

  Bernie felt her blush rise as their eyes met and then immediately drew away.

  “I could lay you down in this hall right now and fuck you.”

  She tightened her legs together to stave off the rush of hot liquid between her thighs. “I wish you could.”

  “Can I have your number?”

  Bernie’s body stilled, as if soaked by a bucket of ice water. Her number…he would never call. They never did. He would sit across the dining room and stare at the extra little curves on her overly tall body, think twice about
having her in his bed and there would go his erection. She glanced at his crotch. Well, maybe not. A little tingle of hope thrilled her.

  She bent down to retrieve her pocketbook where she dropped it. That was a pleasant assault, her demon teased. She shrugged inside. So true. She pulled out her phone. “Here, I’ll text you.”

  He leaned against the opposite wall, his ankles crossed. Mr. GQ, if Bernie didn’t know better. If he ever rang her up, she’d go in an instant. Liam gave his information. She texted a short message, “Anything. Any time. Any place. Bernie (885) 555-0035.” And hit send.

  His pocket vibrated.

  She met his eyes and laughed. “Is that your phone or…”

  He pulled it free and read the message, placed the phone back in his pocket and stood up. “Miss Bernie, I shall always be excited to see you. You are an astoundingly beautiful woman. I wish we had more time tonight.”