Puck Me Baby

by Lili Valente

  “You want me to order for both of us?” he asks as the harried server stops beside our table, dropping two glasses of water and a pile of napkins before pulling her notepad from her tight pink apron.

  “Yes, please.” I smile as I tuck my menu back into the holder and watch Alexi order an insane amount of food, including a fried pepper plate with “extra heat.”

  As the server promises to return with the apps soon and scurries away to drop a check at another table, Alexi turns back to me with a serious expression. “You said you wanted spicy, so I went there, but don’t be afraid to say no to the habaneros. They can be pretty intense.”

  I cross my arms on the table and sit up straighter. “Is that a challenge?”

  He shakes his head solemnly. “Not at all. I won’t think any less of you if you don’t have what it takes to step up to the heat. Most people don’t, especially people who have trouble choosing tacos.”

  I laugh before scowling in mock anger. “Oh, that’s it. It’s on, Petrov. You’ve awoken the beast within.”

  “Really?” His eyes dance. “You think you’ve got what it takes, baby elephant?”

  “I’m not a baby elephant. I’m a dragon, with taste buds forged in fire. I was drowning my eggs in hot sauce back before sriracha was even a thing. I took red pepper flakes to elementary school in my backpack. I’m a bona fide hot-food-eating veteran of all the spicy wars.”

  His lips turn down hard at the edges as his shoulder lifts and falls.

  I huff. “What’s that supposed to mean? That little shrug?”

  “It means we’ll have to wait and see. There’s a difference between red pepper flakes and a pepper ripped from the depths of hell.”

  I hold out my hand with a grin “Fine. You want to make a bet, badass?”

  “What kind of bet?” He grins, clearly enjoying this game as much as I am.

  “If I can handle the heat, and take down at least one of every pepper on that appetizer plate, my new nickname is Dragon, not Mouse.”

  He shakes his head. “Myshka is a pet name, not a nickname. And dragon doesn’t sound very sweet in Russian.”

  The way he says “pet name,” in that voice that makes it clear he still wants to pet me, even though I’ve turned his life upside down and sworn I want nothing more to do with his magnificent body, makes my stomach flip and my voice tremble as I say, “That’s okay. Victory will be sweet enough for me.”

  “All right.” He arches a brow. “And if I’m the winner, what’s my prize?”

  “I don’t know. What do you want?” My heart skips a beat as his eyes darken.

  “Many things,” he says, reaching a hand across the table. “I want many things, but I’ll settle for hiring a driver to take you to work and home again every day. I want to be sure you’re never locked out in the rain again.”

  I pull my hand back, refusing to shake on a bet like that. “That’s very sweet but too unselfish. You should ask for something you really want.”

  “I really want to get you a driver,” he insists. “And I’m not sweet. If you haven’t realized it yet, I enjoy being in control. I like things done my way, and I’m not above playing dirty to make that happen.”

  I bite my lip. “So you didn’t mean what you said to Brendan in the locker room? About being happy about the pregnancy, as long as the baby and I make it through the delivery okay?”

  “Of course I meant it,” he says, expression serious. “That’s all I want.”

  “Then you can’t say you aren’t sweet.” I slip my hand into his and curl my fingers around his wide, warm palm. “Because that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “All right, myshka. But don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.”

  Before I can decide if he’s still kidding, or truly trying to warn me about something not-so-sweet going on in that mysterious head of his, the server returns with chips, queso, and the infamous fried pepper platter.

  “So you’ve got, in order of increasing heat: flash-fried red peppers, breaded poblanos, shishito with a soy ginger sauce, caramelized serranos, and habaneros stuffed with cream cheese and finished with panko breadcrumbs in olive oil.” The woman sets a small white ramekin next to the vibrantly colored assortment. “And here’s your emergency yogurt on the side, just in case. Water will only spread the heat around, so be sure to use the yogurt if you need it. Anything else I can get you two right now?”

  “No, we’re good. Thanks so much,” I say, unease whispering through my confidence for the first time. I’ve never been in a pepper situation that required emergency yogurt. Who knew that was even a thing?

  “There’s still time to back out.” Alexi reaches for a serrano and pops it between his lips, chewing with a calm that makes it clear he has no intention of crying uncle. “I’m assuming you know how hot a habanero can be? Even when it’s stuffed with cream cheese to take the edge off? And that use of the emergency yogurt will automatically disqualify either party?”

  I snatch a shishito from the plate and hold it up in the air between us. “I’m not backing out, but if you’re scared, I understand. And I promise not to make you call me dragon all the time, just when I’m in the mood to feel powerful and victorious.”

  His eyes narrow dangerously. “Not a chance, baby elephant. But I’m also a gracious winner. I’ll wait until I’m alone tonight to hire your driver, and I promise not to gloat when the car comes to pick you up tomorrow morning. Do you have a preference as far as the type of vehicle?”

  “I prefer my Prius, which is what I’ll be driving to work tomorrow because you’re not winning this bet, buster.” I pop the pepper between my lips and chew with exaggerated disappointment. “Wow. That has to be the mildest shishito I’ve ever eaten. I mean, the sweet sauce is tasty, but come on…”

  “You got lucky,” he says, stabbing another serrano with his fork. “Half of those shishitos are hot enough to burn the taste buds off your tongue. That’s the thing about shishitos: they’re unpredictable. Some hot, some not.” He waves the serrano back and forth in a tick-tock motion. “But the serrano and the habanero aren’t here to play games, little girl.”

  “Good.” I go straight for the habanero, plucking a plump, lightly-breaded beastie from the plate and holding it up to face off against Alexi’s serrano. “Because I don’t play games, either.” Determined to prove my badassery in at least this one area, I open wide, place the pepper delicately on my tongue, and bite down.

  The surprise in Alexi’s eyes transforms to grudging respect as I begin to chew, slowly, thoroughly, taking my time masticating the little spice bomb exploding in my mouth. And at first, that’s all it is, a little spice bomb. It’s intense, no doubt, but nothing earth-shattering, and for a few innocent moments I’m naïve enough to think that’s as bad as it’s going to get.

  Then the second wave hits with a vengeance. With fire and brimstone and flaming arrows raining down. Like a fire catching a backdraft, the flames licking my tongue suddenly become a roaring inferno.

  I swallow fast, praying that getting the pepper out of my mouth will alleviate my suffering, but that only causes the pain to go streaking down my throat into my churning belly. The pepper lands on my empty stomach, which immediately growls like a cat whose tail got slammed in a door.

  “That wasn’t a good sound,” Alexi teases, still unaware that I’m on the verge of bursting into flames like a vampire who stepped out into the sun, except my death blow is coming from inside the house. Inside the stomach. Inside my mouth, which is throbbing like an open wound.

  He’s still grinning when I suck in a breath that sounds like a death rattle and tears begin streaming down my cheeks in my body’s futile attempt to put out the fire. “I’m not crying,” I rasp, my throat raw from toxic pepper juices. “It’s an involuntary response.”

  “Shit.” His smile falls away as he pushes the pepper plate to the side and slides the yogurt close to where my fists are clenched on top of the table. “Dr
ink the yogurt. It helps.”

  I shake my head and reach for my napkin to swab away the tears, determined not to break. The first rush of spice is always the most vicious, which means the worst is already out of the way. I just have to hold on a little longer and eat four much less evil peppers, and victory will be mine.

  “Your face is bright red,” Alexi says, worry tightening his mouth. “You look like a cherry jawbreaker. Drink the yogurt.”

  I shake my head more emphatically but don’t risk speaking. Moving my mouth to form words feels like lemon juice poured into a thousand tiny cuts in my tongue.

  Alexi tips his chin down, pinning me with a stern look that would be right at home on the face of a 1950s TV dad. “Amanda Esposito, forget the bet and drink the yogurt.”

  “No,” I gasp, blinking as fresh tears fill my eyes and dancing devils stab pitchforks into my mouth. “I’ve got this. I’m totally fine.”

  “You’re not totally fine. You look like you’re about to pass out, and I’m not taking you to the emergency room over a stupid bet.” A second later he’s in the booth beside me, holding the ramekin of yogurt up to my lips. “Drink it. You won. I admit defeat.”

  I press my lips together and make a “uh-uh” sound as I motion for him to drink the yogurt first.

  “Are you serious?” he asks, glowering down at me.

  I nod and sniff again, refusing to be intimidated. If he were seriously angry and worried—and not still competitive about this pepper business—then he would already be drinking the yogurt.

  I’m about to tell him so when he lifts the ramekin.

  “Fine, if that’s the way you want it.” He tips the white tumbler up, downing every last drop of the sweet relief I was desperate to slurp down my burning throat as soon as he sipped some first.

  I’m about to crawl over him and make a run for the kitchen—where I will not be too proud to beg for yogurt or tortillas or a soggy sponge from the sink or anything else that might put out the flames—when Alexi pulls me close and his lips meet mine.

  My lips part in surprise, and his tongue strokes into my mouth, carrying a wave of sweet, sweet relief. Never in my life had I imagined what it would be like to french kiss a man who was holding a shot of cool, slightly sour, drinkable yogurt in his mouth, but at the moment it is the sexiest, most relief-giving, fantasy-fulfilling thing that’s ever happened to me. Bar none.

  “Oh God, thank you,” I murmur against his lips as he kisses me deep and slow, exploring every inch of my mouth with his tongue until the inferno has become a different kind of fire.

  The flames travel south, licking at my skin, making me ache and need and wish we were anywhere but in a crowded restaurant. All I want to do is roll Alexi beneath me and show him how grateful I am for his yogurt kisses by riding his beautiful body for at least forty-five minutes straight.

  Or maybe an hour and a half.

  Call me crazy, but I think the devil peppers may have kicked my already hyperactive sex drive up to the next level.

  “You are the best man in the entire world.” I kiss him with the words before flicking my tongue back and forth across his full bottom lip. “The very best.”

  “So you’re feeling better?” he asks, still making sweet yogurt-flavored love to my mouth with an intimacy that’s way too intense for a public place.

  “Much better,” I murmur. I know we should stop before we cause an even bigger scene than we have already, but damn, can this man kiss…and kiss and kiss until I forget that I have anything more pressing in the world to do than taste him. Devour him. Take everything he offers and silently beg for more.

  “No more fire?” he asks, his voice low and deliciously rumbly.

  “No,” I breathe against his lips. “Not that kind of fire, anyway. But I’m pretty sure we broke the just-friends rule.”

  “Fuck the just friends rule,” he says, the words making my pulse leap. “I don’t want to be your friend. I want to kiss you like this while you’re coming for me. Because of me. Because I know how to give you pleasure better than anyone else.”

  “But we agreed…” I trail off as he does that thing with his teeth and my top lip and then my bottom lip and…

  Oh my…

  “We agreed we should work together to do what’s best for our child,” he says. “And I think we work very well together when you’re naked in my bed and I’ve got my face between your legs, making love to your beautiful pussy with my mouth.”

  Oh my, my…

  My panties melt, and my willpower drifts away on a river of need as my fingers dig into his thigh through his jeans. “Take me home, Alexi.”

  “Let me get the food to go first. You need to eat.”

  “I don’t need to eat,” I insist, strung out on my recently vanished pain and the desire still raging beneath my skin. “I need you naked and inside of me.”

  He makes a hungry sound low in his throat as his hand moves between my legs beneath the tablecloth, making me gasp as he finds my clit through the thin fabric of my scrubs. “Soon, but you’re going to eat at least one taco on the way home. I don’t want you passing out in the middle of all the things I intend to do to you, myshka.”

  “Dragon,” I murmur, cheeks heating as I do my best not to look like my dinner date is touching me intimately beneath the table. “You drank the yogurt first, so I win the bet.”

  He mutters something in Russian.

  “What does that mean?” I ask, biting my lip.

  “It means you’re stubborn,” he says, his knuckle rubbing against my most sensitive flesh until I’m afraid I might lose control. “And beautiful.”

  “The beautiful part is nice.” I gasp aloud then add in a panicked whisper, “But you have to stop. Before I embarrass myself.”

  “Only if I get to hire a driver, dragon. I don’t see any reason why we can’t both win. Do you?”

  “No driver,” I say with a slow shake of my head. “But I can think of other ways we can both win.”

  He arches a brow. “Is that right?”

  “It is,” I murmur, as he nudges my clit again. “And I’ll show you every one as soon as we’re home.”

  Chapter 11

  Petrov

  *

  Back at my truck, I help Mandy in, buckle her seat belt, and put the bag of food slowly and deliberately into her lap. “Eat something.”

  “Yes, sir,” she murmurs, making the hard-on I’ve been trying to hide behind my jacket throb inside my jeans. All I want to do is drop the seat back, strip her scrubs down her thighs, and devour her pussy right here in the abandoned parking lot, but I’m a grown man in control of his primal urges.

  Or so I tell myself…

  But obeying the speed limit feels like an exercise in cruel and unusual punishment, and the fifteen-minute drive through downtown and into the smaller, quainter streets of my neighborhood takes an eternity. Add in the fact that Mandy is dismantling her chicken taco with soft moans of appreciation that remind me of the sounds she makes when she’s about to come, and by the time we pull into the driveway, I’m breaking out in a cold sweat beneath my shirt.

  “You were right,” she says, her voice breathy as she wipes her fingers and tucks the napkin into the bag of food. “I needed to eat, and that taco was amazing.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I say, jaw tight. “Even if listening to you eat it almost killed me.”

  “Really? How so?” Her tone is pure innocence, but when I shove the truck into park and turn to her, she’s grinning.

  A naughty grin I can’t wait to kiss off her pretty face.

  “You know exactly how so.” I reach for her seat belt, deliberately brushing my knuckles across her nipple as I move, loving the way her breath catches and her eyes flood with desire. “Put the food in the fridge and meet me upstairs. I’m going to run you a bath.”

  Her lashes flutter “Why? Do I smell like grape juice? Or tacos? Grape-juice tacos?”

  “You smell like heaven, and I can’t wait to get
my mouth on every part of you.” I slip my hand beneath her shirt and under her bra, finding the nipple that’s already hard for me.

  “God, that feels so good,” she says, fingers threading into my hair.

  I kiss her jaw, her cheek, lips hovering over hers as I confess, “That’s all I want. To make you feel good. And to join you in the bath. If that’s all right?”

  “So all right.” She shivers as I roll her nipple. “Though I might need some time to get used to being naked with you again.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Honestly?” She swallows, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. “I’m a little intimidated by you, Alexi. Like I said, I don’t remember everything about that night, but I remember enough to know I’m out of my league with you in every way.”

  “Not even a little bit true. You blew my mind, myshka.”

  “Yeah?” Her breath rushes out as I pinch her nipple tighter.

  “Since the moment you crawled out of my bed, all I’ve wanted to do was to get you back in it. I dream about your body.” I nip her earlobe before murmuring into the shell of her ear, “About you hot and wet and riding me.”

  “Me, too. I dream about that, too.” Her nails dig into my neck as our kiss grows hotter, deeper, more frenzied and wild, until she pulls away with an urgent finger jabbed toward the house. “Inside. Now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I swing out into the cool evening air and jog around to open her door, but by the time I get there, she’s already climbing out of the truck, looking so adorably rumpled from our make-out session I can’t help but smile.

  She tugs her shirt down with a lift of her chin. “What? It’s not my fault. You made me look like this. Or at least helped the disaster along.”

  “You’re not a disaster. You’re beautiful.” I stalk her across the lawn. “Now get your ass inside. You’re going to look even prettier without clothes on.”