by Piper Rayne
“Your first name being…?” I prod.
With a wicked smirk, he pulls into the parking lot of Burrito Bandito. “Nice try, Princess.”
I bite my lip to keep from grinning back at him, refusing to acknowledge the way his pet name is slowly growing on me or the fact that I haven’t had this much fun being teased in forever.
“Come on,” I beg. “You’re killing me, Hawthorne. I wanna know your––”
“It’s a drive-thru,” he realizes, stating the obvious. You’d think I was inviting him to eat off a toilet seat as he inspects the little sombrero sign hanging crookedly on the cracked stucco.
“Sure is, Fancy Pants. Is that a problem?” I ask.
He hesitates.
“Don’t let the outside fool you. It’s a hidden gem. I promise. Do you trust me?”
He tears his gaze away from the building and quirks his brow. “Did you just quote Aladdin?”
I open my mouth to argue before replaying my comment inside my head. Then I laugh and cover my face. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t even realize it.”
“Mm-hmm, sure you didn’t.”
“I really didn’t!” I argue through another bout of laughter. “But seriously, it’s delicious. And besides, it’s good to try new things. You might even surprise yourself and end up addicted like the rest of us small-town hooligans.”
“And what do I get out of the deal?” he asks.
“A really good taco?” I quip.
“Like, your taco or––”
“Hawthorne!” I smack his shoulder, my face the color of a freaking cherry tomato.
He laughs. “I’m kidding. I’m kidding.”
“Mm-hmm, sure you are.”
“But I mean, if it’s on the menu––”
“Will you stop?” I screech, my embarrassment warring with my amusement the longer this conversation prevails.
Pretty sure if you could die from embarrassment, I’d be a goner. But what a way to go.
That wicked grin? With those eyes? And that deep voice?
Is it hot in here?
“Fiiiine,” he finally gives in, throwing me a bone. “Do you want to go in or do the”––he clears his throat and points at the giant neon sign with an arrow on it––“drive-thru?”
“Drive-thru, please.”
I’m pretty sure he’d have a heart attack if he stepped one foot inside the dinky restaurant, and I wanna see the look on his face when he finally tastes the amazingness that Burrito Bandito has to offer.
Hawthorne follows my order and pulls up to the microphone before scanning the options on the billboard to his left.
“What do you like from here?” he asks.
“The chips and salsa are to die for, and so are their fish…tacos. As for their burritos, you can’t go wrong.”
“Alright, then.” He scans the menu one more time before rattling off his order. Then he turns to me. “What do you want?”
“I’ll take the same, please.”
“Make that two of everything,” he adds to the intercom.
“Perfect,” a voice crackles in return. “We’ll have your total at the window.”
I reach for my purse, but he puts his hand on mine and stops me. “No deal, Princess.”
“But––”
With a pointed stare, he orders, “I’m serious. Put it away. Let me treat you.”
The warmth from his touch makes me melt as I give him a nod.
“Thank you,” he murmurs before tearing his gaze from mine to pull the car forward.
When we get to the next window, he digs out his credit card and hands it to the cashier before grabbing two paper bags filled with greasy goodness. My mouth waters as the scent wafts through his beautiful car.
Which is when I realize there’s greasy goodness in his immaculately clean car.
“Um,” I hum.
He looks over at me. “Is there a problem?”
“I changed my mind. We should go in.”
With a dry laugh, he challenges, “Why do you look like you just got caught skipping school?”
“Because I didn’t think about how eating in your car might dirty it up a bit.”
“So?”
“So, have you seen Eleanor? She’s a beaut.”
“And you’re a beaut, so I think it’s worth the risk.”
“But I’m a mess, and she’s so pretty and clean.” I pet the dashboard lovingly.
Another dry laugh escapes him. “Maybe she could use a little dirtying up.”
“And maybe you and I have different versions of dirty that’s acceptable in the back of a car.”
His earlier amusement vanishes, and his gaze darkens, rolling over me like warm honey that leaves me a sticky mess beside him. “Pretty sure you and I have very similar versions of acceptable ways to dirty up cars, and if I knew you’d be up for it, I’d be all in.”
My cheeks redden as an image of us dirtying up his car in all the right ways flashes through my mind. I clear my throat and point toward the dark road ahead of us. “There’s a park across the street. If you want to eat there.”
“Okay.” He turns onto the main road before pulling into the empty parking lot in front of a large, grassy slope that leads to a baseball field and a swing set. Once the car is parked, I grab the bags of greasy goodness and reach for the door handle when he puts his hand on my thigh, squeezing softly.
“Sorry, Princess. I’m going to have to insist you wait for me to open your door.”
“Seriously?”
“Rules are rules.”
“Maybe I don’t like to follow rules.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t tempt me to show you what happens when someone disobeys them.” With a wink, he gets out of the car, that same confidence oozing out of every pore. My eyes narrow into tiny slits as I debate whether or not to push his buttons before deciding against it.
For now, anyway.
The passenger door opens without so much as a tiny squeak before he offers his hand.
“You listened,” he notes.
“You’re surprised?”
“Actually, yeah,” he admits with a crooked smirk. “Come on.”
Side by side, we walk down the slanted slope before sitting down on the freshly trimmed lawn. The cool grass tickles my bare thighs as I open the brown paper sacks and hand him a fish taco. “One for you.” I reach into the bag again and pull out a second taco. “And one for me.”
Tilting his head to one side, Hawthorne takes a bite of fishy goodness before his tongue darts out to catch a bit of the juice from the side of his mouth. The moon glints off his Rolex, making him look like a damn alien. In a fancy suit. In the middle of a dark park. On the grass, where he’ll probably get grass stains.
Pretty sure I couldn’t make up a more foreign scenario for the guy, but he’s handling it like a champ and looks sexy as hell while doing it. When he catches me staring, he grins but doesn’t comment on it before taking another bite of his dinner, which happens to be takeout.
The horror.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” he asks.
“Like what?”
“Like I belong on another planet.”
“Well,” I scan him up and down with wide eyes to prove my point. “Look at you.”
“What about me?”
“When was the last time you had takeout?”
He pauses before wiping the side of his mouth with the back of his hand. “Honestly? I have no idea.”
“Exactly. And you’re sitting on damp grass in a fancy suit, wearing your fancy watch with your fancy car parked a few feet away. I mean, it’s a little out of the ordinary for you, don’t you think?”
With a shrug, he takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully as he digests my remarks. He swallows and mutters, “Maybe lately, but I didn’t always own the fancy suits and car.”
“Oh really? And where did you come from, Mister No-First-Name?”
“A small town like this one.”
“Oh.”
>
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just…”
“Just what?”
Grimacing, I admit, “You kinda stick out like a sore thumb.”
“It’s the fancy suit and watch,” he quips.
Tilting my head to the side, I study him. Again. But I can’t help it. The guy’s an enigma. “Maybe. Do you miss it, though? Living in a small town?”
He stares thoughtfully out in the distance, scanning the horizon as if it holds all the answers. “I didn’t think I did.”
“And now?”
He turns to me, scanning my face the same way he studied the empty ballpark. “Now, I’m not so sure.”
The air turns electric as his cool gaze bounces around my face with staggering intensity. It’s charged with an energy that’s so heavy, so full, that I have a feeling the tiniest of sparks will turn it into an inferno.
And I’m not ready to be consumed yet.
“Hmm,” I hum, tucking my knees to my chest.
“Hmm,” he mimics, his gaze dropping to my lips. My tongue darts out and moistens them, but I don’t lean closer. I feel like we’re walking a tightrope, and at any second, we could fall. But not yet.
Not yet.
He shoves the last bite of taco into his mouth, breaking the spell in the blink of an eye. His strong jaw flexes with every chew, making him look chiseled from granite. I shake off the urge to lean forward and nibble on his five o’clock shadow before lifting my barely touched taco and waving it back and forth.
“So?” I prod. “What do you think?”
“I think these are the best damn fish tacos I’ve ever had.”
“Told ya.” I take a bite, barely holding in the moan as the flavors of cumin and paprika explode across my tastebuds.
So. Damn. Good.
I swallow the deliciousness, then ask, “So, Hawthorne. You ready to tell me your first name yet?”
He laughs and leans back on the grass, using his elbows to keep from fully lying down as he looks up at the stars above us. “Not gonna let that one go, are you?”
“Nope. I’m a stubborn one.”
“I can see that.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“That’s because I haven’t decided if I’m intrigued enough to divulge it yet.”
I quirk my brow and scoot a little closer. “Come on, I’m very intriguing, Mr. Hawthorne.”
“That you are, Sammie Norris.” His gaze heats slightly as it rolls over me with appreciation. “Maybe with a bit more effort, you could intrigue me even more. You know, push me over the edge.”
“Are you leveraging your first name for some free action in the middle of an empty park at close to midnight, Mr. Hawthorne?”
“I’d hardly call it free if I have to give you my first name in return,” he counters.
Throwing my head back, I laugh. Hard. “And you think your first name is worth the action I’m willing to exchange? What if it’s something generic like Tom or John?”
“I did mention my mother’s from Bulgaria, didn’t I? I assure you, it’s not Tom or John and that you’d hang it over my head for the rest of my life.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Maybe.” He shrugs and sits up before resting his elbow on his bent knee.
Yup. The guy’s definitely gonna have grass stains tomorrow.
“Maybe not,” he adds. “But you’ll never know unless…” The words get lost in his throat as I lean closer to him, bursting his little bubble one tiny movement at a time. My breast brushes against his bicep, causing my nipples to tighten on contact.
But I like games. I like Truth or Dare. I like Spin the Bottle. I like pushing my own boundaries and teasing men until they’re begging for me to put us both out of our misery. And even though I’m pretty sure I’m the prey in this scenario, I like that he’s willing to let me believe I’m the lion for just a minute. Giving up his control when it’s obvious he thrives off it.
“What were you saying again?” I breathe, my words kissing the shell of his ear before I drag the tip of my tongue against him. Then I bite it playfully.
He tilts his chin to give me better access, the light five-o’clock shadow tickling my lips as I suck just beneath his ear until a husky groan escapes him.
“Sam.” His hand cups my waist, slipping between his suit jacket that’s still swallowing me whole and my black tank top. He squeezes softly. Desperately. As if my innocent teasing is already driving him mad, and it only spurs me on.
“What’s your name?” I whisper before sucking on a fresh patch of skin. The slight scruff scrapes against my tongue but only makes me crave him more.
“Hawthorne.”
With a glare, I lift my leg and swing it over his waist before tangling my fingers in his soft, salt and pepper hair. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
He smirks. “You're gonna have to work harder than that, Princess.”
I tug roughly on the roots of his hair, forcing his head back a few inches before pressing my mouth to his in hopes of wiping away his arrogance when I’m afraid it only ignites it. The kiss is hard. And messy. And filled with so much lust that I’m afraid I might drown in it as he forces his tongue into my mouth.
Yes, please.
With a soft moan, I suck his tongue hard, my hips slowly rolling into a figure eight as I fight for friction. Or pressure. Or anything that’ll soothe the ache in my sex that’s desperate to be filled. But I only want one thing.
Him.
“Hawthorne,” I breathe out, his name a plea on my lips.
He pushes his suit jacket off my shoulders, desperate to bring me closer the same way I’m dying to be closer to him. It lands in a crumpled heap around my waist before his fingers toy with the hem of my shirt, silently asking for permission.
With a nod, I tilt my head to the side and go in for another kiss, convinced I’m making up how good he tastes. How good he feels. And that my attraction to him will vanish as soon as I get off in his lap. Slowly, his hands inch beneath my shirt, squeezing my lower waist once more before traveling to my breast. He cups my flesh roughly.
Yes, please.
A slight whimper escapes me, and I drop my head back, looking toward the sky, savoring the moment and the feel of his hands on my body like a damn addict. He rolls me onto my back, being careful not to jostle me too much. As if I’m precious. Cherished.
So this is what it’s like to be worshipped.
My hips roll against him as I fight with his stupid button-up shirt, desperate to feel his heated skin against mine. His husky laughter vibrates against my ear before he unbuttons it slowly. Inch by inch. And even though it’s dark as hell out here, the moonlight still causes shadows along his toned chest and abs, making my mouth water. My hands itch to reach out and touch him, so I do. Because I can. Because in this moment, he’s all mine, and I’m not going to waste a single second of it.
“Not bad for an old man,” I tease, rubbing my hands along his heated skin, my heart racing faster with each passing moment as his abs bunch and flex against my fingertips.
“More experience to worship you with,” he returns before he shoves my shirt and bra up the rest of the way to reveal my stomach and chest, his mouth exploring every inch of exposed skin. From my collar bone to the flesh just above the button on my shorts. Not a single piece is left untouched. Unworshipped. Again, my hips buck up to meet his mouth as I weave my fingers through his thick hair.
“Please,” I whisper.
Worship me. Make me feel alive, even if it’s just for one night.
With a swift tug, he yanks off my shorts and underwear, spreads my thighs with his calloused palms, and sucks my lips into his mouth. My back arches, and stars erupt as my jaw opens wide in a silent scream.
“Right there,” I whimper, my heels digging into his shoulders for leverage. “Right fucking there.”
I can feel him smile against me before slipping his fingers inside of me, crooking them to the perfect an
gle as he sucks my clit into his mouth. Nibbling on the tiny bundle of nerves until all I can see, smell, feel is him––my one-night stand who’s starting to feel like a hell of a lot more than that.
“Hawthorne…”
He pumps his fingers in and out of me.
“Shiiiiiit.” I come with the force of a damn sledgehammer, shattering into a million pieces as he laps at me, giving me time to come down from the orgasm that just wrecked me. Hard.
When my legs fall limply open, he climbs up my torso and licks his lips before pressing his mouth to mine. I smile against him, my body feeling like Jell-O in the best possible way.
“It’s Boris, by the way,” he murmurs.
My brows furrow as the euphoric fog slowly dissipates from my brain. “Wait. Your name’s Boris?”
He nods.
A loud laugh bubbles out of me as I press my face into the crook of his neck.
Oh my hell, there’s no way he’s telling me the truth.
“You’re finding way too much amusement in this,” he mutters.
With a very unladylike snort, I shake my head back and forth, tears rolling down my cheeks as I try to catch my breath. Maybe it’s the fact that I just got down and dirty in the middle of a freaking park. Maybe it’s because I feel more at home with this man than I’ve ever felt in my entire life. Or maybe it’s because his name is freaking Boris. Who names their baby that?
I laugh even harder.
Poor baby Boris.
“Okay, okay,” I reply between bouts of laughter. “I get it now.”
My breathing calms slightly before he rests on his elbows, caging me in on both sides with his strong arms while keeping his massive frame from crushing me further into the grass.
“You get what now?” he asks, his head cocked to the side.
“Why you’re against feminism and all that. If we get married, and you take my name? Can you imagine?” I gasp. “Boris Norris? The horror!”
Fed up, Hawthorne digs his fingers into my sides, tickling the shit out of me until I’m a squirming mess beneath him.
“No!” I laugh, pleading, begging him to stop his playful torture when I’d give anything to stay in this moment forever. “Stop!”