“YOU DID ALL of this?” I ask, climbing out of Lenic’s Lexus, my breath caught in my throat. “For me?”
The sun hasn’t set yet, but the LED string lighting he has set up — for our date — down along the dock and around the boat cast an intimate romantic glow over the scenery ahead, highlighting a table at the end of the dock.
Surprise scrawls on my features and I blink. Smiling at me, he laces his fingers with mine and leads me down to the dock. When we reach the table, he slides his arms around my waist and I turn into him, allowing him to easily pull me into his embrace, even lifting me up on my toes for a kiss. His mouth takes mine softly before he lets me go, almost reluctantly, and pulls out a chair.
I sit down, my eyes wide, and gaze around the table he has laid out. Dark-blue napkins sit on a pale-blue linen tablecloth, with matching blue candles in the centre. The plain white China looks shiny and expensive against all of the blue.
“Lenic … this is beautiful,” I breathe out. I can’t wrap my head around the view surrounding us. It feels like I’ve fallen into a dream. “You’ve gone to so much trouble … I … I … Wow.”
“You say that a lot.”
“What?”
“‘Wow.’” He looks up from lighting the candles, dimples creasing.
“You only have yourself to blame. You give me too many reasons to say it.”
I let my greedy gaze roam up his body to that boyish, easy smile that makes butterflies flitter around in my heart. He is simply beautiful in the candlelight. He is wearing fitted jeans with a tight navy-blue V-neck top that tugs across his chest, like it can barely manage not to rip at the seams. I would like to test the strength of those seams with my mouth.
He settles into the chair opposite me, and I am forced, once again, to watch his poor shirt strain as it tries to remain in one piece. “You didn’t wear the red dress like I wanted.”
I study him. “Do you always get what you want?”
“No.” I raise my brow in surprise. “But I was wrong.” He pours red wine into my glass.
“Wrong about what?”
“Red being your colour … Yellow is. Always wear yellow.”
I’m wearing a figure-hugging yellow strapless dress tonight. I feel my cheeks get warm as his dark gaze holds mine for what seems like too long, like he is already picturing me in his bed naked.
Mystery solved. Yellow gives him a dirty mind.
“Are you going to say that about every colour I wear?”
“Yeah.” He pours himself a glass of lemon water and holds it out across the table. I pick up my glass of wine. “To Felicity Saint James. The quick-tongued girl I'm loving getting to know, and looking forward to knowing better.” Our glasses clink together in a cheer.
“To dinner dates on the dock.”
His glass of water halts by his mouth. “Not, ‘To Lenic, the man of my dreams’?” I take a sip of wine to quench my dry mouth. “I'm disappointed. I think you're amazing.”
“The sex is.”
“Is that all I am to you? A decent shag?” he grins.
“No … But isn’t this just a date you won as part of a bet?”
He drinks his water, watching me over the rim of his glass. “We’ll see.”
“You say that a lot.” A knowing smirk curves his lips.
He picks up something on the table and reaches out to offer it. I take it from his hand, my fingers brushing over his slightly, shooting a shock of electricity up my arm. My mouth falls open as I peer down and realise he has handwritten a menu for tonight’s dinner. But what is even more surprising is the menu plan itself.
“Everything on here is dessert?” Stunned, it comes out more of a question than a statement.
“I can’t think of anything better than watching you eat my dessert.”
I suck in a breath and will the tension in between my legs to relax. “But you don’t eat dessert, Lenic.”
“Wrong … There’s one dessert I can’t get enough of eating lately.” His eyes trail down my form. Redness flushes my complexion and I find myself wiping a sweaty palm down my thigh.
“I didn’t know you baked.”
“I don’t. Delphine told me about the dessert-only restaurant in London you love. Made time to check it out while I was down there. Had them deliver your favourite dishes just this afternoon.”
“Lenic…” The thoughtful gesture knocks the wind out of my lungs and I have to remind myself to breathe. I glance over the menu to distract myself from the barrage of emotions building up inside. Foreign emotions. Frightening ones.
“Whenever you say my name like that, Felicity … makes me want to cum inside your wet pussy.”
A surge of arousal runs through my body, settling in between my thighs, and I shift in my chair. “You have a filthy mouth on you, Mr Reevus.”
“Can’t help myself. You’re practically begging me to take you in that yellow dress. Christ knows how long I’m gonna last before I rip it off and make you cum so many times you’ll be screaming for me to stop.” Biting his bottom lip, his gaze is hooded, intense.
Yellow.
I will always wear yellow.
A moment later, looking at the menu, I find myself laughing and settle my gaze on him. “You’re finally stocking maple syrup.”
“Hotel Le Boat at your service.” His wide smile makes his eyes dance.
“And what is this?” I turn the menu towards him. “Under specials you’ve written, ‘Can only be served and eaten in the bedroom.’”
“You’re cute when you act innocent,” he says with a sly smile, raking his eyes over my cleavage. “But we both know that isn’t true. The things you want me to do to you in the sack—“
“Are no worse than what you want to do to me.”
I feel the tug of a happy smile on my face. My stomach knots at the thought of all those muscles under my fingers again and a nervous sort of excitement rushes through me. “Can we skip straight to the specials?” I gnaw on my lip.
He groans. “Don’t tempt me, Felicity,” he rasps, running a hand through the top of his hair.
I think about going over to him and kissing his neck just the way I know drives him to utter madness, forcing his hand to serve the special early. All that Lenic is just too inviting, too tempting. It seems undignified, somehow, to want — need something as much as I need to lick every inch of that hard body of his. So instead, I grip my wine glass with both hands and remain seated, my stomach thanking me as it protests in hunger.
When he sets off down inside, I feel a wave of intense emotion. Watching the horizon as the sun begins to sink towards the top of the distant treeline, I take in all the lights, the candles, the table, the three-course sweet-dish menu, and feel my pulse rising.
I like Lenic’s uncanny ability to notice the little things about me. I like the consideration he harbours for the needs of others and not just intent on satisfying his own selfish needs. I like how it makes my heart flutter in my ribcage.
I like … that he is one of a kind.
It could have been so easy for him to take me to a restaurant and have someone else do all the hard work. But he didn’t. Instead, he put in a lot of effort into making me feel special. And I do. The kind of special you only dream about in books and movies.
Sex is easy. But finding someone who speaks to your heart isn’t … it wasn’t until him.
I am in trouble.
Big trouble.
When Lenic appears and serves me my starter — a delicious lemon meringue pie — not even Hell’s gates opening up beneath my feet could make me move from my spot. The conversation flows out from us both like we’ve known each other all our lives.
“Take the bite," I order, halfway through the meal.
“No.” He pops in a bacon-wrapped olive into his mouth and chews it slowly.
"Take the bite, Lenic." I hold my fork out towards him. “You’re extremely rigid.”
“It means rules are being kept.”
“I don’t care for rules. I just wish you would do something reckless and live on the edge.”
“Still a no. I’m training. And even if I wasn’t — no.”
“I promise, you will love every mouthful. You don't know what you’re missing.”
He shakes his head. "You’re the Devil.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“I’ll kill ‘em all.” He smiles slowly.
I look at him and lean back in my chair. “Remember what I told you once about enjoying life? This is life.” I slide my fork into my mouth and groan as I feel the lemony goodness slide down my throat.
He narrows his eyes. “You’re one of those feeders, right? People who get turned on feeding their other halves, fattening them up, getting off on jiggling their belly, all night long.”
I laugh. “I can’t deny that watching you eat my creamy goodness wouldn’t turn me on — so try it.” I kick off my heel underneath the table, and seductively slide my bare foot under the cuff of his jeans and tease his calf. “Turn. Me. On. Lenic.”
He shoots me a lopsided grin, all lit up against the approaching night. “I’ve thought of nothing but getting your pussy wet for my cock since the moment I met you.” Swallowing, I stroke his calf again with my foot, and then pull it away. “But me eating processed foods — never gonna happen.”
Twenty minutes later, I finish off the main course, a fountain of chocolate éclairs and strawberries. He reaches forwards to offer me another one of those chocolate-covered squares of fattening, creamy goodness. I press my lips around his fingers and take it from him, slowly, savouring every inch of his fingers. His eyes cloud over with carnal desire, and I stop breathing for just a second.
He pours a third glass of wine for me. “You keep pouring that glass, and I won't have a leg to stand on.”
He grins like the Devil. “I like putting fluids into you.” I feel arousal between my legs. “I know I’m not the poster boy for junk food, but I like that you’re not the kind of girl who plays games. Acts like something she isn’t, just to impress the guy.”
“I like that you don’t act like most men on a date." He picks up a strawberry and inserts it carefully in between my teeth. I bite off half of the ripe red fruit and leave the other half for him. He pops it into his mouth and chews thoughtfully.
“Watch the footy? Drink beer from a can? Fart?"
"No," I laugh. "Guys who eat like pigs at the dinner table. Not caring if they’re being attentive to their date or not. Not making the effort to dress up and look good, smell good. And give their phone more attention than their date."
"I know what you mean. Cross needs a bib when he eats." He laughs.
“Do you go on many dates with Cross?” I smirk.
He lets out a warm chuckle. “No way.” His face flattens. “You’re not thinking about me being with a man again?”
“No,” I say quickly, blushing.
“Good. It’s disturbing.”
“So it’s fine for a man to be turned on by two girls together, but not OK if a girl is turned on by two men? Or is it that it’s disturbing to be gay in general?” When he slides the red fruit between his lips and bites into it, I think I am going to have a stroke. It is sinful how sexy that is. I will never look at a strawberry the same, ever again.
“’Course not. You know that’s not what I meant. You’re putting words in my mouth, Felicity. There’s only one thing I want you to put in my mouth — give me your finger.” I find it impossible to break eye contact as he sucks my middle finger into his mouth. I am transfixed as he swirls his tongue around it before popping it back out. "Touch yourself."
Did I hear him correctly? The smirk on his too-gorgeous face tells me I absolutely did.
"I thought that was supposed to be reserved for the specials … in bed..." I argue, though I’m not sure why I am arguing with him about this. It’s not like I haven’t gone damp the second the command left his mouth. Maybe arguing with him is exactly the point, because arguing with Lenic is inevitably titillating.
"Nice try. But I know you just spread your legs under the table." His lips suck my finger again. "Your pussy is dripping, isn't it? Just from thinking about touching yourself, right here, while I get off from watching.”
"Let go of my hand." He is so right, and there is no point in pretending otherwise. "How far do you want me to get myself?"
"Not very." He shifts in his seat. He seems very gratified at the glazed look in my eyes as he releases my hand. All of a sudden, he pushes the table away to the side. “I want to see you spread your pussy for me. I want to see how wet you get for me.” Unable to look away from him, I pull my dress up over my hips, exposing my bare pussy to him. “No underwear?”
“Is there any point when I’m near you?”
Shaking his head, he cups a hand over his chin. His tongue slides across his lower lip. “Touch your pussy.”
I slowly slip my wet middle finger inside my folds and moan softly, feeling his saliva mix with my juices. I keep my eyes on his as he watches me push my finger leisurely, dipping it into my entrance a little to test my wetness before stroking myself just a little faster.
“Are you nice and wet?” I go from damp to wet in seconds, just by looking at him watching me finger myself furiously. “Do you like me watching you touch yourself?”
I nod yes as I rub my slick moisture over my clit. It feels so good to feel my wetness coating my walls as I fondle myself in front of him. I rub my clit in fast little circles and then use my fingers to stroke in and out of my passage in quick, shallow motions, my panting getting faster and faster.
"Do you want me to eat your pussy?" His voice is low, raspy. I nod and halt my movements. “Don’t stop. Keep going, baby. I could cum just from watching you.”
I have never been this wet just from touching myself. I never get this wet when I touch myself with a vibrator. Oh Christ, it seems I only ever get this wet for him.
“Tell me you want it. Tell me you want to sit on my face and fuck it again." Lenic’s voice becomes strained.
“Yes.” I gasp my answer as I stroke myself faster.
It is almost ridiculous how much this is turning me on, knowing that his cock is swelling up and getting hard just from watching me touch myself. But no matter how good I am feeling right know, I know he can make me feel even better. Much better.
“Stand up,” he commands, and I do.
I feel drugged with pleasure as he drops to one knee, and groans when he is hit with my scent as soon as he is levelled with my sex. He smirks as I whimper softly and hooks his hand around the back of my knee. He gently puts it on his shoulder, exposing my damp slit to his face. I start to breathe heavily as my hands snake into his hair. He isn’t gentle. He doesn’t take his time.
He is hungry.
A starved man.
With a terrifying appetite, he eats out my pussy like it’s the ambrosia of the gods. My heart is pounding, the pulse at my neck beats wildly, and my nipples are so tight they ache. He pushes his face deeper into my hot wet pussy, opening up more of his mouth to me, encouraging me to sit on his face. My body jolts as the sparks fly inside me.
He deepens his tongue, going for the kill, his tongue licking and sucking around my clit in circles, never really going in a pattern. I feel my body start to buckle as I can’t sustain my weight any longer, but he holds me firmly. He bites down on my clitoris before sucking it between his lips.
I start to see bright colours as my eyes roll back. "Oh, Lenic," I scream, as my body buckles uncontrollably. He groans loudly in pleasure, his tongue softly licking me clean.
He kisses my throbbing sex before taking my leg off his shoulder. He catches me as I collapse in his big arms, and smirks at my loud ragged breathing. My eyes are filled with lust as I glance up into his darkened eyes.
“I proved you wrong,” he says, in a gravelly arrogant voice. “I do enjoy my life eating one kind of dessert.”
“I FOUND OUT what you did with Rose’s boyfriend — ex-boyfriend,” I say to him, after returning to the table from the bathroom.
He leans back and crosses his arms. “Go on. Tell me what you think I did with him.”
“Don’t think — I know. I shouted Vanessa Marsden lunch at Marge’s café. According to her sources, someone saw you take Dave out to sea on your boat. After you came back, word is that he didn’t even pack his belongings. Just left town.” I take a sip of wine. “At least I know you’re not a murderer.”
He nods his head. “He won’t be coming back.”
“What did you say to him?”
“Marine secret. I’m honour-bound not to say a word.”
I roll my eyes, but inside my heart pounds boom-boom-boom, cognizant of Lenic’s ability to show kindness to a complete stranger, that he cares enough to get involved where so many wouldn’t.
How can I not fall for a man who doesn’t let another fall?
His eyebrows pull low. “How is she?”
“She’s doing OK, I think. She only stayed at ours for one night, deciding it was best for herself to get some distance from Stonebrook to get her head together. She’s staying with her older sister and her husband in a town just a few miles away from here. I’m meeting up with her next week.”
“Good to hear.”
“Thank you, Lenic.”
“For what?”
“For getting involved, for not turning a blind eye.”
“Gotta do something before it’s too late … before...” he trails off, pivots his face towards the darkness of the sea.
I try to search his profile for answers. “Before what?”
His features tight, he busies himself with unclasping and clasping his watch. “Nothing…” He sighs. “Just makes my blood boil when a man doesn’t treat a woman right, that’s all.”
He brings out dessert next, a pick-and-mix of exotic gourmet cupcakes. I grab a lavender and pear cupcake, bite into it, and groan in pleasure. “God, I love you,” I groan out, without thought, my eyes locked on his. His brow shoots up. I shift in my seat. “I love this cupcake — the cupcake.”
He contemplates me for a beat. “What do you love? You know … about the cupcake.”
I want to shout it from the rooftop how much I love this damn cupcake. How much I want to keep on eating it, chewing it, licking it, biting it, for the rest of my life, until it becomes the death of me.
I lean forwards in my seat, the corners of my mouth tugging up, and describe all the qualities I cherish in the cupcake. But in all honesty, I am talking about the extraordinary man sitting opposite me. “I love that it’s unpredictable, with all its unique ingredients. I love that it’s made strong…” I sweep my eyes over Lenic’s thick biceps, then back to his eyes. “But despite its strength, it is the sweetest thing I have ever tasted.”
He smiles, and then he does the unexpected. Surprising me to the levels he will reach to impress little me. He rises up, leans over across the table, and practically purrs, “Yeah … I love it too,” then takes a bite out of the cupcake. Goose bumps dot my skin and my eyes go wide as I watch him sit back in his chair. I suck in a deep breath, the subtext not lost on me.
Did we just declare some kind of love over a lavender and pear cupcake?
My scattered mind fills with wayward emotions, illicit thoughts, and I cram down the urge to leap up on the table and beg him to take me on it, while feeding me a cranberry and orange cupcake. But when his expression becomes faintly pained, I laugh.
“You want to spit it out, don’t you?” He shakes his head, chewing, but I notice he is yet to swallow. “Are you a swallower or a spitter, Lenic?” The Tempest shoots me his infamous stormy look and I only smile in return.
He finally admits defeat and turns around. Ensuring his manners are kept at the table, he spits the contents of his mouth out into a napkin. “Now you know how it feels for us girls,” I mumble under my breath.
“What?” He turns back to face me.
“Nothing.”
“I’m training,” he admits, guzzling down a full glass of water. “Cross will kill me if he ever found out.”
I set the rest of my cupcake down on my plate so I can stop and look at him, really look at him. I smile a toothy grin and let out a belly laugh, because Lenic Reevus is not the kind of guy that eats a cupcake.
Ever.
He took the bite for me.
He took the damn bite.