BISHOP DIRECTED ME TOWARD THE famous red building of Pat O’Brien’s, and once we broke through the crowd, the line I expected wrapped all the way around the corner.
We didn’t slow or even try to find the end of it, though. Bishop walked us right to the front door where the bouncer checked IDs. The high from catching the beads began to fade as I worried about whether we could actually get in. It’s not like we couldn’t come back and do this another day, but I had to admit there was something incredibly cool about the idea of doing this on the most famous day of the city’s entire year.
We stopped in front of the solidly built man as he handed a woman’s ID back to her. The fierce frown dominating his face disappeared as soon as he saw Bishop.
“Hey, man. Never would’ve expected to see you here on fucking Mardi Gras. What the hell are you doin’?”
Bishop lifted his arm to wrap around the top of my chest. “My girl wanted one of Pat O’s famous hurricanes on Mardi Gras. It wasn’t like I could say no.”
The bouncer’s attention landed on me for the first time. “Hey there, Bishop’s girl. You must not be from around here.”
For a moment I thought I must still stand out like a tourist from his comment, but he continued.
“If you were, you wouldn’t even attempt it. Just know, your man is making quite the sacrifice taking you to this zoo today. Enjoy it.” He stamped our hands and jerked his head to the side, and Bishop propelled me forward through the darkened doorway.
Relief slid through me that he didn’t ask for my ID. With Bishop standing right beside me, I wasn’t sure how I could possibly explain why the name on it didn’t match the one I’d given him. An icy trickle of guilt slid down my spine, but I pushed the feeling away. Tonight wasn’t the night to worry about that. Besides, it wasn’t like I’d lied to him about who I was. It would have been different if I’d given him the name on my ID, or so I convinced myself.
When we squeezed through the entry out into the courtyard, I realized why Pat O’Brien’s was such a legendary tourist spot. The inner courtyard was totally New Orleans, at least from what I could see with the crowd of people. There wasn’t any hope of getting a table, but Bishop got the attention of one of the servers passing by.
“Two hurricanes.”
“Of course. I’ll be right back with those.”
Bishop guided me to the edge of a fountain where he sat down and pulled me onto his lap. My skirt spread out over us, covering the top of our legs and bunching up between us.
My butt rested directly on Bishop’s hard thighs, without anything between my skin and his jeans. He was completely aware of this because his hand slipped under the fabric and his palm skimmed along my thigh.
His promise from earlier rose up with the goose bumps rising on my skin.
“You think you can be quiet, cupcake?” His tone wavered between playful and seductive.
I nodded, wondering how quickly the server was going to return with our drinks, and what kind of panting, writhing mess I’d be by then.
“Good girl. Would it make you feel better if you knew we weren’t the only ones doing this right now? I see at least two couples who are being a hell of a lot more obvious about it than we are.”
“Where?” I scanned the courtyard.
“Red-and-black dress at three o’clock.”
The only reason I knew three o’clock meant to my right was because I’d spent plenty of time watching NCIS reruns at night when I couldn’t get into one of my books. Who knew it would ever come in handy?
I glanced in the direction he’d indicated and found the red-and-black dress and, oh my God, I could see her skirt riding up as the guy she was with slid his hand beneath it.
Even as shocking as it was, I couldn’t deny my body reacted by pushing all the heat south, not that I wasn’t already primed from my shower incident.
“Watch what he does to her.” Bishop’s voice was a husky whisper sending shivers down my spine as he tucked my hair behind my ear and skimmed his lips along it.
The man pulled up the back of the skirt, exposing the rounded curve of the woman’s ass.
“Scandalous, what you’ll see if you’re looking for it.”
My nipples tightened into hard points against the bodice of my dress as Bishop’s fingers stroked my inner thigh.
I turned my head toward him, but he nipped my ear. “Keep watching them. I want to see if he’s going to do what I’d do if that were us up there.”
With every word, his fingertips edged closer to my center, and every sensation seemed heightened without panties acting as a barrier.
The man at three o’clock pulled the thong from between the woman’s cheeks and tore it free.
I released a pent-up breath.
“He just ripped her panties off. Did you like that?”
But somehow, I couldn’t find the right words to tell him just how much I liked it.
“Come on, cupcake. You can tell me how wet it makes you.” He paused. “Or I could just find out myself.”
His voice had dropped to seriously husky, and I nodded ever so slightly. I wanted him to touch me as I watched the other man yank the woman’s skirt down over his hand as she threw her head back.
As soon as the pad of his finger slicked along my wet slit, I bit my lip to keep from moaning just like the other woman must be.
“Fuck, I love that you’re soaked.”
He didn’t have to tell me because I could feel just how wet I was as he stroked and circled around my clit without touching it.
I opened my mouth, ready to beg him, when the server rounded the side of the fountain with our drinks.
Bishop’s hand is up my skirt and there’s a guy less than two feet away. But apparently the server hadn’t noticed or just didn’t care.
“That’ll be fifteen,” he said as he balanced the tray with two ornate glasses filled to the top with red cocktails.
I expected Bishop to slip his left hand out from under my skirt when he reached for his wallet, but he didn’t. He pulled a twenty from his pocket and handed it to the server before accepting one cocktail and placing it in my hands. The second, he set on the edge of the fountain.
“Keep the change.” The statement was a clear dismissal, and the server thanked him before walking away.
I slid the straw between my lips, desperate to look like we weren’t doing what we were actually doing.
“Don’t spill,” Bishop whispered as his finger pushed inside me.
Oh my God.
My first taste of a hurricane at Pat O’Brien’s happened with me a minute from orgasm, courtesy of the sexiest man I’d ever met.
With each drink I took, Bishop’s fingers became cleverer and bolder. His thumb found my clit as warmth from the alcohol hit me.
He didn’t let me come until I was almost finished with my drink, and then pulled it from my hand and covered my lips with his to hide the sound of the half scream, half moan I couldn’t hold back.
The aftermath of the climax washed over me as Bishop pulled his hand from beneath my dress. To cover the tremor in my hand, I reached to pick up my drink and sucked down the final inch. When I lowered it, I turned on his lap to meet his gaze.
“Well, that might not have been what I’d expected when I made my list, but it was a million times more memorable.”
One side of Bishop’s mouth quirked up. “That’s what I’m here for, to make this memorable for you. Now, you want to remind me what else was on that list?”