5

Right after the dessert plates are cleared away, I get to my feet. My head spins but I push through the dizziness. “I really should get, er, going… Thanks for dinner. And for the first-aid. It was really delicious.” Wait, that’s not right. “I mean, the food was delicious. The first-aid was… well, you know. I’ll just help you clear the table and then I’ll be on my way.”

Cringe. Why the hell can’t I stop talking? Is it maybe because he’s super close to me right now and the smell of scotch and cinnamon coming off him is giving me a major lady boner?

“What makes you think you can leave?”

When did Uri even stand up? How did he manage to get so close without me even noticing?

He’s staring down at me, not a trace of a smile on his face anymore. Those cheekbones really are something. So are his eyes.

“You’re not going to let me go?” I ask numbly. The shivers are back, rippling up and down my spine, leaving goosebumps and dread in their wake.

“Not without giving me something in return.” His tongue glides over his lips. “You know, you never answered my very first question. What were you doing on my property, narushitel?”

He’s got me trapped between his body and the dining room table. If I move back another inch, my ass will plop down directly on the table. I’m on the verge of telling him the truth when I think about the contents of my package. Do I really want to end this bizarre, otherworldly night talking about purple alien tentacle dildos?

No. No, I do not.

“I was just… taking a stroll.”

“A stroll?” He arches a brow and honest to God, I start to sweat. “In my fenced property?”

“Uh-huh.”

I don’t sound in the least bit convincing. “Okay, so maybe not a stroll. It’s a long, weird story, and you’re probably not gonna believe a word of it, but I swear it’s true. Basically, my best friend is getting married and I ordered a package of sex toys to surprise her with because she always embarrasses me—that’s why she calls me Shylyssa—and I wanted to get her back, so I got the weirdest thing I could find, but it got sent to you instead and so I had to come get it back but I was too scared to ring the doorbell and so I was hopping the fence and I got caught and…” I lose steam halfway through my borderline incoherent rambling. In my defense, it’s impossible to meet those eyes head-on and tell a logical story.

Uri raises his eyebrows and inches a little closer. He’s emanating heat and that smell that makes my thoughts go haywire. It’s not like I’ve got enough moisture going on downstairs; now, I’m sweating from head to toe.

“I see.” His eyes drop down my body. “Interesting underwear, by the way.”

I gulp. Surely the proximity between us is not socially acceptable. Unless we were gonna… you know. Which we’re not. I mean, my self-esteem is not so low that I consider myself unattractive—but still, I’ve seen the women that Uri has paraded around for the last couple of years since he moved into the mansion next door. I’m guessing none of those women would be caught dead in Garfield underwear.

“Interesting, but confusing,” he adds.

I blink. “Which part is confusing?”

“The part where, every time I so much as look in your direction, I picture ripping them the fuck off you and devouring you until your legs shake and you come so prettily on my mouth.”

Oh.

My.

God.

They don’t have a word for the blush I’m currently experiencing. It’s like a nuclear shelling. Bombs going off along every inch of my skin.

“People don’t say stuff like that in real life,” I stammer.

He smirks and smolders. “I told you from the start, Miss Walsh—I’m not most people.”

My head feels like it’s about to explode. I mean yeah, he’s been flirting with me all through dinner. But I just figured that was his style, you know? Player’s gonna play, play, play, play and all that.

Unfortunately, I’ve underestimated the strength of this particular player’s game. Because I’m pretty sure Garfield is gonna disintegrate if Uri keeps this up.

“I, um… I don’t know what to say…” I admit stupidly. That’s the truth, though—I have no response. No witty comebacks. No snappy retorts. I’m blaming the alcohol but I’m pretty sure it has more to do with those intense blue eyes of his.

He tilts his head. “I’m taking you up on your offer to help me clear the table.”

It’s my turn to be bamboozled, but my confusion is quickly resolved when Uri reaches past me and sweeps away the plates and cutlery with his forearm, sending it all crashing to the floor. Then he grabs me by the hips and hoists me right onto the empty space.

My heart rate is rising rapidly. It’s partly pure panic and partly Uri’s cock pushed up against my panties, which, as we’ve already established, are threadbare. Which means I can feel him.

All of him.

What is wrong with you, Alyssa? You don’t want to be just another name on his list. A convenience fuck. A sex toy that he just uses and then discards.

Hell no. I’m no one’s purple alien tentacle dildo.

His hands grip my hips a little tighter, drawing me into his warmth. “I’ll say this one time and one time only: if you want to leave right now, I won’t stop you.”

I meet his eyes. He looks dead serious. I’m pretty sure that if I told him I want to leave, he’d back right off and let me go. Which is what I want—right?

My head is saying yes.

My vagina is saying fuck no.

How long has it been since I’ve let her go wild? If I’m being completely honest, have I ever let her go wild? It’s not like the men I’ve chosen have ever known how to draw my sex drive out of hiding.

But Uri… Uri seems like the kind of man who knows exactly what he’s doing. Uri’s the kind of man who makes me want to be the kind of woman who drinks expensive wine and wears expensive underwear and has wild, spontaneous sex on expensive dining room tables.

“Do you want to go home, Alyssa?”

He meets my gaze when he asks. And my pussy throbs loudly in answer, drowning all my doubts and leaving only the desire behind.

“No.”