Wining, Dining and Sex: Chapter 4

“Princess?”

I turned to glare at him and found him closer than I’d expected. His clean-shaven face was inches from mine and I could literally see each lash outlining his blue eyes. I ignored the flush of heat between my legs and the speeding of my heart. This asshole was hotter than I remembered. Even hotter than peanut butter butt boy.

“I think it’s a rather choice albeit ironic name for you, don’t you think?” peeping Tom quipped without missing a beat. He crossed two well-muscled arms over his lean chest and I watched his pecks flex against his button-down. When I drew my eyes back up to his, he was smirking. I recognized the glint in his eye and felt a surge of power. He wanted me! I knew how to deal with lust.

“You can call me whatever you want. Well, if you buy me a drink,” I said, smiling flirtatiously at him. I could hear peanut butter butt boy pushing his cart around the corner, but he was old news now. I had this most unusual fish to catch and fry. He wasn’t my usual type. I liked the big beefy ones. This guy was more like him. Tall, lanky, wiry muscles.

Like my tattooed lover.

The realization made me gulp and for a moment I felt insecure.

Peeping Tom saw the change in my dark brown eyes and his brows furrowed. I felt a pain in my chest.

No, I can’t have pity. I can’t have people worrying or caring.

“I don’t drink,” he replied carefully.

That shocked me out of my confusion.

“Who the fuck doesn’t drink?” I was back on the hunt but it had just gotten interesting. He just blew my step one. How was I supposed to control him sober?

“Me. And by your reaction, I’m thinking I am not quite following your steps, huh?”

His smug little smile was infuriating. I wanted to smack it off. Or claw it off. The scratch marks would be a satisfying badge of what I’d done. But thinking about scratching made me wonder what they would look like across his back when I had him in bed.

I shook my head. I wasn’t there yet. Slow down, girl.

“What do you know about my steps?” I continued down the aisle and he followed, grabbing a jar of creamy peanut butter.

Was this a sign?

As soon as I took a second to consider my thoughts, I laughed aloud. I’m taking creamy peanut butter as a sign?

Peeping Tom looked confused. “I didn’t say anything,” he said.

“You like it creamy.”

His blue eyes shot wide open and I grinned wickedly. “You pervert, I meant the peanut butter.”

“You should watch who you’re calling pervert. You’re the one who wants me in YOUR bed,” he countered.

I gaped at him. “You presumptuous little…”

“I talked to a guy at the club the other night. He told me how quickly you’d gotten him in bed,” he said, obviously enjoying the fact that he’d shocked me. “He told me you’d gotten him drunk, you had some chicken wings and then wham, bam, thank you ma’am, he got lucky with lovely you.”

My mouth was still hanging open, a veritable parking garage for vagrant flies. He reached out and chuckle, then shut it with his index finger.

“As I was saying, this man got lucky. I’m curious. How often does this happen? Does every guy have to follow the rules? Do they all get lucky?”

Who was this guy? He was talking too much and asking too many questions. Men always focused on themselves and their penises. Well, more their penises than themselves. But that’s what I counted on. I did NOT expect them to take an interest in my motivations.

“No one told me we were playing twenty questions,” I replied as coolly as I can, which I thought was pretty damn cool.

“Not many women are like you.” Peeping Tom leaned over my shoulder to grab some jam and, in my humble opinion, purposefully brushed against me. I could smell his faint masculine scent combined with aftershave. I almost groaned aloud. I wanted him so badly. Of course, it was only because he was hot. Not because he was intriguing, or witty, or anything like that.

“What do you mean? We all got tits and an ass,” I said.

“You know what I mean. You’re more like a man,” he said.

Dude! What a jerk!

I turned to face him and saw his smirk. He’d said it on purpose. He knew it would rile me up! How did he know me so well?

It was time to take back control.

I put my hand on his shoulder and yanked him roughly towards me. He satisfied me greatly when a look of shock registered on his face. His body was pressed against mine and I know he could feel my breasts, stomach and thighs through his clothing. “What? ‘Cause I like a little action?” I asked in hushed tones, locking my gaze on his.

For once he seemed speechless, staring down at my lips as his mouth opened and closed like a fish’s.

“Ya, that’s what I thought,” I said, pushing him away. He was just like everyone else. I turned to go and he spun me around, pressing his lips against mine. Before I could even register what he’d done, he was gone.

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darkgurl92: You don't like peeping Tom? I want to keep you guessing, so I won't prepare you! Muahahahaha! Hope you enjoyed.

Jaden Anderson: You like that? I thought my story needed a fine sista in there.

hatemeforever: he is kinda creepy isn't he? well he IS a peeping Tom.

Miss-you-too: I had a friend a lot like Jasmine too. I love buoyant personalities like hers!