Page 17 of The What If Guy (The Guys Who Got Away 3)
Her eyes twinkle. “Let’s see if this aids in your discovery. I don’t like missionary, and I don’t like being on top.”
I believe I know what’s behind door number three.
Bryn wants to be dominated.
And that’s what I want to do to her.
I pay the bill, take her hand, and speak softly in her ear as I walk her out of Gin Joint. “I’d like to put you on your hands and knees.”
“And will you do bad things to me?”
“Bad things that make you feel very, very good.”
She shivers, sliding closer to me, giving her yes to all the good and bad things with her body sealed to mine.
7
Logan
My place is too far. That’s obvious the second I tell her I’m on the Upper East Side.
She tips her forehead toward Fourteenth Street. “West Village for me. I win.”
I slide a hand down her back, over her ass, squeezing.
Her breath hitches as I say, “Let’s grab a car.”
In less than a minute, we slide into a black Toyota, our getaway Lyft.
“How ya doing?” The driver’s thick New Jersey accent and satin Jets jacket make his allegiances clear.
“Doing great,” I say, as Bryn buckles in and my eyes linger on her lips. I haven’t even kissed her yet, and I’d like to right now. But not in some guy’s Toyota.
“Having a good Sunday night?” the driver asks.
“Pretty good so far,” Bryn chimes in, an inviting note at the end of her words as her eyes meet mine. “We’ll see if it holds up.”
“As I like to say, how the night ends is always the measure of a good day,” the guy says, with a don’t I know it chuckle. “Me, I’m gonna watch some SportsCenter and have a cheese pie when my shift is over.”
Bryn meets my gaze, nibbling on the corner of her lips. “That does sound like a good end to a night. Who doesn’t love pizza?”
“Nothing better,” the man says.
“What kind of pizza?” Bryn asks.
“Your night will be better than pizza,” I whisper to the woman next to me. Then, to give her a preview, I run a hand up her arm. I could hold her hand. I could spread my palm across her thigh. But I don’t think that’s what Bryn wants. I think she wants this.
My hand slides into the back of her hair. She leans into my palm. My fingers tighten around the strands.
I pull.
Not so hard as to draw attention from the front seat, where the football fan waxes on about a pie from Mario’s in Hoboken. Just hard enough to test my date’s reaction.
She draws a sharp breath. “Ohhh, that place sounds amazing.”
“Yeah, it’s so good. Makes you want to devour the whole pie,” he says as he steers the car along Seventh Avenue.
“Know the feeling, man,” I remark as I gather her strands again in a tighter fist and tug a little harder.
She trembles, lets out a slight squeak, then covers her mouth with her hand.
He glances in the mirror, apologetic. “Sorry, doll. That was a tight turn.”
“It’s all good,” she says, a little chirpier than the situation calls for.
“Is it, Bryn?” I ask, my voice going darker, raspier. “All good?”
“It definitely is.”
The guy keeps going, eager to talk, it seems. “So, what did you two do tonight? A little dinner? See a show?”
I shake my head as I lower my hand from Bryn’s hair and run it along her leg, teasing at the hem of her skirt. “I didn’t eat yet. But I want to. I’m hungry.”
Bryn jerks her face to the window, closing her eyes, her hand clamped over her mouth.
“Awesome. Let me know if you want me to stop by a Chinese joint. If you’ve never tried Blossom’s Magic Noodle House, give it a whirl. The cold sesame noodles are the best thing ever.”
My fingers inch under the hem of Bryn’s skirt. “Thanks, man. I’ll keep it in mind. First, though, I have a tasty dish waiting for me on Perry Street.”
With a click of the blinker, the driver turns onto Perry Street, pulls to the curb, and shoots us a warm grin. “Thanks for riding with me. Be sure to leave a five-star review if you liked my wheels.”
“We will,” Bryn says, and in seconds, we’re at the door of her building, heading up the first flight of stairs, then the second. When we reach her place on the third floor, she rustles in her purse for her keys.
As she hunts, I move behind her, crowding her, caging her in, my chest pressed against her back.
“Ohhh,” she murmurs as I sweep her hair off her neck then grab her wrists, pinning them in place. I bring my nose to her neck, run it across her skin, breathe her in. She smells like peaches.
“Is this how you’d like to be fucked? Pressed to the wall?”
