Page 294 of A Taste of Vanilla

His palm is warm against my skin, his thumb stroking the inside of my knee. My body goes hot everywhere.

“You should be careful,” I whisper.

His voice lowers. “Do you want me careful?”

I swallow.

The first honest answer that comes to mind is no. The second is yes. The third is yes, but only because I want us to be careful enough that I can ask him not to be.

I place my hand over his and guide it a little higher.

He lets out a brief inhale through his nose, one small fracture in his control. My thighs press together.

“I want you careful with my heart,” I say. “Not my dress.”

His fingers flex.

“Halston.”

His scary voice. Low and controlled.

I smile. “Yes?”

“You’re doing this in public.”

“I’m sitting politely at a bar.”

“You moved my hand under your dress.”

“Barely. Don’t be dramatic.”

His thumb moves again, this time under the hem of my dress. My breath catches hard enough for his eyes to dart to my mouth.

“Careful,” he says.

I lean in. “You keep saying that like you don’t want me reckless.”

“I want many things.”

“List them.”

His pupils blow wide.

For a second, I think he won’t answer. Not here. Not with Oliver six feet away and Marley with a phone and a roomful of Vipers players living their loud little lives in the back.

Then Warren bends his head, his mouth near my ear.

“I want to take you upstairs,” he says softly. “I want to lock the door. I want this dress on the floor, your hands in my hair, and your thighs around my shoulders. I want to hear every sound you tried to swallow the first time. I want to take my time until you’re begging me to stop teasing you, and then I want to give you exactly what you asked for. I want to do it all without all these people down here knowing what a good little slut you are with your lips locked around my pierced cock.”

My entire body goes molten.

I grip the edge of the bar.

Warren’s thumb strokes higher on my thigh, still maddeningly controlled. “Was that enough of a list?”

I turn my head, our mouths too close. Too public. Too everything.

“No,” I whisper.