Page 22 of Betting on her Best Friend
Chapter Seven
It was called a Lollipop Passion Goblet and for a damn good reason.
When Dylan disappeared during their appetizer course, he’d returned with an alcoholic concoction of pineapple, melon, and coconut flavors. It tasted like heaven in the tropics but looked like the genius brainchild of a third grader’s imagination.
A glass goblet the size of a small fishbowl held neon-green liquid and literally “smoked,” courtesy of a chunk of dry ice. The thick layer of white sat on top of the drink, a ghostly version of whipped cream that bubbled over the edge like a witch’s cauldron. Topping it all off was a playful garnish of a unicorn lollipop, the rainbow kind that swirled up a long stick and could always be found in old-fashioned candy shops. It was stuck into the drink upside down with two candy necklaces wrapped around the handle.
Absolute. Perfection.
Alyssa took another long sip from her straw and felt the last of her tension slip away. It was hard to remain serious with a candy choker around her neck and another double wrapped on her right wrist. The edges of her mouth tipped up in a lazy smile as she swirled the ice around with the sucker and let her thoughts spill freely like the smoke from her drink.
Though she wasn’t even buzzed, the alcohol had helped lift the melancholy mood she’d been headed toward after discussing her father. It also aided in taking the edge off the underlying anxiety she’d felt since waking up next to her best friend after he’d thoroughly fucked her for several hours the night before and again that morning.
Wow, Aly, crass much? Apparently, the liquor had also loosened her internal vernacular. Or maybe it was the multiple mind-blowing orgasms. Either way, she couldn’t think of a different phrase that did it any justice, much less one that was more polite. There hadn’t been anything polite about what they’d done on her bed. And in her bathroom. And bent over the desk…
“Aly.”
Her eyes flicked up to his as she dragged her thoughts, kicking and screaming, back to the present. “Hmm?”
Dylan placed his forearms on the table and leaned in so the nearby customers couldn’t hear his gruff question. “Is it your intention to make me and every other man around us jealous of that sucker?”
Alyssa froze, horrified to realize that she’d been working the long shaft of candy in and out of her mouth, unwittingly mimicking the base images filling her head. She had two choices: admit she’d had no idea what she was doing and then pretend like it never happened, or ride this new wave of sexual exploration and see what she was truly capable of.
Slowly, she pulled the sucker from her mouth, then licked her lips as she mirrored his pose. “On the contrary,” she said with a challenging arch in her brow. “I know how sensitive men can be when it comes to size. I’m merely trying to make it smaller, so you don’t feel inadequate in comparison.”
For a brief moment, Dylan appeared stunned speechless and she wondered if her joke was a tad below the belt. Pun intended. Shit. Maybe Dylan was self-conscious—needlessly, she might add—about what he had going on down there.
Then, as if something snapped into place for him, he laughed and sat back in his chair, considering her carefully. Too carefully. With his elbows on the armrests and his fingers steepled and pressing against his soft lips. His piercing gaze made her feel naked and vulnerable and not a little antsy.
Her hubris now gone, she started to fidget in her seat and feign interest in the woman trying to hold her menu at arm’s length so she could read the fine print sansreading glasses. Alyssa guessed the time to be somewhere around twelve-thirty as the sun had barely shifted the world’s shadows from dead center to slightly askew.
“I think it’s time we head back to the hotel,” he said. “Why don’t you grab us a taxi around the corner, and I’ll get the bill.”
Happy to have something to do other than squirm under the sudden sexual tension, Alyssa dropped the phallic candy into what was left of her drink and scraped her chair back. But before she had the chance to rise, Dylan was at her ear. “Bring the sucker.”
And then he was gone, walking away from her as though he hadn’t just implied a dozen dirty possibilities with three innocuous words.
With a hand that trembled more than she’d ever admit, she retrieved the sucker and went to grab them a cab from the front entrance of the Paris hotel.
Five minutes later, she sat in the backseat, pressed against Dylan’s side with his arm around her shoulders. If this had been a couple of days ago, she would have relaxed into him and even rested her head against him in comfortable companionship.
But now everything had changed. Especially him. His demeanor was no longer casual, but deliberate. Every move he made had a purpose, a part in whatever plan he’d concocted in that gorgeous head of his. And not knowing what it was nearly drove her mad.
He sat in the middle with her to his left. Sitting directly behind the driver hid the way Dylan’s fingers caressed the side of her breast. It would hide a lot of things if he so wished. Staring straight ahead, he gave the impression that nothing out of the ordinary was going on. All things considered, not much was.
How quickly that changed.
The driver took a call with his Bluetooth and started an animated conversation in another language. Dylan must have figured the guy had enough to focus on with the phone call and navigating the insanity that was the Las Vegas Strip traffic to notice much of anything happening behind him.
Grasping her right hand, he licked a few pieces of candy on the underside of her wrist, tonguing the sugary rounds and her pulse point beneath. The tingle of desire chased up her arm in goosebumps and spread over her chest, tightening her nipples.
He emitted a soft groan, placed her hand on the hard bulge in his jeans, and bent to whisper in her ear. “You make me so fucking hard, Aly. I love watching you react to the things I say and do to you. Already your nipples are straining against your clothes, aching for my mouth. Am I right?”
She nodded, almost imperceptibly, but underlined it with a firm stroke down his erection. She felt a hiss of breath on her neck, followed by the vibrations from a devious chuckle. “So, the little minx wants to come out and play, does she?”
Shit, what the hell did he mean by that? “What? No, I—”
Her explanation was cut off by the jolting stop of their cab as their driver laid on the horn and swore at a car that pulled out in front of them. Distracted by the commotion, Alyssa didn’t see Dylan move his hand to the juncture at her legs. But when he pushed his hand between her thighs, her hips bucked in response, and it was all she could do to choke back her moan. He stroked over the seam in her jeans, bisecting her sex with her panties that were fast growing wet from desire.
