Swiped (Chance Encounter Series Book 2) Page 4

  “Come for me,” he commands, his eyes on mine.

  I squeal into his palm and then spasm against his hand, the flood of my pleasure rushing to where he’s waiting to catch it.

  A lazy smile passes across my face, but it disappears when I see his hands go to his belt. I know I can’t take much more, but the thought of walking away from him right now—and walking in general, for that matter—seem impossible.

  I’m about to ask if he has a condom when he pulls one from his pocket.

  I rest my hands on the keg rims at my sides and watch as he pulls his cock out. It’s fucking gorgeous, and the thought crosses my mind that he could be a dick model…which only proves how fucking high I am on the orgasm he just inflicted on me. But it also looks uncomfortably swollen, like it would be a public disservice not to help him relieve the pressure.

  He lifts one of my legs and grabs his dick with his other hand, dragging the head of it across my wet slit before he sinks inside. And when he does, I know it’s the wettest I’ve ever been because he is way too big for me. Too big for anyone. And twice I hope he’s already in before he gives me a few more inches.

  “Fuck, you feel good,” I say, tilting my hips towards him.

  He puts his hands on the kegs behind my head, his inked torso surrounding me so even my eyes have no choice but to join my body in feasting on him.

  He backs his hips up and drives into me nice and slow, filling me up with every delicious inch of him. For a split second it occurs to me that if anyone could be forgiven for having small hands, bad teeth, and a high voice, it’s this guy.

  But of course, he has none of those things. On the contrary, he’s fucking gorgeous from head to toe, and now that I know how capable he is of using his powers for good, I’m ready to get “Property of Geo the Bartender” tattooed on my ass and give my life over to letting him use me like this because he is too fucking great at it.

  My mind goes blank again when he picks me up.

  I wrap my arms around his neck, inhaling the scent of his aftershave as he carries me over to the door and presses me up against the wall beside it, the only wall that isn’t lined with shelves.

  I smile when he turns the lock on the door, a rush of adrenaline coursing through me at the thought that anyone could’ve caught us before now. Then he kisses me, tilting his hips up so the weight of my whole body rests on the base of his shaft. But the moment of tenderness doesn’t last.

  He wraps his hands around my thighs and drives into me like a bull at a fight, pounding into me again and again until I have to cover my own mouth to keep from screaming. It feels so good I squeeze my eyes shut, oblivious to everything but the spot of light he keeps sparking inside me. Soon the pleasure becomes so great I can’t tell if I’m going to come again or piss myself, but I hope for the former because there’s no way in hell I’m going to interrupt what he’s doing.

  “I’m gonna come,” he says through clenched teeth, his eyes bouncing between my eyes.

  And he does, giving me his deepest thrust yet before burying his panting mouth in the crook of my neck.

  He holds me like that for some time, my legs dangling off the ground, and I reach my arms around his strong back and try to memorize how it feels to have his muscles under my palms.

  I feel ridiculously victorious as he lowers my feet to the ground, as if I’ve tamed a beast and managed to escape with my life. But maybe I’m the beast? Maybe I always have been, and only a man like him can tame me?

  “That was amazing,” I whisper, falling back against the wall.

  He smiles and leans forward, his dark hair falling around to frame his handsome face. “And you’re as delicious as I dreamed you’d be.”

  I swallow. “I don’t even remember what we were arguing about.”

  “I do,” he says, dragging a thumb across my bottom lip. “You were just saying that you belong to me.”

  S E V E N

  My stomach feels like I swallowed a firework that won’t stop going off, and I can’t shake the feeling that it’s only going to get worse when Geo walks through the front door of the restaurant.

  It’s so silly. It’s just a date. I’ve been on millions of dates. Okay, maybe not millions, but it feels that way sometimes. Definitely too many to count, anyway. I’m practically a professional dater compared to most of the women I know.

  Yet I’ve never been so nervous.

  Maybe it’s because of how possessed by him I felt in that closet, or perhaps it’s just that I’m not used to having such high expectations for a first date, not used to hoping so hard I’ll hit it off with someone.

  I pull a compact out of my purse, double-check that there’s no lipstick on my teeth, and remind myself not to devour my food like an animal since I didn’t have time for lunch. Instead, I spent an hour painting nails at the women’s shelter near my office, which always helps ground me.

  It was the only hour this week that I didn’t spend thinking about Geo. Except when I was working. Obviously, I did my best to pay attention to my clients, but he was never far from my thoughts. It was as if he were breathing down my neck, and not surprisingly, the idea totally turned me on.

  I want to feel his hot breath on my ear as I push my ass against his dick like a horny virgin who gets off on slutty dancing. Of course, I don’t want it to stop there. I want—

  He walks in and my heart flutters in my chest.

  He’s wearing a fitted collared shirt, and the crisp white fabric makes his skin look more tan than ever. I slide off my barstool and smooth down my little black dress, swallowing when I see how perfectly his pants fit.

  “Ciao, bella,” he says, pressing his cheek to mine and draping a hand delicately on my waist.

  “Ciao,” I say, melting inside. “Do you actually speak Italian?”

  “Only to beautiful women,” he says with a wink.

  “I don’t think our table’s ready.”

  “Care to start with a drink?” he asks, lifting a hand towards the bartender. “I usually have an aperitif at this place.”

  “Sure.”

  He orders two Negroni sbagliatos—whatever the hell that means—but as he pulls a stool out for me, the hostess says our table is ready and that she’ll bring our drinks over as soon as they’re made.

  She leads us to a table beside the far wall, which is painted to look like a crumbling Tuscan fresco, and I admire the way the candlelight flickers against it as I take my seat.

  “I figured you’d pick an Italian place,” I say, lifting my eyes to Geo as I lay my napkin across my lap.

  “There’s nothing I hate more than a wasted calorie,” he says. “Besides, this is the second-best Italian in the city.”

  “What’s the first?”

  A smile spreads across his face.

  “Ahh.” I nod. “I see what you did there.”

  A young man with a claret-red bow tie sets our drinks down and bows out of the conversation before he can interrupt it.

  “I’m interested to hear what you think of this,” he says.

  “To be honest, I’m expecting it to be nasty,” I say. “Like all the other aperitifs I’ve had in the past.”

  “In that case, I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.” He raises his glass. “Cento di questi giorni.”

  “Which means…?”

  “May you have a hundred of these days.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” I say, taking a tentative sip.

  “Well?” he asks. “What do you think?”

  “It’s delicious.”

  “You look worried.”

  I take another sip, letting the sweet flavors linger on my tongue. “It’s strong.”

  “Like your appetite, I hope.”

  “You’ve got that right,” I say, casting my eyes to the menu.

  “I don’t know what you feel like,” he says. “But the gnocchi al gorgonzola is really special.”

  “Is that what you get?”

  “Only when I want to treat myself,” he
says. “But I hit it pretty hard in the gym today, so I need some protein this evening.”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who lives at the gym.”

  “No,” he says, eyeing the menu. “I usually get my workout in moving stock around the bar, but today I needed to blow off some steam.”

  “Oh? Is everything okay?”

  “Of course. It’s just that there’s this gorgeous woman I’m hoping to impress tonight, and I wanted to be in good form.”

  “I don’t think she’ll have a problem with your form.”

  His dark lashes bend around his smiling eyes. “That’s good. Because I certainly don’t have a problem with hers.”

  “So,” I say, blushing shamelessly. “Tell me how you came to own a bar at such a young age.”

  “I bought it from my dad.”

  “And he wanted to keep it in the family?”

  Geo shrugs. “I think he was more concerned with paying off his gambling debt, but sure, I suppose, two birds and all that.”

  “I presume he’s out of trouble now?”

  “With everyone but my mother, but that’s what keeps him in the black.”

  “I see.”

  “And if you’re wondering how I happened to have the money for a bar in the first place, I earned that working for another family business.”

  “Which is…?” Please don’t say the mafia.

  “My uncle has a vineyard in Chianti.”

  “Like Chianti, Italy?”

  He nods.

  I narrow my eyes at him and reach for my drink. “Go on.”

  “I did some digital marketing for him over here on a hunch and was able to help him grow his business about eight hundred percent.”

  “So you’re not a bartender at all?”

  “Technically, I am,” he says. “I have a license.”

  “But you’re really a businessman.”

  He leans back in his chair. “I suppose if I had to label myself, that would be the term I prefer between the two.”

  “Understandable.”

  “Mostly I just like a challenge,” he says, fixing his eyes on me. “Any challenge that’s rewarding, anyway.”

  I notice one of the waitresses check Geo out for the second time and realize how lucky I am to have his attention…while simultaneously wondering how hard I would have to work to keep it. I mean, am I kidding myself that this runway-worthy specimen could like a girl whose idea of a glamourous Sunday is making snickerdoodles in her pajamas? Would he even feed those muscles snickerdoodles?

  “So tell me what you’re looking for in a man,” he says.

  “Wow. You don’t beat around the bush much, do you?”

  He cocks his head. “Life is too short for that, don’t you think?”

  “Fair point.”

  “So?” he asks.

  “So I know what I’m not looking for.”

  He raises his brows.

  “I’m not looking for a boring cheater with no sense of humor.”

  “Just as I suspected.”

  I squint at him.

  “I’m the perfect guy for you,” he says. “I’m interested, loyal, and love a good laugh.”

  “Don’t you mean interesting?”

  “I’m that, too,” he says. “But I think it’s more important to be interested.”

  “Because…?”

  “It’s the opposite of being boring, for one thing.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  “Plus, curiosity keeps you young.”

  “Are you trying to tell me you’re really sixty years old?”

  He smiles. “No, but I have a lot of elderly family in Italy, and I’ve seen first-hand how much better a person ages when they’re interested in the world and the people around them compared to those who take those things for granted.”

  “That’s a surprisingly measured answer from a hothead like yourself, if you don’t mind my saying.”

  “What makes you think I’m a hothead?”

  I shrug. “You’ve staged a theatrical tantrum every time I’ve seen you.”

  “Only because I believe it’s a sin to waste the time of a beautiful woman.”

  “That’s very kind of you, but sometimes lousy dates happen.”

  “Perhaps you should raise your standards,” he says. “If you don’t mind my saying.”

  The waitress arrives, and he lets me order first, but I’m stewing over his comment so much I don’t even hear what he says after me.

  “So you never casually date people you think you have no future with?” I ask, cocking my head as the question bursts from my lips.

  “Never.”

  “Seriously?” I ask. “When’s the last time you went out to dinner with a woman?”

  “Around three months ago.”

  “Surely you’ve had sex more recently than that?”

  “Sex is not the same as dating,” he says. “Nor is it a waste of time.”

  “That’s a yes.”

  “Isn’t the important thing that I haven’t been with anyone since I met you?”

  “Because you don’t make time to meet people or…?”

  “No,” he says. “Because you enchanted me the first time we met, and I’m still very much under your spell.”

  I smile. “My spell, huh?”

  “The craziest part isn’t even how stunning I think you are, though.”

  I bat my lashes and lower my voice. “What’s the craziest part?”

  “What the sound of your voice does to me. And not just your voice, but your laugh and your moans and…everything that comes out of your mouth is music to my ears.”

  “Well, Geo, that’s very sw—”

  “Oh,” he groans. “Like that. The way you said my name just then. It’s like Cupid shooting me straight through the heart.”

  “Maybe so, but at the end of the day, I’m just a girl you met in a bar.”

  “If you believe that, I haven’t done a good enough job yet convincing you that you’re so much more.”

  “You’re off to a good start,” I say, charmed by his sincerity.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” he says. “I’m not a perfect man, but there are two things I can promise you.”

  “Is one of them that I’m going to love the gnocchi?”

  He laughs. “I’m glad you’re looking forward to it. You won’t be disappointed.”

  “What are the two things?”

  He leans forward and holds my gaze. “I will never waste your time,” he says. “And I will never break your heart.”

  I swallow and stare at him, letting the gravity of his words sink in. “Those are some pretty big promises to make on a first date.”

  He smiles. “Worst-case scenario, you love the gnocchi.”

  I study his face for a second, and despite his light-hearted joke, I get the sense that he’s genuine.

  “And my family’s wine of course.”

  “We’re having your uncle’s Chianti?” I ask.

  “Of course,” he says. “Only the best for you.”

  And though my delicate heart is wary, I feel myself start to fall.

  E I G H T

  I’ve completely misjudged this guy.

  His tattoos are clearly not a cry for attention. His job only scratches the surface of his skillset. And no one—no one—has ever treated me like such a lady in all my life. I haven’t touched a door or a bill all night, and his eyes haven’t strayed from me for a moment—not even to look at his phone, which is so painfully obvious it makes me wonder what kind of treatment I’ve been settling for lately.

  In fact, he’s the perfect guy, the guy I hope will show up and sweep me off my feet in a few years when I’m ready to settle down. Except he’s early. Years early. And I’m not mentally prepared for this sort of thing.

  I’m mentally prepared for flings, and that’s about it.

  But Geo is obviously not that kind of guy, and he’s been wooing me so hard all night I’m left weakened by his
charms. It’s as if his charisma has provided so much foreplay he could blow my clothes off with one deep breath.

  So naturally, when he suggests we go back to his place for a drink, my delight is matched only by my relief.

  Turns out he lives over his bar, which never occurred to me.

  “It used to be two stories,” he says as he opens the door for me yet again. “But I got sick of having to make my way home so late every night.”

  “Does it cut down on business?” I ask. “Having less space?”

  “No.” He reaches for my coat. “Not really. If anything, the place feels more exclusive now since it always looks crowded when people poke their head in.”

  “Interesting.” I slip my shoes out of my heels and set my bare feet on the hardwood floors.

  He flips the lights on then, and I’m totally blown away. He’s left the place very open-plan, and the first thing that strikes me is the exposed brick walls. Between them and the brown leather furniture, the place has both an industrial and cozy feel to it.

  “I love what you’ve done with the place,” I say, following him past the pool table to the kitchen, which he’s had built in where the upstairs bar used to be.

  “Thanks,” he says. “Sometimes I regret having taken the bar taps out.” He pats one part of the counter. “But I’m more of a wine guy, anyway.”

  My eyes travel up to the stained-glass lampshades glowing over the kitchen and then along the back wall, where six different kinds of pasta are displayed in large glass jars. “Are those just for decoration?” I ask, pointing at them.

  “Only the jar on the far right. The rest I use.”

  I walk over to have a closer look. “You don’t like angel hair pasta?”

  “No. I prefer my pasta the way I like my women.”

  I tilt an ear towards him.

  “With curves.”

  I smile and look past him when some fresh herbs on the windowsill catch my eye. “You grow your own herbs?”

  He shrugs. “I have no choice. Have you ever tried to make fresh tomato sauce with the dried ones from the store?”

  “I usually stick to Prego.”

  He flinches.

  I laugh.

  “If my mom came over here and found oregano or basil in a jar…” He shakes his head.