I stood by the railing out on the balcony taking in the view, I heard Trevillo’s heavy boots hitting the floor tiles as he came up behind me, and I turned around. Desire was still present on his face, but not as fierce as it was a few minutes ago.
Stepping all up in my face and in my space, he held out a glass of wine to me. “The drink. Chateau Margaux.”
Accepting the glass from his hand, I peered up at him and sipped, then deliberately, and slowly, swept my tongue over my lips. I so wanted this man, and I wanted him to know it.
Eyes narrowing, he admonished, “Stop it. I’m hanging on by a thread here.”
Seizing my free hand, he dragged me over to one of the lounge chairs, sat down and urged me down on his lap. “I had it all planned out in my head how I wanted this night to go, but you keep shooting it to hell.” He dipped a finger in his wine then traced it around the outline of my lips. When I caught said finger and sucked it into my mouth, he breathed, “Dammit, Krissan.”
I wasn’t the one for too much talking. Especially when my body’s begging for sex. During sex, a precious vice of mine, I was uninhibited and always ready. I didn’t play cock-shy, and I didn’t wait for a guy to take the lead. And Mr. Danger here, obviously still set on his ‘trying to figure me out’ mission, was doing a whole lot of delaying, while I was doing a whole lot of wanting.
With a man like him, I would’ve expected him to be balls-deep inside me by now, calling me ‘baby’ as he came because he couldn’t remember my name, then giving me a pat on the ass as he sent me home — because he didn’t do sleepovers.
But no. This heartthrob billionaire, real estate extraordinaire, wanted me to sit on his goddamn lap and …
“Tell me, what do you enjoy?”
Yep, talk. He wanted to frigging talk .
“Sex,” I answered out of sexual frustration. “I enjoy the shit out of sex. So damn much. Much more than talking.”
He chuckled, and it was a real sexy sound. In fact, everything about the man was real sexy. When he was serious, he was seriously sexy. When he was amused, he was amusingly sexy. When he was arrogant, he was arrogantly sexy. When he was aroused, he was shatter-a girl’s-lady-bits-to-pieces sexy. He was just one big ball of masculine sexiness. A girl couldn’t help being anything but turned the hell up on high heat around him.
“That goes without saying,” he retorted, still chuckling. “Aside from that … ?”
Before I could speak, he added, “Omit shopping, ‘cause that’s pretty damn obvious.”
And I laughed.
“There,” he said, as if he’d just accomplished some kind of goal. “Krissan Kingston just laughed.”
I thought about his question. Apart from fucking and shopping, what did I enjoy? Aside from that other thing that I wouldn’t tell him or anyone, I did nothing else but have meaningless sex, shop and work. I basically lived like a single dude. “Work, I guess. I go clubbing sometimes with my best friend, Marsha, or hangout at JK’s dance studio. That’s about it.”
“Relationships?”
“I’ve never had one. Never been interested in one. I have nothing to share with anyone, so I’ve no inclination to start one.” I took a sip of my wine and continued. “Takes too much energy, you know. I just don’t believe any of it is real. All fake. The whole ‘I love you. I love you, too. I love you more. No, I love you more. Forever and always. Let’s get married. I want you to have my babies … ’ Booooo! Fuck all that.”
Trevillo nodded once, but didn’t comment on my part-rant, part-answer. Instead, he brought his glass of wine to my lips and said in a quiet voice, “Taste from my cup.”
My brows knitted together as I thought about how those four words seemed fat with hidden meaning. When I drank from his glass, he smiled mysteriously and drank from it himself.
Setting his glass aside on the ground, he took mine and set it down beside his. Next, he cupped my