Page 38 of For Your Eyes Only
“So you babysit adults?”
Looking away, this time he shifts in his chair. “My business is boring dinner conversation.” He’s deflecting, and I’m about to call him on it when he surprises me. “How do you feel about tickling?”
“Tickling!” That makes me laugh. “While we’re on the subject.”
“You can tell a lot about a person from their answer. For example, if you like to tickle others, you’re clearly a sadist.”
That makes me laugh more. “Is that so?”
“Definitely. Sick fucks, ticklers. Whereas if you preferbeingtickled, you’re adventurous.” Another dirty look.
“I can’t stand being tickled.”
He nods slowly, taking another sip of wine, and the waiter appears to remove our dinner plates.
“Two chocolate soufflés,” he says to the fellow.
“Oh, no!” I wave my hand. “I can’t eat another bite.”
“One chocolate soufflé, two spoons.” He stops the guy. “And a coffee.”
That makes me smile. He remembered how much I adore coffee.
“You can’t miss the chocolate soufflé here. It’s decadent.”
“One bite,” I concede.
“So no tickling? Not even a little feather on the arch of your foot?”
“I can’t stand it.” Shivering, I shake my head.
His expression turns naughty. “What if the person doing the tickling promised to stop whenever you said?”
The tilt of his lips, the shimmer in his eyes, makes me think we’re not talking about tickling anymore. Or maybe we are, but not in the childish, chase-you-around-the-playground way.
“So I take it you enjoy tickling. Does that make you a sadist?” My voice is quiet, and I’m speaking like I have experience with such things. “Do I need a safe word when we’re together?”
“Most definitely.”
“In that case,” I cut my eyes up to his. “I might be willing to try… with someone I trust, of course.”
“Good girl.” His voice is low, and pleasure unfurls in my stomach, like I got all the answers correct on a pop quiz.
I’m not sure how I feel about my body’s response to him, but I’m pretty sure I’d be willing to try anything he asked me. I’ve never been so adventurous with a man, not even Michele. It’s like the night I danced for Trip as Glitter Girl, I felt like we had some kind of special chemistry. He’s holding the forbidden fruit with a naughty grin, and I want to bite it so badly.
The waiter places the chocolate soufflé in the center of the table and produces two coffee cups.
“None for me, thanks,” Trip turns his cup over in the saucer.
The waiter pours mine, and I add a dash of cream.
“No sugar?”
“Not if I’m having dessert.”
“I see.” Trip breaks the crusty top of the dark brown soufflé and scoops a small bite. “Taste.”
Pressing my lips together, I meet his eyes before leaning forward to take the bite. His lips part as the spoon passes between mine, mirroring my movements, and when the rich, dark chocolate coats my tongue, bliss surges to my brain.