Rhys
Fletcher is a police detective who finds himself in a fix. He's in
charge of a simple case, the theft of a cell phone. Unfortunately, it
blossoms into something more rather unexpectedly. He's no longer
investigating a theft, now it's multiple homicide. The prime suspect?
His girlfriend, Moira. This scene takes place before their lives go
to hell. It is the night of their second date, the beachside festival
lighting the city Christmas lights.
Finally
ready, she went into the living room. Rhys had made himself
comfortable on her couch, a book in his hands. He marked the place
with his finger as he stood.
"You
look stunning. Red is decidedly your color." He pulled her close
to kiss her. "You shrank."
"Two
inch heel rather than four."
"Ooh.
I knew I wasn't that blind. Like the shoes!" He knelt at her
feet, touching the dark red suede. He ran his fingers up the side,
fondling the bow at the back, moving slowly across the sole before
caressing the top of her foot.
"Are
you one of those weird foot fetish people?" Moira didn't know
whether to be disgusted for flattered.
"Will
you get mad if I say yes?"
"Depends
on what you like to do to feet."
Rhys
grinned, dusting his hands on his jeans. "Can I wash?"
She
pointed to a half bath under the stairs. "You didn't answer me."
"Trying
to come up with a reply that doesn't make me sound like a perv."
He washed and dried his hands. "I like shoes. I like red. I
think red shoes are sexy. I think women who wear red shoes are sexy.
Therefore, I think you're damn sexy, with or without your red shoes."
Moira
nodded, listening intently. "Thank you. I think you're pretty
sexy too, even if you have a shoe fetish."
"I
don't have a shoe fetish."
"Yeah?
If we had sex tonight—which I am not saying we are, so don't get so
happy—would you want the shoes on or off?"
"Depends.
Are we in bed or somewhere else in the house?"
"Living
room."
"On."
He moved closer.
"Kitchen."
"Oooh,
really?" He raised his eyebrows. "On." His chest
pressed hard against hers.
"Bedroom?"
"In
the bed or against the wall?" His arms went around her, his
hands dropping to her rear.
"Either—wall."
"Decidedly
on. Pants around my ankles, and those sexy heels digging into my
ass." He squeezed her butt with both hands, pressing in and up
so her hips rubbed invitingly against his. "And if we're not
making love tonight, please don't tease me with this anymore."
"I'm
sorry. I know I shouldn't tease, but it's so much fun dirty-flirting
with you."
"I
don't know whether to be flattered or annoyed." He nuzzled her
neck.
"Be
flattered, please. I don't want you annoyed. I haven't flirted or
dated in such a long time. I forget the boundaries."
Rhys
nibbled her earlobe. "No boundaries," he mumbled against
her throat. "No limits. No pressure. I can wait, Moira. As long
as it takes. Just try not to get me too worked up before we go out.
It's kind of embarrassing to go in public with a hard on."
Moira
giggled, bringing his face level with hers. She pouted her lips like
the girl had earlier. "I promise to behave, if you do."
"I'll
do my best. I make no guarantees. I'm single and it's been awhile."
Moira
rubbed her lipstick off his cheeks with her thumb. "Define
awhile."
"You
the debate coach?"
"Yes.
How did you know?"
"Lucky
guess. Define awhile?" He raised his eyes, thinking, mumbling as
he counted. "God, really that long? Shit! Three months. What's
wrong with me?"
"I
was about to ask you the same thing." She giggled when he
pressed her ass again.
"I
was waiting for the right woman to come along. Then all of a sudden,
she dropped from the sky, right into my lap."
"Lucky
girl."
"I
like to think so. And I'm a damn lucky man."
"I
like to think so."
©
2015 Dellani Oakes
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