“This feels—”
“Let your body relax.” Garner grazed her nipple with his palm.
Raising her ass about a half an inch off her seat, she sat back down again, directly on her clit. I’m going to come. She crossed her legs.
“You okay?” He stared at her as if she’d shoot off to the moon.
She nodded for him to continue. “Fine. It’s warm in here, is all.”
Garner unbuttoned his shirt a notch. “We agreed intense, deep-ruby shades in the champagne.” He held his hand over her other breast and waited again for permission. “May I?”
The heat from his hand reemerged over her cleavage.
“You may.”
His hand drew over her hungry breasts as he went under the V-neck of her cleavage. He slipped his fingers skin to skin under the perky fold of her breasts and massaged her. His hands felt warm and dry against her moist, increasingly hot skin.
Nipples firm and clit dripping, she fought the urge to release the pleasure she experienced with words. They didn’t exist in the English vocabulary to describe the party going on in her mind. She tripped high on his Big Daddy ecstasy. Being in his arms wasn’t a walk through her beloved Central Park. It was a psychedelic journey in Candy Land with a race to her pussy castle. Taddy fantasized she was Princess Lolly, skipping to her own tunes, in the honey clouds. Engrossed with enthusiasm at the pleasures before her, she followed her desires where they took her from one adventure to the next. Indeed this Big Daddy held the powers. He became her King Kandy. And together they danced through her Gingerbread Plum Trees. Snap the flip out of it, Taddy Brill.
He nuzzled her earlobe with his lips and whispered, “The first thing your tongue should taste is a floral note with your champagne.”
“Floral…” Echoing his words, she about came in her seat.
“You desire a fruity taste.” Garner held on to the base of her breast then flicked her nipple.
Air. I need to breathe. Everything felt as if it was happening in slow motion. She uncrossed her legs, putting a slight space between her knees.
His free hand rested between her legs. “May I?” he asked as the perfect gentleman.
She glanced over her shoulder. They sat alone. The waiter must’ve drawn the curtain. She didn’t notice. Not a soul in sight. “You may.” She exposed herself a little farther under the table, giving him enough room to slide his hands under the table’s edge and inside her.
“To finish, you’d enjoy the champagne’s body which sparkles, sense initial firmness as it fills your mouth and experience a cream rush as you swallow.”
Hiking her dress higher, she took his hands in hers and assisted him, pushing himself deeper into her. “The f-firmer and c-creamier the better.”
“With a subtle sweet-and-sour note in the champagne, perhaps a pink grapefruit.” He massaged her breasts with one hand and fingered her valley with the other.
Taddy covered her mouth and bit down on her pointer finger, finding it hard to control herself.
“There, there, my Red.” He leaned in again, removed her hand from her mouth and kissed her more passionately than before. His fingers danced inside her, holding on to her as if he owned her.
Take me. Grasping on to him, her legs apart, each square body inch danced in vibration to his deep voice. His hands moved inside her as if her body belonged to him from the very beginning.
“Big Daddy.” Right there, go deeper, yeah…yes, hit it. Push harder. Go further. Uh-huh, love that. Oh Jesus.
“Look at you coming, Red. You’re beautiful. Let your body go, baby. I have you,” he whispered in her ear, granting her permission to enjoy herself.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Yes. Oooh. She came hard. Her body collapsed into his.
She was convinced he’d slipped her an Ecstasy hit and her parched mouth dried further. She hadn’t drunk, swallowed or licked anything except his tongue. Could he have marinated his lips in euphoria? Laced his hot mouth with drugs? Nah. She realized she’d done what she’d always fantasized about—letting go.
Taddy had no clue who he was and vice versa. He could’ve introduced himself as Mista Ronald hamburger-flipping McDonald for all she cared. She didn’t seek a relationship. But this fella spoke worldliness. He knew champagne. And unless he caged an anaconda in his pants, he presented a new significance to the word “hung”.
Garner whispered in her ear, “Let’s order a bottle of Dom Perignon Rosé.” He leaned in farther. “And some napkins.”
She shook her head no-no. “We don’t need any napkins.”
“No?” he questioned, confused but confident as if girls came to his kisses and champagne talk night after night.
“You haven’t told me what juice you’d care to drink.” Yes, that’s right.
“Let’s get the bottle—”
“And go back to your place?” she interrupted, inviting herself back to his house.
Eyes wide toward his hands, he brought them up from underneath the table’s edge. “Red, why are there rubies?” Palms out and facing her, a shimmer of crimson adorned his wet hands. “Is this from—your dress?”
“No, Big Daddy.” Thank you, vajazzle. “I’ll show you when we get back to your place.”
“Okay then.” Garner reached for her hands. He stood with a force that yanked her to her feet.
She checked her cell.
Vive had texted her, saying she’d left a while ago. Taddy seized a Dom Perignon Rosé bottle from the bar as they made their way out the door.
Chapter Seven
Vive Serves Up Bye-And-Bye Dick Pie
Warner couldn’t have dreamt Red up if he tried. He’d never seen her in his entire life, so she was unmistakably not an island local. Assuming she’d come to St. Barth for business as a swimsuit model for Sports Illustrated, he remembered the photographers shot their magazine spreads nearby. She must be. But her skin was porcelain, not tan as it would be if she’d been on the beach all day.
Indeed attractive, late twenties, she looked classy. Wrapped in a stunning dress, sexy shoes and her vintage jewelry, she led him to assume if not magazine modeling a bikini, perhaps she’d jetted in from London. Red could’ve come to “winter” at a villa down the shore, escaping England’s cold season. But her voice spoke with a sharp tone, maybe from Chicago, certainly not British.