Messalina: Devourer of Men Read Free Page A

muscles in his neck flex as he swallows. I would love to bite that neck. Mark him.
    “Do you think?”
    “Come on, Evadne.” Smiling, he faces me. “Don’t sell yourself short. You may try to look easy, but you’re not. You have taste. I can tell from the films you see—viewing companions not included.” He winks at me again and I get butterflies in my stomach. “You carry yourself like a queen. And girl,” he says, shaking his head, “there are some things you can’t learn off the street.”
    This time it’s my turn to laugh. “You’re very observant.”
    “It’s what I do, darlin’.”
    This time there’s no hint of playfulness in his tone and we sit, taking each other in. For the first time I notice something else about Jared’s gaze. Although clear and open, his eyes are still dark enough as not to give everything away.
    In the silence, we hear the downstairs lobby fill with patrons. He looks back over his shoulder, once again giving me a view of his neck. “The film’s letting out.” He smiles and stands. “Shall we go?”
    “It depends,” I say while taking a napkin to wipe the corner of my mouth. I raise my head to look up at him and give a playful smile. “What do you think of my viewing companion now?”
    In response I am treated to a flash of his white, even teeth in a grin that would melt the resolve of the coldest virgin.
    “I also said you had taste.”
    And with that, he pulls my chair out, places his hand on the small of my back and escorts me downstairs. Maybe it’s a measure of my excitement, but his touch burns through my sweater and beads of sweat form on my skin beneath his touch.
    Inside the theater I estimate about thirty other people have decided to catch this matinee. We take our seats in the center section, four rows from the back. A few minutes later, the lights go out.
    During the film I try to concentrate but can’t help glancing at my watch. It’s been nearly an hour and he hasn’t tried anything. Apart from pushing up the armrest to remove any barrier between us, he hasn’t touched me. We’re just two people enjoying a movie together. But watching a movie with a man who’s not feeling me up is a new experience for me and I can’t help stealing side-glances at him.
    He’s different from other men, that’s for damn sure. He had the balls to come up and start a real conversation, and what a pick-up too. I’ll give him an A+ for that. My palms are sweating and, between my legs, I feel hot and empty—and wet.
    He turns his head and catches me spying. He grins like I just sprang his trap. I turn away. His right arm goes around the back of my seat and he leans over to whisper.
    “Evadne, it’s OK if you look.”
    When I turn in his direction, his face is so close to mine I can feel it when he exhales. The scent of his cologne mixing with the coffee he just drank makes my mouth water. I close the distance. Our kiss is gentle, unhurried and tastes of chocolate and coffee. He gently takes hold of my chin to deepen our kiss.
    “I knew those lips had to be delicious,” he says when we part to take a breath. His hand goes up the back of my neck and into my hair. I lean into the caress, exposing my throat, letting his lips linger on my neck. His tongue tickles along the surging throb of my pulse. I sigh and my hand falls to the side split of my skirt. Pushing the thin material over, I slide my fingers up between my legs.
    His long eyelashes flutter against my throat as he opens his eyes to see what I’m doing. Then I feel his hand, warm and soft, reach over to cup under my knee. He crooks my leg over his and I moan softly when he places his hand on mine. What sounds like my voice growls “yes” loud enough for him to take his cue and gently press our fingers inside me.
    My head lolls back against his arm as my private entrance admits us, hand in hand, with my small forefinger next to his long, thick, middle and forefingers. We work together to build a rhythm and