“To answer your question,” I begin, trying to coax more conversation out of her. “Going that long without kissing someone, and having it be you, and that mouth, and the way you did it, grabbing me like that and not giving me a choice . . . you surprised the hell out of me, sweetheart, but I have never been more okay with something in my entire life. The fact that I know you’re going to pull that shit again on Saturday has me fighting off an erection every five minutes.”

Her lips slowly part. Shock. I’ve shocked her? Is my obsession not as obvious as I think it is?

“Wow,” she finally says after giving me nothing but silence for thirty-seven seconds.

Yes, I counted.

“I was just expecting a one word answer to that.”

“Ask me again.”

The corner of her mouth lifts into a smile, and fuck me, if my chest doesn’t tighten at the sight of it.

“Were you okay with what I did last weekend?”

“Yes.”

“So if I were to suggest whoever wins this competition, gets to do what I did . . . you’d be up for that?”

My brows pinch together. “Do what you did?” I repeat, trying to understand.

She sits taller in her seat, excitement radiating off her in waves. “Kiss the other person, but on their terms. Anytime. Anywhere. Not necessarily on Saturday.”

Beth turns her head as the hostess arrives with our food, smiling up at the older woman.

As our platters are set down in front of us, I think about this wager. I think about it really fucking hard.

Winning means I basically get to assault Beth with my mouth whenever I feel like it. I can pull exactly what she did, maybe even catch her off guard. The part of me that usually runs what I do in the bedroom is geared up for this, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck from side to side. He wants to win. He wants to claim that fucking mouth whenever and wherever. But the other part of me, the part that wants to lie back and let this woman take me anytime she wants is picking up his napkin and waving it in surrender before this shit even gets started.

Fifteen tacos. Can she even eat that many? I sure as hell can, but this little thing across from me can’t weigh more than a buck fifteen. If I actually give this my best shot, let fate decide who gets to take who, is there a chance she’ll beat me?

“Oh, and one more thing.”

Beth breaks into my thoughts with anxious eyes and a hungry tongue, snaking out between her lips as she eyes up her tacos. She finally looks up at me.

“Because I’ve already kissed you on my terms, it would only be fair that if I were to win, I got to do something else instead, if I felt like it.”

“Something else?” I ask, my voice suddenly so thick, I nearly choke on my words. I pick up my glass and take several gulps as a slow, sexy smirk twists across her mouth.

Fuck. Me.

I don’t know how she does it, but she manages to look this perfect blend of innocent and I’m-about-to-fuck-your-world-up. Images filter through my head, ones of her in all white, looking up at me as she drops down to her knees, ready to worship my cock. Then of her tying me to a bed, my arms and legs bound, unable to touch her, taste her, or fuck her the way I want. She brings me to the brink of orgasm with her hands, her mouth, teeth breaking my skin while I beg for her pussy and she denies me everything but suffering. She won’t let me come, but she makes me watch as she moves beside me, fingers sliding in and out of her while she chants my name. My fucking name.

What. The. Fuck. More important question, why am I harder than steel at the thought of option two?

“If I win,” she says, “I can choose to kiss you again, or, I can choose to do . . . whatever I want.”

Whatever she wants.

Option two. Please, for the love of God, say option two.

I look down at my plate, silently thanking my food for looking appetizing, because I’m not going to be able to enjoy it the way I had originally intended.

Life is funny like that. One minute, you’re ready to show a woman that you never challenge a man to an eating competition. The next minute, you’re thinking about all the fast food places you’re going to pass on your way home from dropping said woman off at her car. I like to plan ahead. Burgers sound pretty good.

I lift my head, feigning confidence with a smug grin. “Deal.”

SHIT. I AM FUCKING STARVING.

Beth is sitting across from me, working on taco number nine, and looking like she’s nowhere near stopping. Where her food is going, I have no idea. Maybe to those plump tits that are teasing the hell out of me beneath that dress, causing my erection to be a permanent fixture beneath the table. I’ve almost excused myself twice to go get some fucking relief in the men’s room, but honestly, I didn’t want to miss a moment of this challenge. I’ve never seen a woman tackle this much food before, and look this good doing it.

I, on the other hand, have given up at a half-finished sixth with a hand to my stomach and a wince tightening my brow every few minutes. I need to play this up, otherwise she’ll never believe I could only handle five and a half tacos. My man-hood is on the line here. I actually wish I did have the stomach ache I’m faking. Maybe then my mouth wouldn’t still be watering at the sight left on my platter.

Think of the prize. Remember what’s at stake.

Beth wipes her napkin across her mouth and drops it down on the table. “Finished already, rookie?” she asks, victory lifting her voice to a cocky pitch. Her finger points to the food in front of me. “I see a whole lot of tacos left over there. I thought you said there was no way in hell I was going to beat you?”