Fake Date, Real Fate
Chapter 167: He Licked My Finger!? And His!!

Chapter 167: He Licked My Finger!? And His!!

His tongue traced a slow, deliberate path over my index finger, then my thumb, his gaze never leaving mine. A jolt, hot and immediate, shot straight through me. The playful, teasing atmosphere in the car evaporated, replaced by something thick and charged.

I stared at him.

My brain short-circuited somewhere between "Did he just—" and ohmygodhejustdid. Every nerve in my hand tingled, like his tongue had left sparks behind.

"You taste better," he said simply, then picked up a tater tot and popped it into his mouth.

My breath hitched, caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat. My eyes were wide, fixed on his mouth as he chewed the tater tot, utterly unbothered by the chaos he’d just unleashed inside me. My fingers, still tingling from his touch, felt like they were glowing.

So I did the only thing I could.

I popped a sauce-drenched tot into my mouth and made a noise that was totally food-related and definitely not covering up a gasp.

ADRIEN’S POV

"Ahhh," she sang, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She waved it closer, and the sickly-sweet smell of burnt sugar filled the car.

The word "no" was still on my tongue, my lips forming the syllable, when she pushed past them.

My entire system short-circuited.

First, the foreign texture. A soft, airy intrusion that was nothing and everything all at once. Then, the immediate, cloying sweetness that coated my tongue. My jaw, which had been set in a hard line of refusal, was now trapped, forced to contend with this pink monstrosity. I stared at her, my shock so profound it felt like a physical blow. A demon in my mind screamed sanitizer, but a deeper, quieter voice was simply stunned into silence.

I wanted to spit it out. I wanted to lecture her on hygiene and personal space and the audacity of it all. But she was watching me, her breath held, her expression a mixture of hope and defiance. And I couldn’t.

So, I chewed.

The sugar dissolved, but it wasn’t just sugar. It was the taste of the ridiculous, carefree grin on her face. It was the summer evening air coming through the open window. It was her. All bright, impulsive, chaotic energy that I craved and feared in equal measure. My outrage melted with the sugar, replaced by a bewildering warmth that spread through my chest.

She grinned, seeing the shift in my expression before I’d even processed it myself. "See? You like it."

My mind was a battlefield. One side, the controlled, logical Adrien, was appalled. The other, a wilder, more desperate part of me that she seemed to awaken so effortlessly, was reeling. That part saw the way her lips were parted in a triumphant smile. It saw the tiny, glistening specks of sugar still clinging to her fingertips.

And that part won.

Before the logical man could protest, I leaned forward. I captured her hand, my touch gentle, a stark contrast to the feral impulse driving me. Her eyes widened. I held her gaze, a silent challenge, and brought her fingers to my lips.

I licked the sugar from her index finger.

A jolt, sharp and electric, was her only response. I felt it in the slight tremor of her hand. Good. I traced the pad of her thumb with my tongue, savoring the faint sweetness. I didn’t just taste cotton candy. I tasted her—warm skin, teasing mischief, and the memory of her hand nearly between her thighs in that hospital bed, proving she was "strong enough for the sprint."

It would’ve been so easy to keep going. To suck until she whimpered, until her hips shifted in the seat, until we forgot what self-control even meant.

I let her go—barely—and leaned back like I hadn’t just imagined bending her over the console. My breath hitched, a faint tremor in my own chest. God, she tasted good. Not just sweet, but... her.

"You taste better," I heard myself say, the words a low, satisfied hum that I hoped masked the raw edge of my desire. I needed a distraction. For both of us. So I picked up a tater tot and popped it into my mouth. The mundane act was a deliberate counterpoint to the storm raging inside me. Chewing, I forced myself to appear unbothered, even as I watched her. Every muscle in my body was coiled tight, ready for her next move. Her eyes were impossibly wide, fixed on my mouth.

She went for a tater tot too, dunking it aggressively into the sauce. A defiant crinkle of the paper boat. A forced, loud crunch. I almost smiled. She was trying to act casual, I could tell. It was endearing, and it just made me want to push her further.

As she chewed, a smudge of the creamy, seasoned sauce clung to the corner of her mouth. My fingers itched.

"Hold still," I murmured, leaning in before I could second-guess myself. Her eyes, already wide, dilated further. My thumb brushed the soft skin at the corner of her lip. So soft. I felt the slight tremor that ran through her, a delicious shiver that mirrored the one zinging through my own veins. I didn’t wipe it off with a napkin, of course. That would be too normal. Too easy.

Instead, I brought my thumb to my own mouth. Slowly. Deliberately. My tongue dragged over the skin, tasting the ghost of the sauce, the ghost of her. I kept my gaze locked on hers, challenging her to look away. She blinked, once, a flutter of impossibly long lashes. The heat in her eyes was a reflection of my own.

Wiping the sauce away was the excuse. Bringing that same thumb to my own lips, dragging my tongue over the skin she’d warmed, the sauce she’d tasted, while looking her dead in the eye? That was the confession. This is what I want to do to you. Everywhere. Because I hadn’t forgotten the way she looked at me in that hospital bed. I hadn’t forgotten her challenging whisper—"See? I’m recovering just fine."

I saw her blink. Saw the way her throat worked as she swallowed. Her brain was catching up, and I was enjoying the fallout immensely.

"Are you... are you eating my face now?"

The sound that escaped me was supposed to be a chuckle, but it felt more like a growl I’d managed to civilize at the last second. "Just appreciating the seasoning, Princess." I leaned back, feigning an air of innocent satisfaction, and picked up another tot. Took a bite, made sure she saw it. I could practically feel her jaw tightening in frustration.

"You– you did that on purpose! You’re crazy!"

"Am I?" I arched an eyebrow, pouring on the exaggerated innocence. "I thought I was just helping you clean up." The corners of my lips twitched.

She narrowed her eyes, seeing right through me. "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?"

"Immensely," I admitted, a genuine smile finally breaking free. I held out the paper boat of tots. "Want another one?"

Her glare was pure fire. I could almost hear the internal debate raging within her: swat the tots away or devour them. She called my charm "contamination." She called me contamination. It only made me want her more.

"And you loved it," I said

I dipped a fresh tot into the sauce, brought it to her lips.

She huffed. A small, explosive sound of exasperation and desire. She leaned forward, her lips parting slightly.

Just as her breath ghosted over my fingers, I pulled the tot away, watching her teeth click on empty air. Her eyes flew open, a flicker of frustration in their depths. "Adrien—"

My lips curved into a slow, wicked smile.

Then, I leaned in.

My lips brushed hers, feather-light, right where the tot had been. The salt from the fries, the tang of the sauce, and something else—something warm and sweet and intoxicatingly her. It wasn’t about the potatoes anymore. It was about this. I had been fighting it since she’d first looked at me with those wide, earnest eyes, since she’d invaded my space and my thoughts.

I didn’t rush. I mapped the shape of her mouth with my own, a gentle exploration. Her hands, I felt them on my chest, gripping my shirt. Her surrender. My free hand found its way to the nape of her neck, fingers threading into the soft strands, tilting her head, pulling her closer, deeper into the kiss. The little moan she made was a heady rush, a potent drug.

And then, I let go. Just a little. The raw hunger I’d been wrestling with exploded, mirroring the inferno I’d ignited in her. My lips moved with a possessive urgency, her breath hitching against mine.

When I finally pulled back, we were both breathless. My forehead rested against hers, my eyes searching hers for answers, for confirmation, for anything. The playful glint was gone, replaced by a raw, consuming heat, a primal need for her.

"See?" I murmured, my voice a low, gravelly caress against her still-tingling lips. "So much better than the totter tots." It was a victory, a truth, a challenge.

"You cheated." Her voice was a shaky whisper, barely audible.

A genuine, heart-stopping smile spread across my face, reaching my eyes. This was the exact right amount of chaos for me. "All’s fair in love and tater tots." I pressed one last, soft kiss to her lips, a promise, then leaned back into my seat, far too pleased with myself. I flicked the empty paper boat into the nearby trash bag, savoring the lingering heat of her.

"So," she said, her chest still heaving, "Are we done playing with our food?"

The engine purred to life, a deep, contented sound that vibrated through the car, through me. I shot her a sidelong glance, a dangerous, promising glint returning to my eyes. "The food, yes," I said, putting the car in gear and pulling away from the food truck, leaving Frank and his culinary perfection behind. "But, Princess," I paused, my hand leaving the gear shift to rest possessively on her thigh, my thumb drawing slow, deliberate circles. "The games are just beginning."