Playing Games with Peter Dinklage

"I do." Whiskey brave and recklessly aroused, I ran my hand up his arm to his shoulder, over his collar, and twisted a finger in a dark curl of hair at the back of his neck. Brushed the back of my hand over his soft beard. Lightly touched the corner of his mouth with the tips of my fingers. He gave me such and intense look then, his dark brows pulled down over ocean storm eyes, it sent shivers over every inch of me. An irresistible, tingling sensation started between my legs, and built to an ache I could barely stand. I slid off my stool and pulled his arm so that his seat turned to face me. I leaned in over his legs, my eyes on his strong mouth, until I was close enough to kiss it. Instead, I slid my lips to his ear and whispered, "That pretty boy can suck it."

He laughed low, his breath tickling my ear. The shivers surged anew, dancing down my neck, my arms, tightening my nipples. My breath caught in my throat. I pulled back, trying to catch the expression on his face, but he put a strong warm hand to the back of my neck, brought his lips to mine, and kissed me, hard.

I cursed that last whiskey. I blamed it for the fact I was kissing Peter Dinklage in a no-name bar in a sketchy New York neighborhood. On the other hand, if not for that last whiskey, I might not be kissing Peter Fucking Dinklage in bar in a sketchy New York neighborhood. When Peter wrapped his other hand in my braid and pulled, forcing my head back so he could kiss my neck, all of my conflicting emotions were drowned in a wave of overheated desire.

His full lips moved up the side of my neck, leaving hot spots trailing behind them. When his attention was back to my mouth, I teased his tongue with my own. It was a kiss to get lost in, fueled by a passion that surprised me. My breath quickened, I ran my palms up his thighs, letting my thumbs rest against the bulge at the front of his jeans. What are you doing? A voice whispered in my head. What are you doing? What are you doing?

"What are we doing?" I whispered, trying to catch my breath.

With a shake Peter released my braid and grasped my upper arms with both of his hands. Our faces were inches apart, and I saw how his pupils were dilated, making his blue-green eyes look almost black.

"We are getting out of here. Will you come with me?" His low voice, husky with desire, seemed to reverberate in my chest. His touch, his palms on my skin, sizzled with electricity. We were bonded like some chemical reaction, driven by laws of nature, out of human control.

At least, that's what the lust driven part of my brain was trying to patiently explain the the logical part, who was declaring loudly that, of course we were not going anywhere with a celebrity we didn't know. Peter Dinklage was hot, sexy and amazingly good with his mouth. Not to mention funny, charming and wickedly smart. These qualities did not also mean he was not a serial killer. In fact, these qualities made him more likely to be a serial killer. Or at the very least, sexually perverse. Hollywood had fixers for things like that. I bet HBO had a whole stable of fixers for their favorite stars. I mean, have you ever really looked into Woody Harrelson's eyes? Terrifying.

"Of course I'll go with you." I breathed. Well, that was that. Logical and practical packed up their shit and went home.

I didn't even bother to ask where we were going as Peter steered me out of the bar. The top of his head came up to just over the crook of my elbow, but his hand on the small of my back held the kind of command usually reserved for men twice his size. Once outside, Peter led me around the corner and down a dark side street. My heart pounded in my chest. From uncertainty, or arousal, or both, I wasn't sure. Crouching in the shadows was something low, sleek and shiny.

Peter opened the back door of the limo and ushered me in like a true gentleman. The degree to which I was questioning none of this would have been alarming, if the whole situation were not so surreal. I sat on the soft leather seat and watched Peter reach up to rap at the smoky glass that separated us from the driver. I couldn't wait to see what happened next, as if I were watching the scene unfold in a dark movie house. The rap didn't come, Peter's hand stopped just short of the divider.

The leather seat gave slightly under him as he moved in closer to me. His expression was gravely serious. I wondered if he suddenly realized I was a complete nobody, and was trying to think of a way to get me out of the limo in the least awkward way for both of us.

"I must go to the airport. I'd love for you to ride with me, and then the driver can take you home. Or, he can take you home first, if that's what you wish."

"The airport? It's got to be close to 2am." I let my eyes wander the back of the limo. The throb between my legs encouraged me to shut the hell up and imagine what could be done with this kind of room.

A sheepish smile curled the corners of Peter's mouth. "I have a private jet waiting for me. Tomorrow I have to make my way to Morocco, to start preparations for next season."

A private jet. Of course, how silly of me.

"Before you answer, I must tell you something that is weighing on my mind. I should have told you sooner. It will probably determine your answer, so please hear me out for a moment."

Curiosity and unease welled up inside me. This was the part when he told me this was some kind of elaborate joke, that I had been a fool to think Peter Dinklage was attracted to me, that he wanted to sex me up in the back of a limo. The whiskey in my belly turned suddenly sour.

His eyes were dark as he looked at me, but it seemed he could not look long. HIs glance slid away as he began to speak.

"Tonight is not the first time I've seen you." He paused, searching for the words. My stomach dropped. What was this?

"I was at that party last night. When you met Ryan. I don't think you saw me there?"
 I shook my head "no". I had no idea where this was headed. I was on the edge of my seat, literally, back in movie-goer mode.

"I saw you. I was immediately smitten. Your dark hair, that dress ... you kept tugging it up at the top, and then pulling it down at the hem. You were adorable and sexy and I wanted to help you, mostly by getting you out of that vexing dress."

My best dress. Rarely worn. Short, strapless, always on the verge of riding too high at the thigh or creeping down at the bust. My face burned with embarrassment.

"Ryan is a very good friend, even when I make mad requests. I saw the way you looked at him when the two of you spoke. I didn't think I had a chance to follow that look. So I sent Ryan back before we left, to ask you to meet him here, hoping you would say yes, hoping you would find me a reasonable consolation prize when he didn't show up."

Any last feelings of arousal drained from me like water from a tub. What, exactly, was he saying? He purposefully asked Ryan Kwanten to make a date with me, and then stand me up, so that he could come in and pick up the pieces? Woo me and my pathetic broken heart? I was the fool, after all. Tears of anger and embarrassment pricked at my eyes.

I gulped some air. "You could have just come and talked to me. At the party. I'm not some slutty celebrity hound, sniffing around, trying to get laid. Add some big name to my little black book." My voice shook, which made me even more angry.

"I know! I know you're not. Especially now, that I've gotten to know you a little." Peter took my hand. "I knew it last night, too. Girls like that, like those morons at the bar earlier, they shine, but with a false light. They're hard and brittle. Not you. You're warm, and sweet and sexy as hell. I'm so sorry for tricking you, Brynn. I acted immaturely. It was a dick move. Ryan warned me. He didn't want to do it, but he's a loyal friend."

I pulled my hand from his and crossed my arms over my chest. "I still don't understand why you couldn't just talk to me. Last night. Fucking introduce yourself."

Peter sat up a little straighter on the seat. "Look at me, and then think about Ryan. I came to that party with him, and you didn't even realize I was there."

He stared me down. I dropped my eyes, took in his short legs, his man-sized torso. My gaze swept his face: strong mouth, full lips, intense brow, ocean eyes.

Still angry, I spit out the truth. "Ryan dazzles. He's tall, with the hot body and the accent and the surfer hair. You are ... something different. Handsome, charming, intelligent. That's why I like you. If you had talked to me instead of hiding behind your friend, I probably would have told you I've had a crush on you since "Living in Oblivion. Your first movie. Ever."

Peter hung his head, and I swore he was trying to hide a smile. Bastard. "You didn't mention that movie before. That's number five."

"What, do I get a prize now?" Damn it. He was handsome when he was acting contrite. I still couldn't fathom that I was even having this conversation with Peter Fucking Dinklage. Had I been cast in some oddball Rom Com and didn't realize it?

"You never did ask me your question. You won my game, it's your right."

A question. I hadn't thought of one. Now that the shock had worn off, the anger was fading, and the undeniable attraction was sneaking back in. What he had done was ludicrous, but it didn't escape me that someone like Peter had gone to so much trouble to get close to me. Not that he was a celebrity, though that was a big part of it. He was a genuinely interesting person. Mad sexy. Wicked smart. However, I was still a little mad.

I put on my best Sparkly Girl #1 voice. "Is your cock like, regular-person sized or ... or ... um ... you know." I waved my hand, taking him in.

The look on his face! It brought me one second of immense satisfaction, and then immediate regret. An apology was forming on my lips when he burst out laughing.

"I'll tell you what, Brynn, come a little closer and you can find out for yourself."

Perhaps it was all an act. I found I didn't care anymore. Peter was giving me that intense look again, brows lowered over darkening eyes, and I was powerless to resist. I kicked off my shoes and inched closer to him on the seat. He took my move as the invitation it was, and ran his warm hand up my thigh, to the hem of my short skirt. Paused. Breathed in my ear. "Ride to the airport with me. Yes or no?"

"Yes."

"Be a good girl and knock on the divider three times. The driver will know what that means."

"You have a secret knock for the limo driver?" I raised an eyebrow at him.

"I am a fucking superstar. Of course I have a secret knock." His smirk could have been interpreted in several different ways, so I ignored it and did as I was told. The limo rumbled to life. Before reclaiming my seat next to Peter, I stealthy and sexily, I hoped, slid my panties off and tucked them into my small purse. The look on Peter's face was again, priceless.

Whether it was my unexpected panty action, or some kind of release he felt at letting the truth out, I couldn't say. But something changed in Peter. The kiss we had shared before had been passionate, but polite. The moment I moved back to his side, he fell on me like a man starved. He pressed me back into the soft seat with a wordless, primitive exhalation. The sound of it woke something in me and I became breathless with throbbing need. One firm grasp and he had my shirt and bra pushed up over my breasts. His mouth moved to mine while his fingers teased first one nipple, then the other, until I was whimpering with desire.

I pulled his shirt off and ran my hands down his back. His skin was hot to the touch, his muscles twitched under my palms. When my hands reached his waistline he pulled back from our desperate embrace and flashed me a mischievous grin. There was a gleam in his eye as I undid the button and zipper of his pants and pushed them down and off, along with his undershorts. And then, just like that, Peter Fucking Dinklage's very manly sized, very hard cock was in my hand. I stroked him with satisfaction, loving how his girth filled my hand. The skin of his shaft was silky and smooth, the knobbed head bulged slightly in a way that I knew would feel amazing inside me. I wanted it. I wanted him.

"Well, that settle that, then ..." I grinned at him but he was no longer smiling. Arousal had brought out a ferocity in Peter and I quivered in excitement at his intensity.

"I've wanted these long legs of yours wrapped around me since I first laid eyes on you ... last night." Peter all but growled at me. He stood up and pulled my legs apart at the knees. When my skirt offered resistance he yanked it off and tossed it aside. His height, and the seat height, was such that he could stand between my spread legs and not hit his head on the limo's upholstered interior.

All thought had left me. I was a molten pool of liquid desire. I didn't know what was more exciting to look at, Peter's gorgeous hard cock in my hand, or the ferocious look on his face. I shifted slightly on the soft seat so I was reclined perfectly. I raised one leg, intending to expose myself further for him, and gasped when he captured it with his hand and pushed it back. With his other hand he traced his finger down my needy slit, gathering the wetness on his fingertip, swirling it back up to circle my throbbing clit, circling, circling, until I was moaning and my breath came in sharp little gasps.

There was no more witty repartee. No more clever words, from either of us. When Peter sank his cock into me, we both shuddered with pure animal lust. He steadied himself with one hand on the seat next to my head, and one still pushing back my leg. I wrapped my other leg around his waist and moved with him as he thrust into me. I gripped the seat on either side of my hips and left fingernail prints in the soft leather. I briefly wondered if the driver could hear us, but the closer I climbed to orgasm, the less I cared. What driver? What limo? There was only Peter, gazing into my eye with ocean storm intensity, and the noise of our bodies moving together.

"Oh, fuck," Peter groaned. "You are ... sexiest ... unbelievable ... Uhnn ..." Coherency seemed to have left him. I knew how he felt.

"Oh my god," I panted, spiraling on the very edge of orgasm. "Oh, oh, oh my god ..." I came hard and my muscles clenched, trapping Peter inside me. He came a moment later, with a guttural groan that thrilled me to the core.

We stayed that way, motionless, for a few moments more, the only sound in the limo that of our labored breathing. Then Peter pulled away with noises of discontent from both of us. He collapsed next to me on the seat, and I laid my head on his shoulder. His cock has softened slightly, but when I ran my finger lightly up the underside, it twitched and danced in a most promising way.

I smiled up at him. "How much time do we have, do you think? Are we going to LaGuardia?"

Peter smiled back, reached over and tweaked my nipple, making me jump. "Nope ... New Jersey."

"New Jersey? Perfect." I shifted over and straddled him. Shivered when I felt the tip of his perfect cock press my wet, engorged sex.

Pretty boys be damned. Peter Fucking Dinklage was one hell of a dead sexy ride.