Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
The waitress comes back with a bottle of Moscato.
I almost want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it, but I’m not going to say no. I don’t drink too often and only socially. So why not?
“Thank you,” I tell him as he pours me another glass.
“I haven’t done anything yet,” he says.
“You haven’t walked out.”
“Do you want me to walk out?”
“No. I told you… I want to be friends with you. Can we forget about everything before right now?” I ask.
“Forget?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Yes. Let’s start fresh. Be friends.”
“Most of my female friends, I fuck. Unless they work for me.”
“I work for you… and I’m no longer a virgin,” I remind him, smiling.
“Touché.” He sits back, and I take a sip of my wine. “But I also don’t get my friends’ lips tattooed near my cock.”
I choke, and his smile brightens up the entire fucking restaurant. He laughs as I gasp for breath and take another sip to push down the first one.
“Well, that’s also kind of crazy,” I add as I wipe at my mouth, mortified.
“I never said I was sane.”
I arch an eyebrow. “No, you give off this aura that you’re always in control.” I use my hands to articulate this imagined aura.
“Is that what you like about me, Honey? When I’m in control?” The insinuation of that question lingers in the air.
I try to avoid his gaze because, damn, sometimes he’s just too intense. I get it’s part of his job to be fawned over. But that’s not us—we’re just friends. “Stop trying to charm me.”
He chuckles. “Who said I was trying?”
I give him a mock glare that he finds equally humorous.
“Anyway…” I make a point to change the subject as I linger on the remaining thought of how strange it is that he tattooed my lips near his cock. “I googled how to soothe down there, and I feel good. But I don’t know who won me, and that is eating me alive a little because he requested a blindfold and, I don’t know… I was wondering if it’s enjoyable for a man when the woman is a virgin.” He chokes on his drink and covers his mouth at my question. “Was that too much?” I ask.
He waves a hand at me. “I get reprimanded for being charming, yet your directness, Miss Ricci, is alarming.”
“Shut up.” I laugh. “I’m serious.”
He stares at me for a moment longer, that expression darkening and heating again.
“Do you mean is it enjoyable for a cock to slide into a tight, untried pussy?”
I shrug, a little taken aback by his expression but never uncomfortable with it. Only regretting how my body responds to it. “Well, yeah.”
“Yes, sex is enjoyable full-stop, Honey. It’s fucking amazing. And let me assure you, if a man was willing to pay twenty million for it, you can be assured he most certainly enjoyed his time.”
I don’t know why, but that eases some of my tension and worry about what we did. Crazy to think I don’t even know who it was, but I want to somehow feel validated that I was worth all that money.
It offers me confidence.
“The next time I have sex, will I enjoy it more?”
“So, you did enjoy it?” he asks, and I casually shrug again.
“I mean… yes and no. It stung, but it also felt good. So I wasn’t sure what it would feel like next time. And if I did it right in the first place.” I should be embarrassed as a twenty-seven-year-old asking these questions, but despite whatever Dawson and I are to each other, he’s never made me feel silly for asking a question.
“Do you want me to show you?” he asks, leaning in.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, let’s go back to your place, and I’ll show you how good it feels.”
A short laugh escapes me. “So now that I’m not a virgin, you’re willing to fuck me?”
“Yes,” he answers without hesitation.
I want to laugh again, but I can’t. The sheer desire and lack of hesitation have me heating in places that have hungered for Dawson since the day I met him.
This back and forth between us. Constant desire and denial. It’s fucked-up.
But maybe dabbling in a little danger wouldn’t be all that bad. I mean, I called him here, didn’t I? Do I really only want to talk?
“Okay,” I say quietly but try to nonchalantly shrug it off.
If this man can promise all the dark and feel-good things, then shouldn’t I have a little taste at least?
Isn’t that why I came to New York?
To try new things.
To taste some delicacies.
To embrace this time in my life where I can have my freedom.
CHAPTER 27
Honey
Dawson stands, reaches for me, and tosses far too much money on the table before he leads me out the door and to his car. A nervous flutter erupts in my stomach as we walk in silence with pure focus on where we need to be, and then suddenly, the short drive we are about to take to my apartment feels like a lifetime away.