“I am, but I get the feeling you’re not talking about work anymore.”
“I’m talking about a kind of work.”
“I’d rather talk about something else.”
I laughed and motioned the waiter for another drink.
“You don’t have to pretend like you’re here for some other reason,” I said. “You want to finish what we started. We both know it.”
“Maybe I was just interested in getting dinner with you.”
“Maybe, but I doubt it. I think you’re interested in feeling my lips against your neck again. You’re interested in how wet I can make that pussy before I slide myself between your legs.”
She went to respond, but the waiter came over with my drink. I sipped it and smiled at the blush in her cheeks as he walked away.
“I’m not here for that,” she said.
“You’re lying a lot tonight. But I guess I don’t care. You won’t lie when you beg me for more.”
“How about we eat first? Then maybe you’ll get lucky.”
“Lucky has nothing to do with it,” I said.
We opened our menus and started scanning the food. I wasn’t interested in anything but her tight little pussy, but that was fine. I could play her game if this was what she needed. We both knew what we were doing here, but if she needed to pretend like we were on a real date, well, that was fine with me. I had nothing else to do, and plus, I liked watching her and riling her up.
“So, do you go to that bar often?” she asked me.
“You already picked me up; no need to use stupid lines.”
She laughed. “I’m honestly curious.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I heard some things about that bar.”
“Like what?”
“Rough people go there.”
“Rough people,” I said, smiling at her. “What do you think that means?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe you do.”
“Am I a rough man?”
“Probably,” she said, shrugging.
“You’re probably right. You were looking for that kind of man when you went in there, though.”
“I was,” she admitted. “What about you? Do you work with men like that?”
I frowned, not liking where this was going. She clearly was trying to ask if I was mafia, but she had to know that was a stupid question. Real mafia men didn’t go around telling people about their fucking connections. And people who knew the mafia knew not to ask about that sort of shit.
This was the second red flag of the night.
“I might,” I said, “but it’s better if you don’t ask questions.”
“Why’s that? I’m just trying to get to know you.”
“You don’t want to know me, girl. You wouldn’t like what you found out.”
“Try me. What’s so bad about you?”
“You should be careful.”
“Are you a bad man, Rafa?”
I smirked and leaned forward. “You know I am. And that’s why you’re dripping wet right now, hoping I’ll suggest we skip dinner.”
“I’m hungry,” she said.
“I am too, but I don’t want this shit. I want my tongue on that pussy of yours, and I want to hear your moaning my name.”
She blushed again, and I could tell I was getting to her. “Are you always this direct?”
“I am. I don’t fuck around.”
“What do you want from me then? You just want to finish what we started and that’s it?”
I shrugged. “That’s mostly up to you. Is that something you want? I get you off again and again for one night only?”
“You’re pretty confident.”
“I’ve had practice.”
She laughed and shook her head. “I’m not that kind of girl.”
“Every girl says that,” I said softly, leaning toward her and staring into her pretty eyes. “But once I have you sliding along my thick cock, I suspect you’ll think differently.”
She bit her lip, and in that moment I knew I had her. I knew that if I stood up and left, she’d follow me willingly. She’d do whatever I wanted her to do, and that was exactly how I wanted her.
Begging for it and dripping wet.
As I picked up my drink to let the moment stretch on, my phone started buzzing in my pocket. Annoyed, I silenced it.
But it started buzzing again a second later.
“Excuse me,” I said, taking it out. I stood up and walked toward the bathrooms, answering it.
“What?” I said.
“It’s Vince.”
I paused. “What’s up?”
“You need to get to the address I’m about to send you right now.”
“Why?”