“I didn’t say that. I said I hadn’t been on a date. And, I said I’ve never had a hookup or casual sex. I’ve had sex during that span, just not the meaningless variety.”
“Oh, sorry.”
He reached for his glass. “There was a nurse I thought I was in a relationship with, but it ended up that she was fucking every enlisted man who came in contact with her.”
“That sucks.”
“It is what it is,” he said. “So, what about you? You do the casual sex thing?”
I wanted to say no, but I’d had casual sex on a few occasions. It wasn’t something I did frequently, but I had participated in a one-night stand or three. I loved having sex and I felt trying to deny it may send the wrong message.
“I don’t do it, but I’ve done it. When I was younger.”
With his eyes fixed on his glass of wine, he nodded slowly as if in deep thought.
Michael wore a suit to work, and from what he said, it was his typical attire for the office. Sitting three feet from me dressed in dark jeans and a button-down with the top two buttons unbuttoned, he looked more inviting than usual.
Maybe he seemed more approachable.
And, it could have been the wine.
“You said the other day you wanted to earn the right to watch me get dressed.”
He looked up. “I did.”
“What if I told you that you’ve earned the right?”
“Have I?”
My eyes found his hands. Wrapped around his glass of wine, they were lean with veins visible on the back sides. His long fingers made them seem remarkably sexy, if hands could be considered sexy. I imagined them underneath my shirt, squeezing my boobs.
Although we hadn’t spent time together—and it was technically our first date—enough time had passed that I was beyond ready. I sighed. “It’s been a few weeks. I think I’m ready.”
“For?”
“Can I see your palms?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Say again.”
“Your palms, the underside of your hands. Can I see them?”
It was definitely the wine.
He released the glass and turned his hands over. The surface of his palms was smooth and without wrinkles.
“How do you keep them so soft looking?”
“Lotion. And I get manicures,” he said as he pulled them away. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I want to suck your cock.”
He coughed reflexively. “You want to suck my cock? Just like that?”
My face felt hot, and although a small part of me wished I wouldn’t have said it, the largest part of me was glad I did. Regardless, I felt the need to try and recover from my blunder. “Not just like anything. We’re two adults, and we’re attracted to each other. You’ve told me so. I’ve told you so. You said two weeks ago you wanted to earn the right to see me naked. Tonight, I’m telling you I want to suck your cock. It’s what girls do to get guys to put out.”
He pointed at my empty wineglass. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m Italian,” I said. “We speak our mind.”
“And you want—”
“To suck your cock,” I interrupted.
He chuckled. “And you’re not drunk?”
“You’ve heard people say that they have no filter? That expression?”
“I’ve heard it, yes.”
“Well, Italians have no filter. I’m Italian.” I shrugged and reached for my glass. It was still empty.
Shit.
He pressed his forearms onto the edge of the table and leaned forward. “You start down this road and you might end up in trouble. You’ve heard people say that they got more than they bargained for? The expression?”
I leaned forward slightly. “I’ve heard it, yeah.”
He gripped the back of my neck in his right hand and turned my head to the side. As his mouth met my ear, he whispered into it. “Well, I’m good at two things. Defending what I love, and fucking. You sure you’re ready to do this?”
I could feel my heartbeat in my pussy. Wine or no wine, I was ready.
My mouth instantly went dry. I tried to swallow. With my boobs pressed down onto the top of the table and his mouth still against my ear, I noticed the waiter approaching. I pushed my tongue to the roof of my mouth and swallowed, then raised my right index finger.
With his back to the aisle, Michael remained exactly where he was, unaware of the waiter’s approach. His hand cupped around the back of my neck and his mouth at my ear, I really doubted he would have moved regardless.
“Well?” Michael whispered.
The waiter raised his eyebrows.
I held my extended index finger in the air and turned my mouth against Michael’s ear. “You don’t scare me,” I whispered.