“So Josh, tell me about your life?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “What do you want to know?”
“I hear you’re wealthy.”
He smiles, “In some things.”
I tilt my head on the side, “What do you mean?”
“Well, I have money. It depends on your definition of wealthy.”
“Oh, I suppose. What’s your definition?” I ask, surprised.
He shrugs again. “Happily married, healthy kids.”
Smiling, I rest my chin on one hand while I find myself swooning at his feet. “Are you dating?” I ask.
He scrunches up his nose, “Hell no.” Our drinks arrive and the waitress’s eyes linger a little long on Mr Orgasmic here. I narrow my eyes at her. Ok, enough, buzz off.
“You,” I frown.
“Huh.”
“Are you dating?” I ask .
“No, nothing like that. Mum told me you had a boyfriend.”
I nod a little embarrassed. “Um ex–boyfriend,” I murmur.
“What happened? Why did you break up?”
I shrug. He smiles, “I see you’re still a shit liar.”
“I hoped you hadn’t heard about that,” I wince.
“What? Heard that some poor bastard asked you to marry him and you knocked him back and then dumped his sorry ass?”
I put my hands over my face in embarrassment. “It sounds cold when you put it like that.” I peek out from my hands to see him smirking at me.
“What happened?”
“We were never going to work out. I have never been so shocked in my life as the day he proposed. It was awful.” His thumb is under his chin and he is wiping the side of his pointer across his lips as he listens while leaning back in his chair, his gaze locked onto mine.
“Why wouldn’t you have worked out?”
“We weren’t…compatible.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Compatible,” he repeats. Why did I say that? “You mean sexually?” His eyes darken with an emotion I’m familiar with. Arousal.
“Among other things,” I quickly add. I suddenly feel very uncomfortable. “Why aren’t you married?” I blurt out.
He smiles a slow sexy smile. “I haven’t found anyone who fits the job description.”
“What’s the job description?” I breathe. His eyes bore into mine with an intensity that heats my blood.
“Someone who fucks like a slut, with the morals of a nun.” I choke on my tea. Of all the things I thought he would say, that was definitely not it. I feel a familiar frisson of uneasiness creeping up on me.
“You can’t be serious?” I gasp.
“Absolutely,” he nods as he takes a sip of his latte, his eyes not leaving mine.
“You want to marry a slut?”
He nods again. “It depends what your definition of a slut is. What do you think a slut is?” he asks.
“Someone who will sleep with anyone,” I reply.
He nods and takes another sip of his latte. “You see I think a slut is a woman who loves to fuck.” I swallow the large lump in my throat. His voice has dropped to a low husky sound, one that is screaming to my subconscious. He continues, “I couldn’t be with a mousy woman who doesn’t love to fuck as much as I do. I have an insatiable appetite for sex,” he licks his lips. “High maintenance so to speak.” His eyes burn into me once again, silently daring me to say something. His eyes drop to my lips. Want pools in my stomach. “The woman I marry will have to endure hours and hours of being tied up to our bed, legs spread wide while I pleasure her with my tongue and fuck her with my hands and then put up with me continually driving into her tight cunt with my cock so hard she won’t know where I end and she begins. Only to be rolled over and taken again from behind. Constantly. She would have to love taking me orally and vaginally and anally…Repeatedly.” He gazes at me again and steeples his hands under his chin. For the love of god, my mouth has gone dry.
“Can I take your order, love?” I jump, oh shit did she just hear that?
“Um, bacon and eggs please, and an orange juice.” I am embarrassed and put my head down to hide my blush.
“I’ll have the same.” He smirks a sexy smile at me. Bloody hell. Ok my brain has fried. I can’t even speak as I visualize exactly what he has explained to me. Orally, vaginally and anally, shit. To me that sounds like the exact thing I might like to do today. Is he trying to drive me out of my frigging head. He’s not playing fair.
“So, precious.” My eyes snap up at the nickname he used to call me. “Do you know anyone that you could put up for an interview?” I scowl at him. He’s playing with me, the bastard. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Yes, I do actually,” I reply. Actually, no I don’t. Only me. I would rather cut off my left arm than put someone else up for that position. I scan my empty head for a witty comeback. Nope nothing, another 2 am regret coming up.
“Are you purposely trying to turn me on?” I whisper.