Control. Is it an illusion or conscious decision?
Hmm, I just don’t know. I willingly agreed for the plan to involve us being casually exclusive, so why the hell am I so torn about my decision? Do I really want this, or was I just so excited that he offered not to sleep with anyone else, I jumped at the chance without thinking it through? Do I even want to be exclusive with one man? I don’t know anymore. I’ve been over analyzing this all day. I think I’m going to tell him that I want to keep seeing him but I’m not going to promise anything else. But is that then opening the door for him to sleep with whoever he pleases? And will I kick myself for screwing up further down the track?
I am glad he put his cards on the table, though. I would hate to be pining for him like I was for the first two weeks after meeting him.
It’s 8pm and Alastar is due to pick me up any moment now. I am primped and waxed to the nines and nervous as hell. I shouldn’t be. This is just casual sex, I remind myself.
I close my eyes. I already know it’s deeper than that, so who am I kidding?
I am wearing a navy, backless, long sleeve dress with high heel strappy stilettos. My hair is down and full, and my makeup is minimal. I even stopped and bought some sexy white satin underwear on the way home. This guy is costing me a fortune. Vanessa is at work and Hank is watching television when I hear a knock on the door and hold my breath. I close my eyes and listen.
“Hello,” I hear my Irishman say through a smile. “I’m Alastar. I’m here to pick up Em.”
“Oh, hi,” Hank replies goofily. “She’s in her bedroom. Through here.”
“Thank you.”
My bedroom door opens. I turn and there he stands in his blue jeans, white shirt and navy blazer. He’s so gorgeous and holy hell, he smells divine.
He smiles sexily and turns to close the door behind him. I hold my breath as he walks toward me. He bends down and his lips brush mine, his large hand cupping my face before his lips begin to suck on my mouth. My eyes instinctively close and my knees nearly buckle from underneath me.
“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day,” he breathes.
He kisses me again in the silence and his hands slip down to my behind. He pulls me forward against his waiting cock.
Sweet Jesus.
“Seeing me or fucking me?” I whisper into his lips.
“Seeing you, talking to you, holding you… then fucking you.”
“Hmm.” I smile as my tongue dances with his. “Excellent answer.”
He sits down on my bed and pulls me onto his lap until I’m straddling him and we start to really kiss. My body moves in a perfect rhythm, brushing back and forth over his hard length.
“Let’s get those panties wet before we leave the house,” he whispers. His hands grip my behind with force as he circles my pubic bone down onto his with pressure.
Are you freaking kidding? I could come doing this.
My lips drop to his neck and I nibble my way up to his ear. “Tell me about your cock,” I whisper.
“Well, right now… he wants to be fed.”
“What does he want to eat?”
“You.” He kisses me as he starts to lose control. “All of you. Every inch.”
Our arousal heats up and we start to really make out.
“Let’s change the order,” he breathes.
“Huh?” I frown through my arousal fog.
“Lets fuck first, then talk and hold each other later.”
I smile broadly. God, this man makes me like a cat on heat. “No.” I peel myself off him. “We are eating first.” I stand and walk back to my mirror. Stop being so easy, Emerson.
He smiles sexily as he watches me reapply my lip gloss. I lick my lips for added effect and he raises a challenging brow.
“Are you teasing me?” He whispers sexily.
I blow him a kiss. “Totally.” I wink.
* * *
Half an hour later and we are sitting at our table for two in an intimate Italian restaurant. The ambience is dark and sensual with flickering candles on all the tables. Italian music is being piped through the speakers and we are now waiting for our dessert. The meal was divine. Alastar sits with his hands clasped together under his chin, his sexy eyes fixed on me. This is the perfect date.
“Do you come here often?” I ask.
“Aye. I love Italian food and this is the best restaurant in town.”
I smile softly. Why does everything he say sound so dreamy?
He holds out his hand for me on the table and I put my palm against his. Alastar O’Shea wrote the book on kick ass dates. He has been funny, attentive, and he now has me swooning all over the damn table.
“What happened today when you went back to the office with your receptionist friend?” he asks.
I shrug as I raise my eyebrows. “She’s stalking me.”
He smiles into his glass of red wine and raises a brow. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I think her and Mark are a thing.”
He sits forward, suddenly interested. “Does that bother you?”
I shrug. “It probably should. I mean, he was talking to me for twelve months online.”