65

Please do.
In one swift motion, he rips off his shirt, exposing his sculpted, lickable chest. His sweatpants and underwear are discarded on the floor until it’s just him in his sexy naked glory, thick erection proudly pointing toward the sky.
The sight of him in all his manliness, hard in all the right places, lights me up like a life-sized erotic game of Operation.
“See what you do to me?” he rumbles, looking down at me with an intense gaze. “I can’t wait until after dinner.”
Then one hand is back on my stomach, bunching up the fabric of my dress, and the other fists his throbbing cock, roughly stroking up and down. My eyes can’t decide between his face and his busy hand.
“We don’t have to wait.” My voice comes out raspy and low.
“You want this?” he taunts, smirking down at me.
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
“For your sassiness, sweetheart,” he growls as his hand slides up my thigh. “You’re going to get fucked really hard now.”
Oh, boy.
My breath grows shallow as he slides my panties down my legs with excruciating slowness.
His hands wrap firmly around my thighs, dragging me toward the edge of the table. I let my eyes drift shut as he lines his cock up with my entrance. With a deep thrust, he buries himself inside me, sending shudders through both our bodies.
“Look at me,” he says roughly.
I force my eyes open to meet his gaze as he slides inside of me fully again with one smooth motion. It feels… incredible.
He holds back for a second, giving my body time to adjust to him. He takes his time sliding out, until just the head of him is left inside me, and then slams back in again.
His hands grip my hips firmly as he takes control, thrusting in and out of me. I’ve never been fucked on a table before.
And I’m gone. Everything fades away-nothing matters except the sensation intensifying within me, making it hard to breathe.
I meet his gaze and it’s wild, dark, hungry, demanding. He looks like a barbarian; grunting and pounding into me with no apology or remorse. And it’s hot, so hot that I can barely breathe.
He moans my name, head thrown back, as he comes deep inside me.
Hearing my name on his lips sends me over the edge. Then I’m there, seeing stars behind my eyes as violent waves of pleasure take hold of me.

Nearly an hour in, he’s proven he can whip up a mean seafood dinner.
When he asks about my day, I tell him about the bargain-bin shower curtains I bought for my apartment and my good news on the sale. In return, he talks about buying a hundred acres of land just outside New York for his first wellness retreat.
It’s not really an even keel.
I have to admit, he’s outdone himself with the dish.
“Look at you, Mr. Multitalented. Billionaire businessman, culinary king, and bedroom barbarian. That’s one for the tombstone. Am I the luckiest girl or what?” I say, struggling to appear ladylike while ripping the lobster to shreds with my bare hands.
He smirks at me. “You should be a poet.”
“I was quite proud of that alliteration.”
“Care to explain the barbarian part?”
“All women secretly want a barbarian in bed. A guy who lets his primal needs take over in the bedroom. If we were in the prehistoric era, I’d be out doing prehistoric women stuff like foraging for berries; you’d see me in the field and just rip my loin cloth off right there in the middle of the grass. And it would be hot and gross at the same time, since there was no toothpaste yet.”
He quirks a brow. “So after all these years I finally find out what women want, huh?” His eyes gleam with amusement. “I’m happy to act out your fantasy anytime you want in Central Park.”
“I can see the headlines now: Billionaire Business Mogul JP Wolfe Caught Humping Memoryless Woman on the Grass.”
Something flashes in his eyes at that, like my comment struck a nerve. Has JP been caught humping someone in Central Park?
But then he smiles. “Maybe we’ll just keep it away from prying eyes.”
I try to spear a plump lobster chunk with my fork, but it slips out and skitters across my plate. “Slippery little devils,” I mutter.
He watches me with amusement, lips curved in a smirk as I battle the defiant seafood.
“So,” JP says, “have you thought about where you might move after the sale on your apartment closes?”
I nod, swallowing a bite of lobster.
“I plan to stay local, maybe find a quieter street,” I respond, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. “Selling the apartment feels like a huge burden lifted. As much as I loved that apartment, ever since the sex shop slash brothel popped up downstairs, it’s been a nonstop nightmare.”
I feel my cheeks flush and I look down. “You must think I’m so silly.”
“Lucy, I’d never think that way. Hell, in my twenties, I was just scraping by, climbing out of bankruptcy and getting out of a trainwreck of a marriage.
“Do you mind me asking what happened with your divorce? Or is that overstepping?”
“Not at all,” he says, nonchalant. “She wasn’t the right woman for me. We met young, around twenty. When times were good, we were good. When times got tough, she didn’t want to stick around. Bankruptcy hit, and she left a few months later.”
“Wow. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was a wake-up call I needed.”
“Have you had any other serious relationships since?” I ask, nerves knotting my stomach.
He drags out a tortuous pause. “Not really.”
My heart hammers in my chest, and I quickly take a sip of my drink.
“Is it that you don’t want to be in a relationship?” I venture, feeling like I’m standing on a ledge. It’s like I’m about to play Russian Roulette with my heart here.
His gaze intensifies, making me shift uncomfortably. “Quite the opposite, Lucy. But only with the right person.”
His declaration charges the air, like a loose live wire. I seize my glass once more, my brain scrambling for some kind of response.
Pick me! my heart shrieks.
Ask him. Get him to lay out the blueprint for his perfect gal. Have him sketch a detailed portrait.
He clears his throat, shifting uneasily. “I haven’t always been the kind of guy you could bring home to mom. I’ve made some poor decisions.” His voice deepens, roughens. “Got caught up in the Vegas lifestyle, forgot what mattered.” A grimace crosses his face, as if the admission is a physical blow. “But that’s all in my past.”
His words settle heavy in the silence. It’s not exactly reassuring. I can only imagine the implications of the “Vegas lifestyle.” Just what is he confessing to? Infidelity? Hookers? Sex parties? Criminal activities? Just how bad is it?
I swallow, my fingers tapping against the glass. “But you’ve changed now?”
“I won’t pretend to be an angel.” His gaze meets mine, unwavering. “I still have rough edges, but I’ve learned. I’m not the same man, not because my world changed, but because I did.”
I wet my parched lips, unease creeping in. “Could you fall back? Into old habits?”
His eyes darken. “I’ve worked too hard to become the man I am now,” he asserts, “Nothing and no one will derail that.”
I smile back at him, but a shiver runs through me. I came here hoping to know him better, but his words sound more like a warning to stay away.