“Ooh, yes, and I’ll bet he’s got a Russian spy lover who sneaks into his apartment via the fire escape every night for secret trysts.”
“Who’d have thought Mr. Horton would be the kinky type, huh?” Zayne lifts an eyebrow, smirking.
“Guess it just goes to show that you can’t judge a book by its cover.” I lift an eyebrow in return, unable to keep a wide smile from dancing across my face.
“True enough.” He’s leaning forward again, and so am I, unable to stop myself. He’s not just magnetic, he has a gravitational pull of his own. “After all, I never would have guessed you were so naughty, Ms. Walker.”
“I never would have guessed you were so dynamic, Zayne.”
“Pearson,” he says, filling in the unspoken blank.
My cheeks flush. “We seem a little uneven here, Zayne Pearson. You know way more about me than I do you. So come on, share some details.”
“What do you want to know?” He tilts forward, so close to me suddenly that his lips graze my ear as he whispers. “Beside the size of my cock?”
My cheeks burn red-hot now, on fire. But the rest of me is burning too. Especially my belly and the growing tight spot between my legs. I swear, when he talks dirty, I feel it directly in my pussy, like an electric shot straight to my core. “That’s definitely on the list,” I murmur with a grin. “I mean, I do have that one lovely photo, but I have to say, I’m tempted to request more…”
“Done,” he says without a moment’s hesitation. My eyebrows rise. I must look surprised because his grin deepens and he adds, “Of course, that means I get to ask for something in exchange.”
I turn my face a little, so our cheeks are almost touching now. We’re close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin, and I catch his scent again, every bit as intoxicating as it was last night. Salty and sweet all at once. “And what is it you desire, Mr. Pearson?”
“Turnabout is fair play,” he answers. “A photo for a photo. You teased me with that sexy little lingerie piece last night…” He lifts a hand slowly and lets it hover in the air between us. My breath catches in my throat, my whole body tense in anticipation of his touch. When it comes, it’s feather-light, just the faintest caress, his fingertips grazing across my collarbone before he drops his hand to the table once more. “I’d like to see what’s underneath.”
If my cheeks felt hot before, now they could start a fire. But the idea of sending him a photo of my breasts, something that would normally raise a whole lot of red flags on a first date, has me feeling hot and bothered instead. Because it leads me to imagining more—him jerking off in the mail room while he’s supposed to be working, unable to help himself, too turned on by the image of me, by my breasts, my body, the idea of me.
My pussy clenches, and damn, at this rate, I’m going to need a change of panties soon.
“Deal,” I whisper, and his lips quirk into a grin. He’s so close. Close enough that I could close the gap between us in a heartbeat, press my lips to his. I want to. I find myself tilting toward him, unstoppable, unable to fight the gravity.
That grin widens and he leans back in his chair once more. Damn him. He knows what I want. And he’s enjoying withholding it.
“That’s all you want from me, huh? Just my cock?”
He says it loud enough that a couple at the table beside us glance over, eyes wide. My eyes widen too, and I duck my head, face flushed.
“No, I—”
“It’s cool.” He winks. “I’ve been told it’s pretty addictive, so I can understand.”
I aim another kick at him under the table. “How long have you been doorman-ing, Zayne?”
“Oh, we’re not going back to boring first date interview questions already, are we?” He shakes his head.
I laugh. “I’m just proving I want to know more about you than just how big your cock is.”
“Two years,” he replies. “First job I picked up when I moved here and I liked it.”
“What about it?” I tilt my head, studying him.
He smiles. “The people. My tenants. Helping them out, making sure their lives run as smoothly as possible. I like that. I like being able to see the results of what I’m doing first-hand. I help somebody get their laundry done or send out a package or ferry their groceries upstairs, and I get to see the results real-time. Before this, I worked in an office, pencil-pushing gig. You did all this work but you never got to see anybody happy from it. You never saw proof that what you did mattered.”
I can feel myself nodding again. “I get that. I feel that way a lot of the time at my job. Like nothing I do makes a real difference. Not to real people.”
He slides a hand across the table to squeeze mine quickly. “I’m sure it does, Clove. You just don’t always see them through your screen is all.”
I sigh and nod again. “Maybe I envy you a little. That instant feedback.”
“I do enjoy instant feedback.” He glances down at my phone which is resting face-down on the table. “Speaking of which. If you did hypothetically want to know about my cock… I mean, since you asked.”
Right on cue, my phone buzzes. I have to laugh, even as I pick it up. There, right on the home screen, is a new message. A photo attachment. I glance back at him, lean forward to check under the table. How did he send that so fast, without me even noticing?
“You came prepared?” I ask.
He smirks. “Maybe.”
I open the photo and immediately fight the urge to hide my phone. It’s strange to look at his dick while he’s sitting right here across from me, out in the open. Especially in a public place where anyone could walk right past our table and see my phone.
Zayne must sense that I’m debating closing it again because he snatches the phone from me and plants it face-up on the table. “You asked for this,” he reminds me in a low voice. “You should enjoy it to the fullest.”
So, I resist the urge to hide and bend forward to take in the picture. This one was taken from a bedroom—I spy a duvet in the background. He’s completely naked this time, not just pulling himself out of his boxers. And damn, his cock looks even better than I remember. It’s flushed, standing on its own. He’s standing too, and as full as it is, it stands straight out from his body, strong and hard. I imagine bending over in front of him, letting him thrust that thing inside me, and it makes my pussy feel white-hot with desire. My clit throbs, feeling heavy and weighted between my thighs.
“Your turn,” he murmurs.
“What, here?” I cast a glance around the coffee shop.
“You’re right.” He stands and drops a handful of change on the table, more than enough for a 20% tip. “They’re about to close. What say we continue this next door? There’s a little Irish pub on the corner, and the bartender owes me a few drinks on the house.”
I trail after him, heart pounding. As we exit the coffee shop, he catches my hand, and I wind my fingers through his, loving the feel of his thick, strong fingers enclosing mine, protective and possessive all at once.
The walk to the bar is far too short, mostly because once we get there, he lets go of my hand again, and my skin burns where he was just touching me. I want nothing more than to grab his hand once more. Or better yet, pull him against me, crush our bodies together and pull his lips to mine. I want to kiss that grin off his face, replace it with a sexy, sultry smile. I want to taste his mouth, his tongue. I want to kiss my way along his stubble-dusted jawline, down the side of his neck. I want him to push me up against this bar and take me right here.
Shit.
Calm down, Clove.
The bartender greets Zayne by name, then catches sight of me and rests an elbow on the bar, eyes darting up and down my length with a smile of approval. “And who is this beautiful young lady?”
“Clove, this is Nick. Ignore anything he tells you,” Zayne advises with a smirk at his friend.
In response, Nick slides two glasses across the table. “You’re just in time. I’m trying out a new r
ecipe.” But I notice his eyes keep darting back to me. I wonder if that’s because he’s surprised to see me here with Zayne. Then I wonder why. Does Zayne usually bring a different girl every time he comes here? Or does he not usually have a girl in tow at all? It’s hard to tell.
The guys banter for a minute while I sample the drink. My eyes widen. It’s delicious—fruity but not too sweet, and a little smoky on the tail end.
“I call it a Southern Fire-Starter,” Nick says, noticing my expression. “Bourbon-based.”
“It’s delicious.”
“She’s got good taste,” Nick points out to Zayne with a wink. “Well, you know, except for showing up here with you.”
I grin over the rim of the glass at Zayne while he insults Nick back.
“Seriously though, how did he talk you into going out in public with him?” Nick adds when Zayne pauses to knock back a taste of his own drink.
“Funny story…” I start, but Zayne finishes his drink with a shake of his head and wraps an arm around my shoulders.
“How about not giving her the third degree right off the bat, huh, dude?” He’s grinning, but something about their postures tells me there’s more going on here than meets the eye. They’re both joking, but Nick is asking Zayne something else, I think. Something that I can’t quite put my finger on.