Drops of cum still trickle on my dress when his zipper goes up.
I look down, still heaving, and I’m washed with surprise when he snakes his arm around me and pulls me up.
Wobbly on my feet, I lean on him, welcoming his arm around my waist and his hand in my hair.
His thumb brushes my lip, sweeping away cum.
His eyes hold mine as he licks his finger, a secret smile coloring his gaze.
“You’re good,” I say softly.
His grin turns warmer, lighting up his eyes.
“And you’re a rare kind of woman...” he says, leaning into me.
His lips brush over mine briefly before he places a feather-like kiss on my cheek.
Spellbound, I watch him pull away, a flutter moving through my chest.
* * *
“So, what’s my name?”he asks.
“You are who you are.”
“What’s my occupation?”
“You’re a writer.”
He breathes out a soft laugh.
“You like it?” I ask.
“Sounds good. What’s your occupation?”
“Editor.”
“Editor?”
“Yeah... It’s something boring that people never care about.”
“What exactly do you do?” he asks seriously this time.
He pulls to a short stop in the middle of the petal-covered footpath, his eyes searching mine.
“Other than hiring men for rough sex, what exactly do you do?” he says, not adjusting the volume of his voice.
The amused twinkle in his eye gives him away.
“Shut up,” I say under my breath.
Packed with guests, the dinner table is not far from us.
Laughter rocks his chest again. I can’t help but grin.
Pulling closer to him, I finger his chest.
“Don’t you dare to pull a joke like this on me in front of these people,” I say, still smiling. “I’m a fucking editor, but what I really do is make money. They don’t need to know how or how much.”