“Shit,” I swear, looking at myself in Daniel’s rear view mirror. “I’m a hot mess.”

“Emphasis on hot, I think,” Daniel says as he puts the car into park.

He’s driven us back from the beach just in time to meet my self-imposed curfew—10 p.m. on the dot. I could’ve spent all night with him just talking and listening to the ocean…which is exactly why I was so insistent on getting home early.

Not to mention the fact that, so far, talking with Daniel always seems to become something more than just having a chat.

I have to hand it to him, though. When Daniel fucks a woman, he does a damn fine job of it.

The messy state of my appearance right now serves as proof.

My mascara is smudged around my eyes so badly that I look like a sexy raccoon. My hair is in a bit of a rat’s nest, which has given it a whole new world of volume.

The lipstick I wore when I left the house has all either been kissed off, fucked off, or smeared across my cheek. And the halter top of my little black dress has been hastily retied all lopsided and fucky.

When I left for my date with Daniel, I smelled like nice perfume and anticipation. Now, I smell like sex and the ocean, mixed with a little white wine.

“Here,” Daniel says as he watches me try and smear my mascara into a slightly more refined smudge. “Let me.”

He turns my face to him and I’m able to just enjoy the look of him as he fixes my makeup with a handkerchief from his pocket, and, failing that, the pad of his thumb. I didn’t even know men still carried handkerchiefs—but I guess I don’t know that many billionaires, truth be told.

Up close like this, when he’s not smirking, or covering me with kisses, or trying to fuck me, I can finally appreciate how fucking handsome Daniel really is.

He has a long, straight nose that makes his face look masculine and refined, a chiseled jawline, and the dreamiest eyes.

It’s the face of a man who I would, all things considered, be totally okay with mixing my genes up with. And considering how tonight went…I’d say doing exactly that is right on schedule.

God, he can’t even fix my makeup without me thinking about getting pregnant with his child. If I wasn’t already flushed from all the fucking, I’d have the decency to blush.

“There,” he says, smearing the last bit of errant lipstick away from the corner of my mouth with his thumb. “Picture perfect.”

I do a quick check in the mirror again and realize that he’s right.

I mean, I still look pretty well-fucked, but at least I don’t look like I’m doing a bad impromptu audition for the role of Harley Quinn.

“I had…a really good night,” I say, and my voice is even doing that embarrassing breathy thing as I say it. Probably because Daniel’s thumb is lingering at the corner of my mouth—and as I speak, he runs it back over my lower lip.

He doesn’t answer me—he just goes in for another kiss. We’ve kissed enough times tonight, I’m beginning to learn his moves.

Our lips slide against each other’s in a coordinated sort of harmony, and when he presses his tongue into my mouth, our tongues tango like they were made to be partners.

“Get some sleep,” Daniel purrs protectively against my lips. “You’ll need it.”

“You too, tiger,” I tease. “Text me in the morning?”

“Rose, if I wasn’t afraid of smothering you, I’d text you later tonight.”

Something about that sits perfectly with me, and I end up grinning like an idiot. Being smothered by Daniel doesn’t honestly sound half bad.

He opens the passenger side door for me and kisses me again before he drives off. I wait in the driveway until his car is out of sight. As soon as I get inside the house, the interrogation starts.

“What does he taste like?” Jenna asks, greeting me with a knowing smile. “Is it pussy? Oh my god, I bet he tastes like pussy.”

I laugh uncomfortably, and not just because, well…she’s kind of right.

“He tasted good,” I say, and I leave it like that. I’m a bad liar, and it’s the truth in every way—from his lips to his cock to his cum.

But Jenna doesn’t need to know that.

“Okay, spill,” Jenna says. “You have to tell me everything.”

“We, uh…” I say, obviously stalling. “We went to the beach?”

That’s when Jenna does something that really freaks me out: she leans in, dips her nose to my neck…and she sniffs me.

“Oh my god,” she moans, pulling away. “You two fucked. Holy shit. I can smell it on you, girl!”

“Smell what?” I say, being, like, the most obvious ever.

Jenna gives me a look that verifies: she doesn’t buy it for a second.

“Yes or no, Rose,” Jenna says with a knowing smile. “It’s okay, you can tell me—I already know the answer.”

“I’ve, uh…I’ve still gotta process it for myself, honestly,” I say with a tired laugh. “Let me sleep on it—I’ll give you all the dirty details soon.”

“Good night,” Jenna calls after me in a sing-songy voice. It’s only as I’m opening my bedroom door that my word-choice hits her: “WAIT! Dirty details?! HOW DIRTY, ROSE?! HOW DIRTY!?!?!”

I hate to leave Jenna in the lurch…only, I kind of don’t. I’ve always had to share everything with my cousins, be it clothes, or secrets, or Halloween candy. Jenna and I even share a birthday.

I’ve always been kind of a private person, and for once, I’m feeling kind of smug about keeping this sexy story to myself. It’s not that I’m ashamed of it—in fact, I know that Jenna would probably die of jealousy if she heard it all.

Something between Daniel and myself feels…special. Kind of sacred…and secret…and holy.

Maybe I’m just still half-dumb from how hard he fucked me, but I really want to believe that there could be something more going on here…

Or maybe I just need to stop being such a fucking romantic and hit the hay.

Either way, when I wake up the next morning, there’s a message from Daniel waiting for me.

Good morning, gorgeous, the text reads, and if that doesn’t make my heart go pitter-patter, I don’t know what would.

I consider my retaliation text carefully because, yeah, I’m apparently a starry-eyed, fifteen-year-old all over again when it comes to this guy. Part of me wants to believe that he’s actually into me. That last night was actually as crazy-awesome as I feel like it was.

That there could be something real growing between us.

The other part of me is playing the cynic. It figures that this dude just has some kind of weird pregnancy fetish, and I’m a willing participant.

Good morning to you too, I send back and then, feeling sudden wave of sauciness, I add a winky face.

Sufficiently reassured that I am, in fact, a texting genius, I venture out into the kitchen and dodge another coy line of questioning from Jenna over my morning coffee.

“Rose, I’ll die if you don’t tell me,” she says, pouting.

Luckily, I can deflect her line of questioning by leaving for work, and I know she’ll be off soon with my adorable nephew to pick up her hubby form the airport.

“I’ll tell you later!” I say, practically running out the door. “Love you!”

“Love you, too, ho!” she says, covering my nephew’s ears for the last bit.

She’s a good mom, Jenna. Just, holy shit, I’ve never met a nosier person in my life.

Work is work. Another day, another dollar—whatever. The exciting thing, of course, is my ongoing chat with Daniel—who has responded super positively to my ongoing flirtation-via-emoji.

New resort opening this week. Want to get away for a couple of days? his latest message reads.

I fantasize about it for a full minute: Daniel and me, lounging around on another sexy beach, soaking up the sun, and rubbing each other’s bodies with sunscreen until—unf—his fingers curl beneath my bikini bottoms, pulling them downward as he lowers his mouth…

Then, I come back to reality with the awful truth:

I’d love to :) Need to check with my boss about getting time off, though.

Let me know, he messages back. I need to see you again, beautiful.

He doesn’t add a winky face, but I’m pretty happy with the results nonetheless. The prospect of enjoying two whole days at one of Daniel’s resorts has butterflies coming to life in my stomach. I feel like when I open my mouth to ask my boss for the time off, they’ll fly out and flutter around the office for the rest of the day.

Maybe my inner optimist is right. Maybe this can be something. The more I obsessively scrutinize Daniel’s texts to me, the more hopeful I become.

…but not too hopeful, of course. My inner cynic is still along for the ride, pinching me to make sure I’m not dreaming with every passing moment.

I know he’s a playboy, and I know I shouldn’t let my guard down…

But that doesn’t stop me from allowing myself to get my hopes up.

Just a little.

;)