I’ve been watching her closely all night, all the while trying to control my cock from becoming rigid right there at the private table. But Mia does something to me that no woman has ever done—at least not in years. She takes me to the edge of losing my senses.

My finger slides into her warm cunt, up inside her. Her breathing is heavy and I can tell she’s trying not to moan. I finger fuck her a bit more, slowly, letting her feel every passage of my finger before coming down again. She puts her arms around my neck, and I know she’s unsteady on her feet—I can see it in her eyes.

I kiss her soft neck, trailing small bites along the way. She smells amazing, a sweet floral scent mixed with heavenly dinner, and her pussy. I add a finger, needing to feel more of her, and she rewards me with a moan, her arms squeezing tighter around my neck, pulling my face closer. But I need more—and I want her to have more.

“Hold up your skirt,” I tell her, and she obediently moves one hand down to her skirt, holding it up for me, showing me her gorgeous pussy. I just want to eat it, and I might. For now, I watch as my fingers disappear up inside her, stepping back to get a better view of her face and her trimmed little cunt. When I use my wet finger to circle her clit, Mia sucks in a breath, her eyes widening. This woman needs so much more, and I intend to give it to her.

After circling her clit a few times I let myself enjoy the wetness of her, feeling her walls, knowing how much attention every part of her needs.

“Have you ever tasted yourself?” I ask her, knowing full well the answer. This is a girl who can’t even bring herself to masturbate. God, that’s a sight I’d love to see. With her eyes closed she shakes her head no. I circle her clit again, then slowly bring my fingers to our faces. She looks at my wet fingers warily, like she’s not sure. “Suck yourself off my fingers, baby. Go on,” I say. I ever-so-lightly brush her bottom lip with my finger; her tongue instinctively reaches out to the mark I left there. “You taste delicious,” I assure her. “Come on. I want to watch you suck my fingers.”

Mia’s mouth falls open. With her eyes on mine, she moves her head toward my middle and ring fingers. She reaches her tongue out first then covers the tips with her lips, wrapping them around my digits more easily than she did my cock earlier today. She dips her head down, sucking my fingers down whole, and lets her tongue drag hard up my fingers as if she’s getting every last drop from them. I can’t believe what I’m watching. She’s so assured, her eyes on me the whole time. She goes back down for a second time, and when she does it a third I know she’s just fucking with me. It’s like she wants me to come in my pants.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.

She slowly pulls her mouth from my fingers and leans her head back against the door. She’s emboldened now, and as horny as I’ve been all night.

“Now what, Mr. Bridges?” she asks.

“Now,” I say, trying to get my breath back and sound like I’m in control, “you straighten your skirt. When we walk through the restaurant, try not to look like the best thing you ate tonight was your own cunt juices.”

Shock flashes across her face at my being so crass. When I’m with Mia, I want to have her any way I can; I also want to protect her. I want to push her out of her comfort zone but I don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable with me. So I push her hips back up against the door and kiss her deeply, taking in her delicious taste coating her tongue. I could eat her all day and night.

I rest my forehead on hers and hold her there for a moment, looking down at her lips while smoothing down her skirt between us. What I really want to do is fuck her upside this door until both of us come screaming. But I know that, despite the things she’s shown me she’s willing to do, I still need to go slow with her.

I hold her hand as we cross the restaurant; as expected, eyes follow us but no one is crass enough to snap a photo in this place. Plus management knows I’d never come back if photos of me ended up online or worse, in a rival publication.

As we settle back into the car, Mia says, “Thanks. For dinner, I mean.”

She gives a nervous laugh; it makes me want to take her face in my hands again and kiss her until she moans. She’s so adorable.

“You’re very welcome. Thanks for the great company. Feeling up for some dessert and a nightcap?”

She grins. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Great,” I say, because I already told Gerald where the next stop is.

The next stop is a little place called Open—small bar, great pastry chef, dimly lit, and it always has a great band playing some tunes. After two in the morning the volume gets turned up but around this time it’s a great place to people watch, get a great scotch and sit close to a beautiful woman.

We walk down the steps into the darkened bar, the sound of horns and smooth guitars filling the doorway as we approach. With my hand on the small of Mia’s back, I guide her to a table I like, close enough to the band but also far enough away that we don’t have to yell at each other. Although I could handle just watching Mia all night long and be pretty happy.

And she seems happy. Her face has a sort of perma-smile, a wonderment at all the things I’ve shown her tonight—public and otherwise. She really is experiencing everything for the first time, and her eyes seem to miss nothing. She’s taking it all in—sexy, and also good for a budding journalist.

“You know all the places, don’t you?” she says once we’ve sat down and ordered some drinks, plus a slice of chocolate cake for her. I’d rather slather her body in chocolate and eat it up but…maybe later.

I shift my chair to get it closer to hers, and drape my arm across the back. I let my fingers lightly touch her skin. “I get around,” I say.

“Ha,” she says. “So I’ve read.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Just this morning I read about you in the—”

“Don’t even say the name,” I say, holding up my hand. “Don’t want to hear it. Besides, anyone who speaks about me publicly, especially to a journalist or, more likely, a tabloid reporter, is not someone who knows me well. Might be someone I met one weekend and spent a little time with. So you can be sure, Ms. Cassidy, that whatever you read was likely a lie.”

“One woman said you were very generous,” she says.

“Well. That’s true,” I concede, my fingers caressing her skin. “Wouldn’t you say?”

She tucks her chin to her shoulder and nods, looking at up through her thick lashes. That one little movement is enough to make me want to take her right now. Instead I lean into her and tuck my face between the veil of her long hair and her neck, and bury my face there. I give her soft kisses, then hard kisses, and I can feel her squirming with pleasure. She takes my hand and pulls it onto her lap.

“Still need more from me?” I whisper in her ear as the band starts up a quick jazzy number. Mia nods again. “What do you want?”

She squeezes my hand and keeps her eyes averted. She thinks about it, then finally says, “More.”

It’s such a simple statement left open to so much interpretation that I can hardly control all the scenarios running through my mind. More. I can definitely give her more.

I flatten my hand on her thigh and rub her slowly, letting my fingers dip behind the fabric of her skirt. I watch her eyes get heavy; I feel her breath get heavy. Close, so she can hear me, I tell her, “I can give you everything. You just have to be willing to take it. Are you willing, Mia?”