There’s almost nothing as satisfying as a glass of Macallan. Swirling the amber liquid in my glass, I glance around the bar at the restaurant where I’m meeting Layla. I’m not quite sure what she was going for in choosing this place, but if it was romantic, she nailed it.

Not only is it dark and seductive, the plush private tables scream sex. I can’t wait to get Layla alone in the corner booth I requested the minute I walked in and scoped the place out. Just being here is enough to get anyone in the right frame of mind for a sexy night of fun and pleasure. With my skills at reading both women and situations, I’m pretty sure I could have Layla begging for it before the appetizers even arrive.

I’ve pretty much been hard for days thinking about her. I don’t know why I can’t seem to get her out of my head. But she’s so fucking delectable, all I want to do is get my lips on her and finally have a taste.

That sassy little attitude gets me, too. She tries to be professional, but I see right through it. I know she’s attracted to me. That’s not me being a cocky bastard. It’s just the truth. Not gonna lie, I love knowing that she was getting hot for me from the minute she walked in my office this afternoon.

But she wasn’t alone. Seems like all I can think about is what it'll be like to peel away all those layers of professionalism and see the naughty little sex fiend I know is just beneath the surface.

I take another sip of the expensive scotch, and then smile into my glass when I see her appear in the entry of the restaurant.

No way is she going to convince me this is strictly business tonight. Not when she’s wearing a sexy little black dress designed to make men fall to their knees and beg. The dress is fucking short, making her legs look as if they go on for miles. Holy hell, I can’t wait to have those legs wrapped around my neck as I sink into what I know will be the sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted.

And that ass. Kill me now. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the dinner without tearing that dress off her killer body and taking what I want.

Rising from my barstool, I cross the bar to meet her at the front of the restaurant, my pace a bit more hurried than usual. Yeah, I’ll admit it. I’m fucking ecstatic to see her, and more than ready to get this night started.

“Layla. You look stunning.” I take her hand in mine and lift it to my lips just like I did the first day we met, but this time I let my mouth linger, my lips parted slightly so she can feel the heat of my breath, the hint of my tongue.

A shiver runs through her, and her eyes widen slightly before darkening with pure lust. Fuck yes. Can I just take a minute and say how completely satisfying it is to know that the woman I’ve been fantasizing about for days is responding to me just the way I want? You might think I’m used to women falling all over me. And you’d be right. But when it happens all the time, and your day job is to eat pussy as if your life depends on it, things can get a bit routine.

Not with Layla. I haven’t felt a rush of anticipation like this in a long time.

“Shall we?” she says, her lips curving in a seductive smile.

Releasing her hand, I tuck her in against my side, letting my hand rest low on her hip as we follow the maître d’ through the restaurant to the secluded corner table. After we’re alone again, I lean in close, running my finger along her neck as she watches me, her breath coming fast and heavy already.

“Let’s not talk about work tonight.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” she replies, her voice husky. “Though I’m not sure if anything qualifies as work for you. I’d assume business and pleasure kind of bleed together for you.”

I lean in and whisper in her ear. “Tonight is all about pleasure.” Then because I can’t resist, I run my lips lightly along her jaw. I’m rewarded with a slight gasp that goes straight to my cock.

“So, tell me something I don’t already know about you, Jacob.”

I laugh and shake my head in amusement. “Aren’t we friends by now?”

“Friends?” Layla fingers the collar of my dress shirt. “I’m not quite sure that’s what I’d call it. Jury’s still out, remember?”

This girl. “Okay, something you don’t know.” I think for a moment. My life is pretty much an open book with my very public persona. “Oh, I’ve got it. How about that before I decided to study psychology, I was an art history major for two semesters.”

Her body is already angled toward mine, but she turns fully toward me now, her eyes wide. “Seriously? I’m obsessed with art history and fine art. My dream job was working as a curator for the Smithsonian.”

I smile. “Yet you work for the FCC.”

Layla wiggles her finger at me and makes a tsk sound. “No, no. Didn’t you say tonight is for pleasure? Don’t let me catch you mentioning that four-letter word again.”

I hold my hands up. “Guilty.” Then I give her a wink. “You might just have to punish me for it.”

The server appears just as she’s about to reply, and I order for us. Over dinner, we continue talking about how much we both enjoy fine art.

“You know,” she says after we finish eating, “we said no work talk, but I have to ask.”

I lift an eyebrow. She doesn’t sound all-business like she can, and the look on her face is anything but professional. “Ask away.”

“So, I’ve watched a few episodes of your show now, and there’s one thing I’m really curious about.” She pauses, and then licks her bottom lip. “Your technique.”

Oh hell yes. Game on, baby.

“Well, it’s not so much something that I can describe with words. It’s really something you have to experience for yourself.” Hey, what can I say? She asked. Layla almost looks disappointed because obviously I’m not about to crawl under the table and eat her out. Well, I guess I could, but I’m pretty sure we’d be kicked right out of the restaurant, regardless of who I am.

I can’t have her looking like that so I add, “But I’m not just a cunning linguist. I happen to be pretty good with my hands.”

The naughty smile that curves her mouth makes me even harder, and I wonder how much more of this my cock can take. When her knee bumps against mine, I realize she’s just spread her legs for me. Not one to say no to an invitation like that, I lean in and whisper in her ear, then kiss her neck with a slow, teasing press of my lips that promises of more to come later.

Then when she’s practically writhing on the seat, her breath coming in shallow pants, I slide my hand up her thigh and run my finger across her pussy lips.

And holy fucking hell. The woman is fucking drenched. She’s so wet and warm that I can’t resist plunging my fingers inside with several quick thrusts.

A strangled moan starts to escape her lips, and I cover her mouth with mine to muffle the sounds of her pleasure. I certainly didn’t intend to jump right in. I’m all about the slow build. But she feels so damn good and I can’t make myself slow down. Especially not when I feel her pussy clench around my fingers and a gush of wetness flows over my hand.

So. Fucking. Hot.

I want to taste her so badly, but she’s already starting to come, and right now it’s all about her.

Continuing my urgent strokes, I sweep my thumb across her swollen clit, and that’s all it takes. Layla comes apart in my arms, opening her mouth against mine. I caress her tongue with my own as I keep the pace, pushing her further and further, not easing up as her orgasm gets stronger and stronger.

She clutches at my shoulders, her hips buck wildly, and hot, wet heat radiates all around my fingers as she comes so fucking hard that it takes all my self control not to flip her around, climb up behind her, and fuck her so hard that just the sights and sounds of us make every other dude in the restaurant jizz in their pants.

“Jacob,” she moans against my mouth as she collapses back, her body still quaking with aftershocks. She stares at me in shock. Then because I just have to know if she’s as sweet as I’ve imagined, I pull my dripping fingers from her hot pussy and bring them to my lips, smiling as I lick her juices off.

I groan, needing more of this. I don’t even care that we’re in the restaurant anymore. I want her. And I’m going to have her.