Why do women do that? They take a few bites of food and say that they're full when they clearly aren't. Their eyes don't lie. Who do they think they're kidding? I can see the way she's looking at this spread. She's holding back, but she wants more.

"I can't eat too much tonight," Alicia says, sitting back in her chair and patting her stomach. "Ever since I've started seeing you, I've been eating such rich foods—I mean there's butter and cream on everything, Derek! Don't you realize I'm going to have an ass the size of Texas if I keep this up?"

We're both laughing at this point.

"Have you taken a good look at your ass in a mirror lately?" I ask. "It's perfect. Now stop complaining and enjoy this."

I've ordered us the Chef's Tasting Menu at Per Se tonight, and our waiter has just brought us the "Oysters and Pearls." The oysters are decadent and topped with tapioca pearls and caviar. I hold one to her lips.

"C'mon," I say. "You know what they say about oysters…"

She takes it from me in one hand. Her fingernails are painted a soft pink and make her hand seem even more delicate than it already does. She smiles and parts her lips. "Okay, just one more."

I watch as she tilts the oyster into her mouth. It slides down her throat in one quick gulp, and as it does, I fight the urge to reach over the table and press my mouth to hers … and her lips…. and her neck.

"Don't get me wrong," she says. "This is amazing—but maybe we should be cooking more. You have a great kitchen. Let's put it to use."

"That's too much of a girlfriend thing to do," I say. And it really is. Where's the magic and romance in that?

"Well … what do you expect? I am your girlfriend."

I'm not exactly sure why, but that comment stops me in my tracks. It's a bold thing to say. I mean, I get it. I do. I know where she's coming from. We've been seeing each other—fucking, eating, and watching movies together nearly every night of the week, but I haven't considered what it all exactly means. And why should I?

“And you were my girlfriend?” I ask. “Anything else I need to know? Just because I really didn’t know you were looking at me as your boyfriend.”

I mean, I have nothing against it. But where was I when she made this decision?

I’m worth several billion dollars. I’ve lived all over the world. I’ll be damned if I get henpecked like a castrated suburban house man.

"Oh really?" she asks. "So what do you call this—us?"

"Why does everything need a label? As soon as something has a label stuck to it, the magic is gone. It's trapped in a box."

Fine. I’m also a bit scared. But repeat it to anyone and I’ll deny it.

"So, if I'm not your girlfriend … then I guess that means I don't need to fuck you tonight?" she asks playfully. Even though she's being frisky and good-humored, I see a hint of seriousness in her eyes.

"Well, you don't need to, but you want to," I say.

"How do you know what I want?"

"Call it intuition," I say with a wink.

"If I'm not your girlfriend, I think what I want has changed."

"Is that so? Even after these oysters… and chocolate…? It doesn't get much better than this," I say.

She slaps me playfully on the arm, and once we finish our food, we head outside to catch our limo, arm in arm. When we both slide into the black leather seats, she leans over to me, and softly kisses me on the lips.

"Thank you for a great dinner," she says, "Even if it was decadent … as is making my ass wide."

I wrap one arm around her and kiss her back, taking her bottom in between my teeth and giving her a small nibble.

"You're perfect," I say.

I can feel her reach over and place one hand on my thigh, and she slowly moves it closer to my cock until she's finally grasping it beneath my suit pants. I can feel myself growing hard under her touch, until my cock is pulsing and threatening to bust through the zipper.

Just then she leans back and releases her grip on me.

"Stop the car please," she shouts to the driver. My mind is reeling. Why is she stopping?

"What are you doing?"

"I only spend weeknights with boyfriends," she says. "So, I guess that means I won't be sleeping over with you tonight."

I watch as she opens the door. I'm fucking speechless. Is she really turning me down and getting out of the limo?

"Are you serious?" That's the only thing that comes out of my mouth.

"Good night, Derek," she replies, giving me a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"Look, two can play this game," I say. "If you really want to be alone tonight, that's fine."

But she doesn't say another word and exits the limo and shuts the door, and with that the driver takes off. I look out the window, and back at Alicia. She's walking toward her apartment, her purse slung off one shoulder. I continue to watch her until her figure fades in the distance, and then it hits me. What the fuck am I doing? I'm being stupid. This is ridiculous. I can't leave her like that.

It still takes me five minutes going down FDR Drive towards Lower Manhattan to realize what a mistake I made.

The driver has turned on some soft background music and I yell to him over the noise. "Turn this car around!"

He turns the volume down and asks, "Excuse me?"

"Turn us around. I need you to take me back to the Upper East Side."

"Yes, sir."

He speeds back uptown and fifteen minutes later I look at the window and watch as Alicia's neighborhood comes back into view. Within a few moments, the limo pulls up to her curb.

"Thank you! No need to wait," I say.

"You're welcome, have a good night sir."

I close the door and rush up the steps to Alicia's apartment. I reach her door and knock.

I don't hear any noise and I knock again, this time a little louder.

Still nothing. Has she already gone to bed? I haven't been gone that long, have I?

I try one more time, and just as I'm about to turn around, I hear her footsteps. She opens the door and she's beautiful. Her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. She's changed into a silk robe and it looks incredibly sexy on her.

"You're back?" she asks.

Without saying a word, I step toward her.

I’m never going to leave her.

So, yes. I’m back.