A beautiful woman in my embrace is the end to an enjoyable evening. An experience I had forgone for probably a decade. But a woman trembling, needing, aching in my arms is some kind of biblical.

I didn't want to do this here. The bar wasn’t crowded or dirty in the least, but it was still public. I wanted Izzy all to myself. “Would it be presumptive of me to pay the bill and call my car?” I whispered, still trailing my lips teasingly around the arches of her delicate ear.

She swallowed, loud and heavy and wet, before answering. “No, not presumptuous since I’m three seconds from climbing into your lap.”

I couldn’t help the surge of pride that burst through me. Moments like this were definitely something I appreciated about the modern era. Women who took what they wanted from a lover without compunction. She didn’t need to ask me twice. I sent a text to my driver, climbed out of the booth, and dropped a couple bills on the table. Once I’d paid, she handed me her bag. I took it without thinking, and then she glanced down to the very obvious tent of my pants.

I couldn’t care less if the entire country knew what she did to me. But in case she might be embarrassed, I carried her bag out into the dark street to shield my arousal.

My driver pulled up in a black town car before I could attempt conversation with a raging hard on. I opened the door for her and slid in behind her.

She shifted in the seat so her thighs aligned with mine. “Your driver got here very fast.”

I didn’t bother with the seatbelt or the side-by-side business and lifted her off the leather into my lap. She took the hint and straddled my thighs.

She wiggled down so our bodies aligned in that absolute way. “Oh that’s better.”

I wrapped my hands around her to cup the shape of her ample hips. Before I had time to process it all, she had me flat against the back of the seat, hips swiveling against my cock, trailing teeth and lips and wet heat down the side of my neck. My mind blanked, and I gave in to the need for her. The tingle in my appendages, the raging blood in my dick. If I weren’t so practiced at playing a gentleman, I’d have ripped open her jeans and fucked her right there in the back of my car for the whole world to witness.

Those long-dormant depraved depths of me almost demanded it. Almost.

She reached into my hair and gripped the strands tight, pulling them before pressing her hips up to take my mouth.

Fuck, I could smell her arousal. That promise of sweaty sheets and a warm, wet entrance. I reached out, clutching her as tightly to me as possible. Everything. All of it. I wanted every single inch of her body against mine. Those throaty sighs she made as our lips molded together, tongues seeking permission and battling for domination.

She kissed like she lived—with heat and fire, and a little bite.

When she released my hair from her vice-like fingers, she pulled away from my lips, trailing her nails down my chest. I could barely feel it through my clothes, but the promise of it, the violence of it, was enough to set me trembling for her.

“How far?” she asked. That was it. As if forming full sentences was too much right now.

I glanced out the window to clear my brain and saw the last turn toward my building.

“Seconds,” I whispered, pulling her in for another kiss. A little more. Just a little taste to tide me over until I got her inside.

The car stopped, and we both reached for the door handle. She laughed and climbed off me and out the door. I followed as close as I was able until we reached the elevator.

As it climbed the ten stories to the top floor, I cursed my penthouse for the first time in my life. The seven-by-seven-foot space held more sexual tension than I think the safety code permitted.

The gleaming stainless steel door slid open achingly slowly. We stood in front of my flat, and I tried to maintain my composure while I unlocked the door to let her in.

After I locked it again, I turned to face her. “Do you want a drink?”

She tilted her head and lowered her eyebrows to give me a purely feminine look that even I recognized, having been off women for a decade, before the slow shake of her head. “Do you really think I came over here for a drink?”

Now that we’d both taken a breather, the clarity of the situation was starting to filter in. My lust-addled mind pinged warnings through the haze like a lighthouse in a dense fog. This was meant to be my second chance with her, not a booty call or whatever ridiculous name they’d given one night stands in this century. Albeit people usually didn’t do one night stands with their employers.

“Stop,” she said, forceful and clear.

I froze and met her eyes. “What?”

She ambled closer and began to slip the buttons of my vest through their opposing holes. “Whatever it is that you’re thinking about right now. Just stop. I can see the gears whirring about in that head of yours. I’m not letting your brain cock block me.”

Cock block wasn’t a term I’d picked up this decade, but the meaning was clear. “I just don’t want you to think this is all I want from you.”

Once she finished the buttons of my vest, she stripped it off my shoulders and let it drop in a soft puddle on the floor. Then she started on my dress shirt with a single-mindedness I found both erotic and impressive.

“I was very clear at the bar. I’m the one using you for sex.”

She finished there and stripped the shirt away to join the vest on the floor. When she encountered my T-shirt she stopped. “Really? How much clothing is necessary for a few drinks?”

I shrugged. “I have to protect my honor.”

She rewarded me with a snort chuckle that warmed me to my toes. Then she yanked the hem of my shirt out of my pants hard enough I almost stumbled for balance. “I can remove my own clothing.”

Another sexy grin. “I know, but I like undressing a man. It’s like opening a Christmas present to find Santa brought you everything you wanted and more.”

Next, the white cotton was up and over my head faster than I’d have been able to manage.

As she bee lined for my belt buckle, I halted her fingers before they could work the brass closure. “This entire situation is severely disproportionate.”

She laughed this time, a loud guffaw that echoed off the hardwood and granite of my home, before stepping back and kicking off her heels. With three less inches of height she stared up at me now. And she made sure to lock her eyes to mine as she twisted her camisole off over her head to drop it on the floor.

And in a microsecond, the raging inferno relit. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Standing in my entryway with only a pair of denim blue jeans between her wet flesh and my body, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to stop myself.

I reached out and tugged her to me by the waistband of her jeans. She came easily enough, going straight for my belt buckle again. She opened it before I got her button and zipper down. Why were women’s fastenings backwards? A fact I’d forgotten, or overlooked, in the last ten years.

She let my trousers go and shimmied out of her jeans to reveal a black lace pair of boy shorts. I froze and stared. When she cleared her throat, I finished taking off my trousers to pool in the minefield by the door.

I pulled her into my body and wrapped my hands around her waist. Her skin was so soft and warm, the faint scent of peaches let loose by her clothing. As naked skin met naked skin, I stopped thinking again, my mind going blank to everything but the sensation.

I was about to drop to my knees in front of her, but she beat me to it and pulled my cock from my black boxer briefs before I could utter a word to stop her.

“Why, Mr. Gray, you were holding out on me,” she joked before situating herself to take the length of me into her mouth. Watching it was an out-of-body experience. I could see the way her tongue lapped at the underside of my sensitive flesh while at the same time feeling the heat and pleasure that accompanied the action as if from far away.

Then I slammed back to my body, and the sensations were brighter, harder, stronger than before. Her mouth with its oh-so-wet heat gripped me, tight and demanding. She used her hand to cup the wet flesh as it left her mouth to continue the pleasure.

The carnality of her fucking me with her face broke a control inside me I didn’t think I’d be able to mend. I reached out and gripped the soft bit of hair I could fist in my hands at the nape of her neck. She gave me a moan of approval, and it was all the permission I would seek. I held her head tight and took the pleasure she had been offering for myself.

She wrapped her hands around my hips and held onto me. The tips of her sharp little nails dug in. I watched the scene still so far in the moment, I couldn’t force my brain to take over and release her.

I fucked her face hard, fast, brutally, and there wasn’t a bit of me that could stop it, even as hot wet tears sprang from the corners of her eyes, spreading her mascara in a black swath down her cheeks.

Seconds, minutes, hours, days. I didn’t know how much time passed. It was only me and her and the pleasure of her mouth gripping me. My climax surged forward like the last firecracker in a barrel. It sparked, and I broke free from her, pulling away to milk my seed into my own hand. I shuddered and shook and shattered from the force of it. Now clear of my body’s demands, I straightened again, and my brain went into overdrive as I faced her, expecting censure.

She stood against the wall in her black lace boy shorts, mascara and tears streaming down her cheeks. Her hair stood up in little spikes and whirls all over her head, and lipstick ran down her chin and smeared up to her nose. Every part of her pale skin had a pink flush I wanted to trace with my teeth.

She’d been on her knees for me seconds ago, and now she stood like she owned the world and me with it.

I grabbed the T-shirt and wiped my hands of the mess I’d made. She watched me, never moving to wipe the marks of me from her skin. My mind warred. Did I sink down and return the favor, or grovel and apologize for using her so carelessly?

I was in the middle of the second option when she stepped across discarded clothing and gripped the back of my neck to pull me down. It was a clear sign as to what she wanted, and enough to entice worship from a man like me.

It wasn’t smooth or graceful or perfect as I’d trained myself to be for over 150 years. I yanked at her panties and they stuck at her knees. She had to help me pull them from her feet. Then I tried to taste her standing, and I couldn’t get enough of her wet heat in my mouth.

I stood, picked her up, and tossed her onto the chaise end of my black leather sectional.

“Comfy,” she commented before spreading her legs wide. I dragged her by the hips to the edge and got my first good look at everything I hungered for.

“Oh, Sibyl,” I whispered before leaning in for my first true taste.

Izzy’s hand caught me by the forehead, her flat palm pushing me away. The error I’d made hit me with the force of a brick wall, squeezing the air from my lungs and pressing my heart into the tight closure of my throat. Shit. Fuck. Damn and hellfire.

She closed her legs and tucked them around me to stand. I reached out and caught nothing but air. “Izzy,” I whispered.

I didn’t have experience with this. How did a man fix such a wrong?

She dressed with impressive speed and pulled flat shoes from the depths of her purse. I didn’t speak as she removed a tissue and cleaned her face. I watched, fearing a rebel tear might spring forth. In sadness or humiliation, it didn’t matter.

She closed her bag forcefully, and I pushed myself off the sofa to stand. “Please don’t go.”

When she finally met my eyes, I could see the anger simmering there, waiting for a lash to wield. It turned out she didn’t need one.

“A little advice for you, Gray. Don’t say another woman’s name during sex. Just a little tip from one fuck buddy to another.”