My past is not something I like to talk about let alone think about. I feel like I have to tell him something. I wish I could tell him I am a pod person. It would make life easier.

“Long story really short,” I start, “I was ditched at a fire station when I was a few months old. Was adopted, those parents turned out to be worse than the set that dumped me. I got put into the foster care system at eight, bounced around a lot before finally escaping and emancipating myself at sixteen. I have no family—at least that I know about.”

I can see the look of disbelief on his face. Nobody can believe my story. It is that fucked up that it makes it hard to believe, but that's my story. I don't bother going into all of the gory details. That is not a story any potential boyfriend wants to hear.

“I don't even know what to say to that,” he says. “I know you don't want to hear any platitudes or stupid shit like that.”

I shrug, he's right. I don't. I have heard it all before. The past is in the past and that is where I intend for it to stay.

“Well, if you want to talk about it, I'm here,” he says softly.

I ignore the little twinge I feel in my heart. It is like being pinched. No, it is one of those heart strings I have heard about. His acceptance of my story and understanding why I don't want to rehash it is very thoughtful. I watch him dip his fish into the pink sauce and feel myself falling for him a little more. He is certainly not the man I have heard about in the media.

Dylan is actually a very caring man. I imagine he would be more at home sitting on a dock, fishing then he is in his big, fancy office wearing a thousand dollar suit. This is a side of Dylan I know I could grow to love.

“What?” he stops, midway to putting the fish in his mouth. “Is there something on my face?”

I smile, “No, I was only thinking about what makes you tick.”

He gives me one of those lecherous smiles that turns my stomach and makes me a little wet, “You, at the moment. You make me tick, among other things,” he says in a low voice.

“Are you planning to retire out here one day?” I ask.

He shrugs, “I don't know. What about you? Where do you see yourself landing when you are old and gray?”

I take a minute to think about my answer, “The mountains. A big spread of land with trees, deer and no people.”

“You want to be a hermit?”

I laugh, “I guess maybe I do. I don't know, I love the tranquility of the forest. It is so clean and peaceful.”

He nods, before taking a long drink from his beer. I can see his mind is spinning, but I have no idea what he is thinking about.

We eat in silence. I don't want to bother him. He is really enjoying his meal. I will admit, it is pretty damn good. Marty drops two more ice cold beers on the table. I cannot believe I am drinking beer with Dylan Hawke.

I start giggling. I can't help it. I am in Maine, eating fish and chips with one of the richest men in the world. How in the hell did I get to this place? A week ago, I was wondering if I would ever get to work with a client and scraping together change to buy my morning coffee.

He smiles, “I swear, if I have sauce on my face and you aren't telling me, I will spank you.”

I laugh more, “I promise, there is no sauce on your face.” I look around before lowering my voice, “but will you still spank me?”

I can see the heat flood his eyes and his jaw clenches, “Alexa,” he growls low. “You're killing me here.”

I give him a coy smile, “Does the thought of spanking me turn you on, Dylan? Would I be wearing my panties or would I be bare?”

I don't know what has come over me. I suddenly feel as if I am poking a giant bear with a really short stick. I watch as his shoulders heave with the deep breath he pulls in. I know he is as hard as a rock under this table. I want to touch him, feel how he responds to me. My arms aren't that long. Instead, I kick off my heel and run by bare foot up his leg and use my toes to caress his straining cock.

“Alexa,” he grunts as I apply a little pressure before moving my foot down and back up.

“You didn't answer me,” I say, suddenly feeling very daring.

“Bare. It would be bare.”

I smile, lick my lips and put my foot back down and slide it into my shoe.

He sits there looking at me. I can practically feel his hands running over my body. It feels good to have the upper hand. The man has been toying with me since the very moment I laid eyes on him. I want him to know what it feels like to be the one out of control with lust.

“Your dinner's getting cold,” I say.

“You're going to pay for that,” he manages to say. “You are playing with fire, Alexa. Expect to be burned.”

I can't wait.

“I think I'm done,” I say, putting the napkin over my plate. I want to get him on that plane or home or in the car.

He looks at me, smirks, “I'm not. I'll be sitting here for a bit, enjoying my meal.”

I giggle, he may be enjoying his meal, but I know he is sitting there because if he stands up, Old Man Marty is going to get an eyeful.

“Sure, sweetie, I'll wait,” I say in a syrupy voice.

I am growing impatient. I want to go. I know he is taking his sweet time on purpose.

After what feels like hours, he finally looks at me, “Ready?”

“Yes!”

He gives me a very dangerous smile. I know what's coming and my body suddenly feels as if there are a million tiny, delicious needles poking me. I want his hands on my body. I want him to kiss that spot on my neck. Hell, I want him to run his tongue over every inch of my body.

I practically run for the car. When we arrive at the private airport, I bound up the stairs, take my seat and wait. It is then I realize the seating area is rather small. I look out the window and can see Dylan talking on his phone. I decide to do a little exploring. Towards the back of the plane I can see a small door. I carefully open it and damn near squeal with glee. There is a large bed.

I look back, trying to determine how brave I am feeling. Is it bravery or a really strong desire to get laid? I don't know, but both are telling me to get naked and get in that bed and wait.

With my decision made, I quickly tell the attendant I will be taking a nap and please do not disturb me. She looks at me and I know she knows exactly what I am up to, but I don't care. I want to join the mile high club—even if it is on a private jet and not in some itty bitty latrine on a commercial flight.

I quickly strip and jump under the covers. Of course, there are satin sheets on the bed. My body practically glides in. The cold satin feels absolutely divine against every inch of my naked skin. I need to get some of these sheets.

I hear Dylan's voice. My body reacts in ways I never knew were possible. My heart starts to beat faster. He's coming. The door opens, he gives me a quick look before shutting it. My heart goes from fast to nothing. It literally stops. What the hell just happened?

I don't have to think long before the door opens again, he steps in, shuts and locks it. Just like that, it is all systems go. I throw the blanket off and expose my naked body to him. The cabin lights dim a bit, which I am secretly very thankful for. Low light makes everyone look a little better.

He doesn't move closer. Instead, he looks. His slow perusal of everything I am offering leaves me panting. If he doesn't touch me I am going to pounce on him.

“Alexa,” he says in that all business tone, making me suddenly feel cold and very exposed. I grab the sheet and toss it over my body. I feel like a complete idiot. “No. Take it off.”

I don't want to, but I do it anyway. I wait, laying completely nude in his bed while he stands, fully clothed several feet away.

“Are you coming?” I ask, thinking he needs a little guidance here or something.

He shakes his head, “No.”

“What?” I mumble in disbelief.

“I want you, but not here. Not like this.”

“Um, I'm okay with here, just like this,” I shoot back. I can't believe I am begging this man to fuck me.

“No. I was serious, Alexa. I want to do this right. I want to build a relationship with you,” he takes a step closer. His body defies his words. I can see his raging hard-on through those dark pants. He wants me. I can convince him.

I run a hand over my left breast, stop to tweak the nipple before running it down my stomach, stopping just above the pubic bone. I can see a very fine sheen of sweat across his brow. Oh yeah, I'm getting to him.

“Keep going,” he demands.

I comply. Slowly moving my hand between my legs.

“Spread your legs.”

I hesitate. Teasing was one thing, this is a whole new level.

“Now.”

I do as he says. The cool air in the room brushes over me, causing an involuntarily shudder and I arch my back. My hand moves over my core, as if to protect the most vulnerable part of my body. I watch as he watches me. I feel a little braver. My other hand moves to my breast, rubbing small circles, mimicking my other hand's motions.

“That's it, Alexa. Push a finger in. Feel how wet you are.”

I consider telling him to put his own finger in, but the way he says it makes me want to do it. My finger glides in, shocking me with the mixed feelings. My brain is flooded with pleasure from every angle. My back arches higher and my legs drop open even more.

I don't need him to tell me what to do next. My body knows what I need to find the release he is denying me. I begin moving my finger in circles, in and out, slowly building up to that point that will lead me to the stars.

“Stop.”

I hear the word, but I ignore it. It doesn't sound right. He wouldn't want me to stop.

“Stop. Now.”

I immediately stop moving, but leave my finger inside me. I squeeze my eyes close, trying to climb that cliff on my own. It is so close. I want it. I need it.

My eyes pop open when I feel him yank my hand away from my pussy. I cry out at the loss.

“Get dressed. I'm not leaving until you do,” he says, stepping away from the bed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Dylan,” I plead. “You have to let me finish.”

His gaze is hot, serious, “No. That's my job, but I won't do it here.”

I groan, rolling my head back and forth on the sheets. My body feels as if it is a bow. I only need one little pluck and I can reach orgasm. I can feel it.

“Get dressed,” he demands again.

The mood has been killed, but my body is still clinging to hope. I get up on my knees and crawl to the edge where he is standing. I reach out grab his hips and pull him close to my mouth. He is still hard.

“We can both get what we want,” I say softly.

He doesn't say a word, but he doesn't step away. I take that as my cue and quickly unfasten his belt, before undoing the button and pulling the zipper down. I reach in and grab onto the piece of him I am so desperate to have.

I manage to get a quick lick in before he pushes me back on the bed. My body goes into high alert, knowing it is finally going to get what it has been searching for. I lay there, sprawled out naked and waiting.

Instead of plunging into me, he buttons his pants, picks my clothes off the floor and tosses them at me, “Not here. Not yet. It will be on my terms.”

I know it's over now. He isn't going to give in. I crawl off the bed and yank my panties on before violently pulling up my skirt. He watches the whole scene.

When I am fully dressed, I look up at him with defiance. Before I know what he is doing, he is grabbing me, kissing me with such force I am slammed into the wall. His mouth grinds into my own. I can't do anything but accept the assault on my lips, with his hard body pressing into mine. He grinds his hips into my own, nearly bringing me to that release I am so desperate for, but pulls back at the worst moment possible.

“You will be mine, Alexa. When I take you, you will be mine.”

The words shake me to my core. His. I will be his. The thought terrifies me and thrills me at the same time. It is then I realize I want to be his. I want to be the girl he comes home to. I want to be the one he whisks away on his private jet.

I have to snap myself out of this. It's a lust haze. That's all. I am not the kind of girl a man like Dylan Hawke falls in love with. This isn't a fairytale. This is a guy who likes sex and for now, he likes sex with me.

I'll take it. I'll ride out the fantasy and when it's over, I'll go back to my old, boring life.