I had too many martinis to be making intelligent decisions, I knew that much. I was also aware that Vince Devoe was standing in the living room of my apartment with the understanding that we were going to have sex.

I wasn’t having second thoughts about my offer, although I probably should have been. If our encounter left him anything other than satisfied, I doubted I – or the dealership – would ever see him again.

My fear of disappointing him wasn’t about selling cars. Or about the money I may earn from his purchases. I was a people pleaser, and the thought of dissatisfying him in any way wore heavily on my mind. In my inebriated state of being, satisfying him with sex was going to be a difficult task.

While he glanced around the living room, I mentally struggled with what my next step should be. Standing between the door and the couch with his hip cocked slightly and his thumb resting against the pocket of his jeans, he was undoubtedly the most handsome man to ever darken my apartment’s door.

But.

He was a client, and I was drunk. For those two reasons alone, I considered trying to talk my way out of the mess I’d gotten myself into.

He lowered his leather bag on the floor and pushed it to the side with his foot. Incapable of looking away, my eyes followed his every movement. He mussed his hair with the tips of his fingers and then met my gaze.

Jesus.

You’re fucking gorgeous.

My decision was made. I clapped my hands together. “Well, let’s see ‘em.”

His eyes thinned. “Excuse me?”

“The tattoos,” I said. “You said you were going to show them to me, remember?”

With his eyes locked on mine, he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt. My mouth curled into a girlish grin. In anticipation of what was sure to come, I gawked like a kindergartner watching two monkeys fuck during the school’s spring trip to the zoo.

Certain that his confident strut would be supplemented by an amazing athletic body, I stared with an open mouth and wide drunken eyes as he unfastened each button. After the last one, he pulled the garment over his shoulders and draped it onto the arm of the couch.

My expectations of what he had been hiding under his shirt was spot on. Standing before me half naked, at least part of what fueled Vince Devoe’s confidence was painfully obvious. His body defined muscular perfection.

As if it had been chiseled of marble, his torso was free of anything but muscle. Tattoos adorned each perfectly shaped slab of muscle that formed his chest. Each of his well-sculpted ab muscles were stacked on top of one another like small stones. A prominent ‘v’ pointed into the waist of the jeans that now hung low on his hips.

Leaning against the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room, I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand and waited for more.

He slowly turned to the side, and as he did, I noticed his biceps were each covered in various tattoos. His muscular back was also a canvas – covered in a colorful dragon. The addition of the tattoos only made him more mysterious, sexier, and much more attractive.

I’d reached the point that there was no turning back. Disappointment may have been in Vince Devoe’s future, but I didn’t care. I was going to ride his cock like a boss, and if he didn’t like how it felt, he could leave angry.

With my eyes fixed on his broad chest, I pushed myself away from the wall and took a step in his direction. As I left the kitchen’s tile surface and stepped onto the living room’s carpet, my heel got caught on something.

My knees wobbled.

And, I fell flat on my face at his feet.

“Jesus.” He lifted me to my feet. “You’re plastered.”

I leaned my weight onto his shoulder and peered down at my broken heel. “My heel. It uhhm. It broke.”

He looked at the broken shoe, and then at me. “It sure did.”

I forced a smile. “I’m good to go.”

He let out a breath. “I can’t do this. You’re too drunk.”

I braced my hand against his firm bicep and removed the other shoe. “I’m fine.”

He looked me in the eyes. “You’re not. This was a bad idea.”

He was right. I was trashed. Trashed and horny. My problem was that after seeing him without a shirt, I didn’t want to fuck him, I needed to. Desperate to get him to see things from my perspective, I began to plead my case. “Seriously. I’m okay. I mean, maybe not okay, but I can eat some crackers or something. A few pieces of bread.”

He chuckled. “Bread?”

“Uh huh.”

He glanced at my broken shoe, and then looked at my hand, which was gripping his muscular arm firmly.

“Bread isn’t going to make me comfortable. I might be a prick, but I’m not an insensitive prick. Sober up, get some sleep, and we’ll have dinner again sometime soon.”

“So, we’re not going to--”

He reached for his shirt. “No, we’re not.”

“Can I get a raincheck?”

“I’ll be in touch.”

I knew what that meant. It was over. My chance to ride the cock of the intriguing Vince Devoe had dwindled to nothing. “I’ll be in touch” was the same as having a parent say “we’ll see”. It meant “No, but I’m not wanting to tell you ‘no’ now, because you’ll be upset”.

My gaze fell to his feet. “Okay.”

As he pulled his shirt on, I stole one last look at what could have been. His chiseled physique was begging to be touched, but I didn’t dare. While he fastened the last button, I steadied myself and took one last look of admiration at him.

“How about a kiss?” I asked.

He leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead.

It was the final nail in my sexual coffin.

The forehead kiss.

As he reached for his mysterious bag, I raised my right hand. “Thanks, I had fun.”

He reached into the bag, pulled out the stacks of money he’d given me earlier, and stacked them on the end table. “You might want to do something with that.”

I’d completely forgotten about it. He was right, I was drunk.

“I will,” I said, my tone making my disappointment clear.

He turned toward the door, reached for the handle, and paused. “I’ll be in touch. Maybe we’ll do something later this week.”

I shrugged, wishing I had the upper hand. I needed to redeem my drunken self. Then, it came to me.

I met his gaze and grinned. “We’ll see.”