Gaze trained on the bathroom door, I drink my wine and contemplate my ability to make it through dinner. Somehow I don’t quite think getting fucked on the table in full view is what Abby meant when she’d put public sex on her list, but damned if I don’t have the desire to do just that.

I’m not sure when I last wanted someone this badly. I’m not going to lie; I’m surprised it’s Abby. Sure, I’ve always found her funny and smart, but she’s not someone I ever thought I’d have sex with. And never in a million years would I have guessed she hid such a wild streak. Maybe I should have, considering the theory that it’s always the quiet ones, but I don’t know, I just hadn’t because I’d placed her in the nice-girl box and kept her there. But her mixture of innocence, curiosity and sex appeal make my normal rules impossible to abide by, so here I am.

Waiting for her to come out of the bathroom without her panties on.

It no longer matters that she’s my neighbor. Or that, despite her claims to the contrary, she’s a forever type of girl. None of my reservations matter, because, selfishly, I want her. I can give her what she craves. I’m good at it. And if I don’t take her up on this outlandish offer, she’ll find some other guy. A safer guy—one who’d never understand what she really needs.

It has to be me. I’ll worry about the future, the impending end, later.

The bathroom door opens and she emerges and walks down the narrow hallway to the dining room. Not looking right or left, she zeros in on our table, and weaves a path through the restaurant. Her right hand is clenched in a fist, and I stifle a groan at what she holds in her grasp.

While she strolls toward me, male patrons shoot covert glances in her direction, their appreciation clear. I don’t blame them one bit, but it’s her reaction that surprises me.

Abby pays no attention, and not the feigned, eyes forward, secret smile on her face, pretending not to notice people watching her, type of deal either. I mean she literally doesn’t comprehend her appeal.

She slides into the booth, keeping a good foot and a half between us. I hide my smile. The contradiction between the advance and retreat of her sexuality makes me want to rip her clothes off and put an end to the argument about which side of her should win.

I appraise her, letting my stare linger on her face, letting her wonder what I’ll do next. I didn’t have Abby take off her underwear for sport, or for my own amusement, although that’s an added benefit. I did it because she has an overactive brain and her stress at being naked under her skimpy dress will distract her from the business of how I might give her an orgasm. I suspect her inability to climax is a mixture of too much thinking and a failure to understand how she’s wired.

Lucky for her, I understand enough for both of us.

She’s gonna come, she’s too greedy not to. I just have to shut off her thoughts first.

I crook a finger. “Come here.”

She shoots me a wary glance but moves a fraction of an inch in my direction.

I repress my amusement and keep the edge of my voice hard. “Closer.”

Again she moves, but not anywhere near where I want her.

I’ll admit I like a girl that has some spirit in her, but I can’t let her get away with it or it will ruin the whole point. I decide to shock her. I raise a brow. “You looking to get that spanking crossed off your list the first night?”

Eyes going wide as saucers, she sidles right up next to me.

“Good girl.”

I chuckle when she gives me a fierce scowl before lifting her wineglass to her lips with the slightest of tremors. She takes a huge gulp of the Chianti, her throat working as she tries to swallow her nerves along with her wine. When she puts the goblet back on the table, her little chin tilts up. I can’t help admire her determination, despite her obvious unease.

Soon enough she’ll learn her discomfort, along with anticipation, only heighten her arousal.

I pray I’ll survive.

The heat of her body warms my skin through my clothes. The scent of her swirls around me, the mixture of sweet spice and sex makes me dizzy. But I’m not the point here, she is, and I put my baser desires aside and focus on her.

I hold out my palm. “Hand them over.”

“Fine, here.” She raises her eyes to the ceiling and shakes her head. Despite the fact she clearly finds me unreasonable, she presses black silk panties into my waiting palm.

I rub the fabric between my thumb and forefinger, not surprised at the already damp cloth. I smirk at her. “For a girl who’s so annoyed, you certainly are wet, aren’t you?”

She gasps, her breasts overflowing the top of her dress as she sucks in a huge breath. “I am annoyed!”

“I know you are,” I say agreeably, knowing it will only increase her agitation. “Funny how it only makes you more aroused.”

“It does not.” In a major huff, she crosses her arms over her chest.

I continue to run my thumb over the wet fabric in slow circles, the scent of her arousal filling my nose and rushing to my painfully hard cock. Abby watches my movements in wide-eyed horror.

Excellent. My suspicions about her are proving right the farther we get into the night.

“Another time,” I tuck the panties into my pocket for safekeeping before crooking a finger under her chin and forcing her to meet my eyes, “I’ll put them on the table so even the waiter can see what kind of girl you’re hiding under that prim exterior.”

Cheeks flushing ten shades of red, she jerks away. “I’m not hiding.”

I disagree. I’d say she’s hiding quite a lot and it’s definitely time for it to end. My job is to help her accomplish the task she’s set out for herself.

I slide my arm around her shoulders and toy with her hair. “Aren’t you?”

“No.” She picks up her napkin and twists it in her lap.

Before I can comment, the waiter delivers salads I don’t want. When we are once again alone, I return to the subject at hand. “Is your dress new?”

She rolls her eyes, that smartass nature of hers peeking through her discomfort. “Of course, you know this isn’t my standard attire.”

I contemplate the dress, assessing her under the strictness of scrutiny. Pleased when she squirms under my watchful gaze. It’s amazing on her. But that isn’t the point as far as I’m concerned. I want to know how it makes her feel. Most women fiddle with a dress that short, tight and revealing, even when they know it looks good—but not Abby. She doesn’t fidget or fuss with the hem, or make any adjustments. Almost like she put the dress on and decided to tolerate it by forgetting its existence. “Do you like it?”

She looks down at her cleavage before shrugging. “It’s fine.”

I’m not letting her off the hook that easy. I twine a lock of hair around my finger and let the silky strands slip through before falling to rest on her shoulders. “That’s not really an answer.”

“Why does it matter?” She picks up her fork but makes no move to eat her salad.

She’s avoiding the question, so it stands to reason there’s something lurking there. I could be gentle, but that doesn’t seem to have an effect on her, so I say simply, “Because I say it does.”

She glares at me, annoyance tightening the curve of her lips.

I raise a brow and wait.

Finally, she sighs. “I’m not sure how I feel, awkward, I guess. I put it on and refused to think about it again. It’s just clothes and it covers all the vital parts.”

Another confirmation. My time as her neighbor is paying off because I’ve interacted with her enough to understand at least a little of how she views herself. Abby is a functional, practical person, but she’s also hiding from something. If she wasn’t, there wouldn’t be such a disparity between her inner and outer life.

I run a finger along the curve between her neck and shoulder. “You look very fuckable. Every man in the room has his eyes on you.”

“You don’t have to say that.” With her big brown eyes, she glances up at me and gives me a sweet, tentative little smile. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m a sure thing.”

I can’t help but laugh. She’s so adorable and funny. That dry, self-effacing wit is as charming as ever, but it doesn’t sit well with me that she thinks so little of herself.

I decide it’s time to start correcting that. “I think it’s time for another experiment.”

The smile dies on her lips and her expression turns wary. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“It will be easy, I promise.” I give her a slow once-over, deciding my course of action, before nodding. “I want you to get up and go to the bathroom again, but this time you are to pay attention to the men in the room.”

She shakes her head. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“I want you to see what I did, that’s why.”

She shakes her head. “First, you’re crazy, I can assure you there’s nothing to see. And, second, I don’t need validation from men.”

She has a point, and I don’t shy away from it. “Of course you don’t. But you seem to think I’m placating you, or being nice, and proof to the contrary seems in order.”

Her brow furrows.

It’s not that I don’t understand her confusion, because I do. Until yesterday, I’d never paid much attention to her appearance. She’s always seemed so conservative and reserved, as if she wanted to melt into the background. I’ve always liked her, thought she was intelligent and entertaining, but I’d never considered her as someone I’d take to bed. So I do understand why she doesn’t buy my attraction toward her, but I can’t sleep with her if she believes I’m doing it out of politeness, because I’m not. This is pure selfishness on my part.

So, I have to convince her of her appeal and my genuine desire to do despicable things to her body. “Abby, when it comes to sex, I am never nice.”

She attempts to look away and I grip her jaw. She averts her gaze, and I issue a command, “Look at me.”

She obeys, although the corners of her lips tilt down in a frown. Her previous sass is gone, letting me know a real, sensitive issue is under the surface.

“I’m not doing you a favor.” My voice is soft, my fingers light on her skin. “Believe it or not you’re doing me the favor.”

She shakes her head from my grasp. “Lukas, I appreciate this, but you don’t need to bolster my self-esteem, I’m comfortable with who I am.”

That’s a lie and I call her on it.

“No you’re not. If you were, there wouldn’t be such a contrast to how you portray yourself and the items on your list.” Before she can speak, I flick my tongue along the seam of her lips, then dip to her neck to skim my mouth along the hollow. Her breath hitches and I lick the rapid pulse beating as fast as my own. “Here’s the truth. You walking in on me last night and your email this morning are the hottest, most exciting things I’ve experienced in a long time. I’ve been with you less than two hours and I’ve already enjoyed myself more than I have in my last six months of dates combined.”

Her frown deepens. “They must have been pretty boring dates.”

I smile. “They were. Next to you.”

“I’m sure you’re being nice.” Voice soft and unsure, she pulls back and smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “But it’s still working.”

She’s an accountant, she likes things in black-and-white, and I intend to give her proof. I grab her hand and press her open palm to my hard, aching cock. “Does this feel like I’m being nice?”

A startled gaze flies up to mine.

“I’ve been like this since you opened your front door.” I move her hand up and down the length.

“Oh!” She yanks away as though she’s burned.

I laugh before tilting my head toward the dining room. “Stop distracting me, let’s get back to the experiment. You are to get up, walk across the restaurant, paying attention to the men.” I study her, then make my decision. “In the bathroom, slip your fingers under that killer dress, I want you to know how wet you are.”

Cheeks turning pink, she coughs. “But why?”

“Because you’re an accountant and we all know the proof is in the numbers, don’t we, Abby?”

* * *

Proof is in the numbers.

The walk through the restaurant is an eye-opening experience, and I’m not quite sure what to do with the information. Lukas has made his point. Men, both young and old keep looking in my direction, their eyes traveling the length of me.

I sag against the bathroom door, my heart pounding in my chest for some strange reason. This night isn’t going as I’d anticipated. I’d thought we’d go grab a quick bite, have a normal, cordial date, and then he’d take me home, to bed, and that’d be the end of it. I did not expect this probing.

It’s confusing me.

Is it possible I’m not invisible?

All my life I’ve never tried much with my appearance because I hadn’t seen the point. Trying to look good would just highlight how I pale in comparison to Eden. Instead, I’d focused on being smart. I don’t even feel competitive about it. I accepted a long time ago that I’d never win, so I didn’t make the effort. Why waste the energy when I could spend my time on my strengths?

Maybe that’s messed up, but it’s hard to explain to other people what it’s like living in the shadow of someone else all the time, someone who takes up all the space and refuses to let me have even a little light. Unless you’ve lived it, it’s hard to understand. It’s why I never talk about it. Whenever I’ve tried, people just assume I’m sad because I’m not as pretty as she is. Trying to explain, gets tangled up and distorted, and I don’t want to deal with their pity.

I don’t want to be Eden. I don’t even like her. Despite all her beauty, she’s not a happy person. She’s troubled, narcissistic, and a practicing alcoholic. My parents spend the bulk of their time dealing with her, fretting over her, worrying about her, seeking answers on how to save her. And anytime I get the slightest bit of attention or acknowledgment, she steals it away from me. I can’t remember a single event in my life that didn’t turn out to be all about Eden.

Maybe I’ve been wrong to deal with it as I have, I don’t know. All I know is I have dealt with it the only way I know how. Being invisible keeps her viciousness away from me. It allows me a small piece of something that isn’t about her.

It’s never occurred to me that it warped my perception.

I glance in the mirror, blink, and come into focus. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I really look at my reflection. High color stains my cheekbones and my lips are full and swollen from Lukas’s kisses. Instead of dismissing my hair as mousy, I study it, seeing the streaks of gold highlighting the rich brown, the way it curves over my shoulders and flatters my features. With the makeup the woman applied earlier today, my brown eyes looked big and luminous. I assess my body, which I’ve always viewed as functional and average, and see something else. My breasts are full, my waist curves before flaring out to hips I’ve always deemed too large. But I see now how they fit my frame. How it all comes together in a pleasing way I’ve been taking for granted because I don’t look at myself much.

I take in the dress in a different way than I had in Nordstrom’s dressing room. This afternoon I’d only looked at it as a way to meet Lukas’s criteria.

Now I study how it fits me.

I admit, it looks pretty good, but it feels like Eden, not me. Next time I go shopping, I’ll pick something because it suits my tastes, and nobody else’s. Because I like it and feel good in it.

Maybe this experience will teach me about more than just sex. Maybe, by the end of this, I’ll learn who I want to be.

* * *

When I return to the table, the waiter has delivered the entrees and removed our untouched salads.

I slide into the booth, and Lukas gives me a positively smug grin, before he looks me up and down. “And?”

Okay, in the bathroom I’d had a major life-altering discovery and proof that I like everything he’s doing to me. But I can’t exactly admit it out loud. I shrug. “Maybe you have a tiny point.”

He roars with laughter and gestures to my plate. “Eat something.”

I have no idea how I can possibly eat at a time like this. Not only am I going to have sex with my fantasy guy, my entire world view has tilted, and I’ve had no time to analyze any of it. But, I pick up my fork and dutifully scoop up a piece of creamy penne and put it in my mouth.

As I chew, Lukas says, “Let’s get back to this orgasm.”

The fork falls from my hand and clatters to the plate. I choke, coughing before I manage to swallow. I thought we’d dropped that ages ago. I shoot him a scowl. “Do we have to?”

His hand slips onto my thigh and calloused fingers play over my sensitive skin. “I was thinking how I’m going to do it while you strutted your way through the restaurant.”

“I do not—” I close my eyes as his hand moves higher, “strut.”

Like he doesn’t believe me at all, he chuckles. “What’d you discover in the bathroom, Abby? Because I can assure you, me and every man in the room recognized the sway of hips as you made your way back to me.”

Despite my emotional upheaval, a low throb takes up residence low in my belly. I have no idea how he does it, but the man is a genius. I breathe out. “Nothing.”

He moves higher, pulling my legs apart. The heat from my body has to be searing his hand. He glides over my skin, coming to rest at the top of my inner thigh. Torn between wanting to pull away and thrusting into his touch, I remain still as a statue.

His palm slides back down my leg. “You clearly know what you want in bed, so I’m confused about why touching yourself didn’t make you come.”

I don’t want to talk about that now. I just want to sink into the sensation of his touch on my skin. Enjoy the unfamiliar sensation of true desire weaving a path through my body. The ache I’ve never had before.

He squeezes my thigh. “What did you think about?”

“Huh?” He moves to the top of my inner thigh again. Would it be wrong to ask him to shut up so I can concentrate?

“When you masturbated, what did you think about?”

“Umm…” He strokes over my skin. Up and down. Up and down. Over and over until I feel as though I might melt into a puddle under the table.

“Abby.” The amusement in his voice is clear. “Are you distracted?”

Of course I’m distracted. I want him to touch me. “What?”

“Do you want me to touch you?”

Unable to speak, I nod.

“Tell me.”

Tell him what? I can’t remember. A low hum starts deep in my belly as he strokes over the damp flesh of my thighs. It feels…so, so good.

His words are hot and urgent against my skin. “I want you to say it. Ask me to touch you.”

“Why?” I grip the edge of the table and my knuckles turn white.

“Because I want it, and so do you.”

If he doesn’t do something soon, I’ll burst into flames. If I say it, at least he’ll stop asking about orgasms. On a hard exhalation, I say, “Please touch me.”

“Answer my question and I will.” Another hard squeeze.

Not this again. A low, feral sound echoes on the air, and to my shock, I realize it came from me. Maybe a small admission to get him to stop talking and start acting. I shake my head. “I didn’t think about anything.”

“Hmmm…” He sounds skeptical. “I need a little more than that.”

I shift in my seat, closer to him, encouraging him. “Can’t we stop talking now?”

“I don’t think so.” He licks the curve of my neck. “Tell me, and I’ll rub your clit. I promise it’s worth it.”

Yes. That did sound delicious and he’s not going to be dissuaded, so it’s better to answer and get it over with. I clear my throat and ignore the strong fingers stroking over flesh I had no idea was sensitive. “I did some research on the Internet.”

His hand stills. “You researched it on the Internet?”

How else was I supposed to figure it out? I close my eyes. “Yes. And I did everything they said, but it didn’t work.”

“Why do you think it didn’t work?”

Get it over with. I let out a tiny moan, then continue. “I don’t know. I’d lie there, and try, but I’d get frustrated because I couldn’t figure out if I was doing it right. And then I’d start thinking about things I needed to do at work the next day, or what I forgot to put on my grocery list and before I knew it, I’d lost interest.”

“Ah, now it’s starting to make sense. It’s hard to turn off your brain.”

I nod.

“You think your brain’s shut off now, Abby?” His voice is low and sinful. Before I can answer, his hand covers my mound. A low groan sounds from deep in his throat. “Considering how wet you are, I’d say we’re well on the way.”

His fingers travel without resistance along my slick, swollen skin. Oh my god, I’m practically dripping into his palm. Sensations tingle through me and I gasp, “I’m sorry.”

“There is nothing to be sorry about.” In a slow, steady circle, he begins to rub.

My muscles clench.

“You forgot the most important part of touching yourself.”

Nothing I’d experienced before either with men or myself had felt like this, like a spring coiling tighter and tighter inside me. He seems to know something important, so I manage to ask, “What’s that?”

“You forgot the fantasy. The seduction.” He keeps up a smooth rhythm and I put my head in my hands, shutting my eyes to block out the restaurant and concentrate on the pleasure. Yes, that’s better. It makes the coil sharper, easier to focus on. He picks up his pace and, unable to help myself, I rock into his hand, a tiny moan escaping my lips.

What is he doing? It’s so…so…good. Awesome.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, Abby?”

“Oh god yes.”

“Right here, right now, is why you have domination fantasies. Because it doesn’t matter what your brain tells you.” His fingers sink inside my pussy.

I shudder. The spring coils ever tighter until it’s all I can think about. Along my neck, his hot, ragged breath warms my already overheated skin. “You’re not going to be able to think your way out of this, little girl. You’re going to come for me tonight.”

All coherent thought scrambles as his fingers begin to pump. Harder. Faster.

I bite my lip to keep from crying out.

“So hot and tight. You’re going to be a screamer. You’re already fighting to keep quiet, and I’ve barely started.” His low, hoarse voice sends shivers down my back.

Something hovers, right out of my grasp. Something I need. My inner muscles cling to his fingers as he pulls out, leaving me feeling empty and wanting. He needs to come back. I moan. “No, don’t stop.”

In response, he places two fingers on either side of my clit and squeezes up and down over my soaking-wet flesh. Intense pleasure blasts through me, making me dizzy. My mind blanks. The invisible spring tightens to the point of breaking.

He growls in my ear. “I can’t wait to sink into this hot, wet cunt.”

“Oh god.” I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I can’t stop. Not when I’m so close to something so powerful. My fingers tighten on the table and I clench my jaw. What’s he doing to me? It’s almost unbearable. He squeezes tighter. I moan, hips jerking up.

“Abby.” My name sounds harsh on his lips.

My head snaps up to look at him.

On a ragged intake of breath, his hand stills. I want to scream— Don’t stop!— but the way he’s studying me, his eyes intense and searching, halts me.

He glances at my lips before meeting my gaze. “Is this the way you want your first orgasm? ’Cause you’re about thirty seconds away from exploding all over my hand.”

In confusion, I can only stare at him, it had been right there.

“This is your show, Abby. I’m happy to make you come all over town, but I want to make sure you want the first time to be in the middle of a restaurant.” He kisses me lightly. “Say the word and I’ll make it happen. Your call.”

I blink, coming back from all that good lust. Now that the torment of pleasure has abated, my heart swells with gratitude. I can’t believe he stopped like that, for me, to make sure this is what I want. In the heat of the moment, I’d been all in, but now I know that’s not right for me. At least not yet. “No. I want private. Thank you, Lukas.”

“That’s what I thought.” His hand slips from under my dress and he smooths the fabric back into place. He smiles. “Besides, I want you someplace you can scream. I think you’ve been restrained enough for one lifetime, don’t you?”