Something about Amanda captures my imagination. I have to admit that to myself as I watch her take a sip of her wine.

My dick's been hard since I watched her walk toward me when we met in the lobby. She's wearing a tight dress that hugs her curves, not quite as revealing as in my fantasies. It isn't cut low enough at the neckline to show off her cleavage, but the fabric is clingy enough that I can't help but notice the shape of her breasts pressed together and held perfectly by whatever bra she's got on under there. The hem line of the dress hits her mid-thigh. Long enough to be demure, short enough to taunt my thoughts as I followed her to our table.

The big surprise has been the conversation over our meal.

Amanda is educated and bright, she's witty, she's articulate, she's got impeccable table manners, and she's perfectly at ease in the most expensive restaurant in town.

She's comfortable with me. That's the real surprise. I can't remember the last time I took a woman on a real date and didn't watch her fidget through the whole thing, or preen, or do that fake giggle for approval thing that some girls do when they're trying to impress a man but don't have two brain cells to rub together.

No, Amanda doesn't need my approval and it shows.

Which is probably why, by the time we've ordered dessert and coffee, all I can think about is getting her out of that damn dress.

"So I understand you're planning on entering local politics in the next election?"

I nod and set my coffee cup back on the linen table cloth, "That's the plan," I tell her.

By the time we're ready to leave I've learned a thing or two about my would-be bride, mostly that she's not the woman I pegged her to be. Maybe there's something to this arranged marriage shit after all?

I can see how Amanda would make a good wife, the kind of woman that would be able handle the demands of my lifestyle.

I can also see how she'd do a good job of keeping my bed warm.

She excuses herself to the ladies room while I settle the bill. I meet her in the restaurant lobby and notice her flushed skin, the lopsided little smile she gives me when I hold out my arm for her.

She did enjoy the wine. She handled it well and until now I hadn't considered that she may have had more than she necessarily should have.

"You OK?" I return her smile as she takes my arm, bringing her body closer to mine than I expected.

The feel of her against my arm goes straight to my dick, making it jump to attention as if it suddenly senses an opportunity. I will it down and try to keep my cool.

"Yeah," she purrs as we walk into the warm evening air outside, "I'm great." I love the way she looks up at me, with a sly curl at the corners of her lips and a glassy look in her eyes that I hope is more lust than alcohol.

"I think I'm going to call for a ride though," she tells me as she opens her purse and reaches for her phone, "The wine hit me harder than I realized."

"I can take you home, if you want," I offer.

Amanda is a far cry from drunk, I can tell from her steady pace and clear conversation as we cross the parking lot, but she makes a good point about not taking any chances. For both the ethical and the professional reasons she brings up as I hold the door of the Benz open for her and wait till she's settled in before closing it.

On the way to her house we continue to chat easily albeit about less serious subjects than our state's criminal justice system and how we hope to change the world.

Amanda tells me about growing up with her sister, and I can't help but laugh at finding out that the sternly disapproving woman that doesn't like me at all has an entirely different side to her.

The thought crosses my mind that when Amanda and I are married, I'll likely get to see some of that side of her sister.

Then the thought crosses my mind that I just thought of Amanda as my future wife.

Then the thought crosses my mind that I need to stop thinking with my dick and keep my mind on making sure I make my decision with a clear head and marry a woman who fits the image of the wife of a celebrity and politician.

Then Amanda's hand lands on my thigh.

Lightly, casually. Not like I'm used to being touched by other women I normally take out. Not the bold touch of a woman trying to send the message that she's anticipating more from our evening. Not the questioning touch of a woman trying to say she's hoping for more from the evening.

Amanda's hand rests lightly on my thigh as though she's always touched me there. There's no motive to the way it's positioned high, with her fingers just a few millimeters from my crotch as she uses her other hand to point toward the driveway I need to pull into.

If I so much as take a deep breath I'll move enough that her fingertips will brush against the base of my erection. Somehow I can't bring myself to manipulate the situation like that. As much as I want to feel her hand pressed against my cock, I don't want to do anything that would make her take her hand off of me.

So I hold still and keep my breathing shallow so she doesn't realize where her hand has landed and I almost moan aloud with my displeasure at having to shut the engine off and end the moment as I see her to her door.

"This wasn't bad," Amanda teases me as I stand slightly behind her, waiting while she unlocks her front door.

"You were expecting worse?"

It feels good to be able to laugh with her.

She twists the key in the lock and I hear the deadbolt slide open. "Actually, yes," she says boldly, her eyes meeting mine, her jaw setting firmly but a smile still playing on those luscious lips of hers. "I was pretty sure you were going to be terrible company and spend the evening on your phone while I spent your money on good wine."

The hint of humor has disappeared from her voice. She's not teasing. She really expected not to enjoy my company tonight.

There's no trace of hurt in her accusation. Her tone is matter of fact, her point made bluntly, and the lack of personal insult in it affects me somehow.

I'm taken aback. I can't remember a woman ever telling me she didn't expect to enjoy her time with me. The meaning is clear-- Amanda wasn't looking forward to our date this evening. She didn't want to go out with me.

If I wasn't so goddamn turned on right now, I might be insulted.

My lips are on hers before I know what I'm doing.

I have one hand braced against the frame of her front door where it's been since she slid the key into the lock, but my other hand is wrapped around her head, pulling her firmly to meet my mouth as if I'm expecting resistance.

There's none.

Amanda meets me eagerly, her lips parting and her tongue tangling against mine hungrily in a kiss I expected would be met with hesitation at best and contemptuous rejection at worst.