He snorts. “Because, Katie Clark, I love the way your name sounds on my tongue. Ever since I read your book, I’ve been fascinated by you. You’re unique, stylish, and gorgeous. You accompanying me here was decided before we even met.”
A shy smile plays on my lips. This man is dreamy, albeit slightly domineering. I push down the uneasiness that churns in my stomach. The feeling of a man taking control. This is what men are meant to be: alpha and action-takers. It doesn’t mean he’s dangerous.
“Well, Bradley Thomson, I’m glad you did,” I whisper, leaning across to peck him on the cheek.
Our waitress interrupts our moment, placing two crisp white plates on the table. Each holds four huge langoustines, staring up, cursing me for their untimely demise. I balk. I don’t eat food that can still see me, whether it’s dead or alive. I look at my date, and he must see from my eyes that this is completely out of my comfort zone.
“Here, let me help you.” He takes each one and snaps, twists, then disposes of the head plus extremities on his plate, only leaving the meat on mine. “Is that better for you?”
“Yes,” I murmur, embarrassed. “I don’t tend to eat food with eyes.”
“I hate to break this to you, Katie Clark. But most living things you eat had eyes at some point.”
“Yes, well.” I snort. “As long as those eyes are not on my plate looking at me, I’m happy.”
As the final dessert course arrives, my stomach strains in my dress. Plate after plate of elegant cuisine has been brought to the table over the past three hours. Our glasses have been refilled as required and empty bottles replaced with new. The stage has been filled with amazing talent, from singers to dancers to comedians. I never knew such a place existed.
“Brad, how did you find out about this place?” I ask. He has me mesmerized with his looks, his wit, and his control on life. If he asked me, I would drop my panties here and let him fuck me over the table. I’m besotted. The hopeless romantic in me strikes again. Jumping in feet first—no consideration of what could go wrong. Life is for living—or so they tell me.
“You have to be invited.” His face turns stern. “This is a private members’ club. Only members can gain access, and I’m allowed to bring a friend on occasion.”
“How much does it cost?” I splutter, then recoil, embarrassed by my forwardness.
A dirty grin splitting his face. “You like nice things? Don’t be embarrassed. Membership is twenty thousand dollars per year. You pay for meals, etcetera, on top, though. Tonight will be a thousand dollars, more or less.”
“A thousand dollars?” I stammer, stunned. “I would’ve been happy with a bistro supper.”
“I wouldn’t.” Dark eyes locking with mine. “Katie Clark, if you haven’t noticed, I’m absolutely smitten with you. You’re alreadymyqueen.”
My heart leaps from my chest, excitement coursing through my veins. His queen. Never did I think a man would lay claim to me again. Never mind a man like this.
Then my insecurity rears its head for a moment as I consider being naked with him. After he sees all of me, will I be so appealing? My body’s a long way from the beautiful girls strutting around this place. My mind whirls for a moment, and Brad leans in to kiss my cheek. It steadies my soul.
“Do you want to go, Katie? Do you want to find out how much I like you?” Resolving to enjoy the opportunities that come to me, I whisper, “Let’s go. I want to show you what your queen can do for you.”
He signals for the bill.
***
We burst through the door of my hotel room attached by our lips. Brad’s hands explore my curves as he walks me backward to the bed. He throws me onto the mattress, I’m starfished, staring up at him. His erection strains against his fly. He slides his fingers beneath the waistband, readjusting himself slowly. My pussy clenches—hard.
“You’re fucking beautiful, Katie Clark.” His words slip from his lips, easy, believable. A shiver of hope skims my spine; every nerve on alert, poised for his next touch.
Simple shirt buttons pop open one at a time, Brad shrugs it off to expose his broad chest, smattered with silvering dark hair. For an older man, he owns an incredible body. My nipples bud beneath my bra, cream rushing my sex, preparing for the onslaught of this man.
I want him to take me. No, who am I kidding? I need him to fuck me. Hard. With no strings, no commitment. Just two people of similar ages who still need to feel human. As a womanat the mercy of a man, but one who wants to give her the ultimate pleasure. I believe Brad could give me that. And hell, I want it.
“Undress.” Thick fingers wrap around mine, pulling me upward onto my feet. I wobble a little, his strength unexpected. After lowering himself to sit on the edge, strong hands maneuver my hips between his thighs, then he clamps, keeping me frozen on the spot.
Suddenly, I feel nervous and exposed. Still dressed, but at an insanely close proximity to a man I want so bad. His eyes search mine, not for permission, but for weakness, I think. More like a lion goading the impala before it pounces.
“Undress, but leave the heels on,” he prompts, leaving no room for argument.
I wriggle my dress over my shoulders. It drops down my body, landing on his thighs. He opens them just enough for it to pass to the floor.
I’m left standing in my underwear and heels. His thighs release, his palms pushing me backward to step away. Then one finger spins in a circle, and I turn 365 degrees on command.
“I’m not sure if I prefer the front or the back,” he murmurs. His eyes fire like he’s trying and failing to contain his carnal thoughts. “Every inch of you needs to drip in me. You need to be marked with my scent.”