“Julian,” I deadpan, and he laughs.
“Seriously,” he says. “You’re an established woman. I expect you to know what you want. And who knows, maybe I want that too.”
“It’s not a life most twenty-seven-year-olds would want—or know they want, yet,” I say.
“I’m not most twenty-seven-year-olds.”
“I’ll concede that,” I allow.
“And I don’t need you to tell me what is or isn’t good for me. That I get to decide for myself,” Julian continues. “What you do need to do…is be honest with me and yourself.”
I sit back in my seat, both ruffled and a little impressed by his forthrightness.
“Fighting words,” I say.
“Are they? Admit it, Sean. Youwantto be special to me. That’swhy you’re having dinner with me right now. It’s why you came out to talk to me this morning at your clinic instead of sending me away and blocking my number. It’s why you ran away from me after the gallery, after Margaret walked in on us. Because you find most everyone just a bit boring, but me? I, at the very least, intrigue you.” He leans in closer, his voice deepening, and for a split second, his eyes seem to flash. “Or am I wrong? Is it something simpler than that?”
I suck in a breath. Our conversation thus far has been cerebral, a friendly fencing match between two people who are too smart and too smug about it for their own good, but he’s shifted to seduction and I am completely unprepared. An image flashes to mind: Julian hovering over me, shadows playing in the dips of his clavicle and the divot of his heaving chest, the hot, hard curve of him pulsing under my hand—
“What are you saying,” I manage, but my voice cracks and it comes out less cool and more breathless, and I see the triumph flash across Julian’s face, like he knows exactly what he’s caused me to remember.
“What do you think?” he croons. “It’s fine, you know. I’ll be a bit disappointed, I admit. But I’m not that pure a man. If you’re just having dinner with me because you’re hoping for something to happen after, I won’t complain.”
My ears are hot and my tongue is tied, and by the look on his face, he knows he’s won.
“You’re so…” I search for the word, stunned by his audacity. “Arrogant.”
“But I’m not wrong.” His voice drops almost to a whisper. “Don’t think I forgot how ready you were for me at the gallery. You act so very prim and proper, but if we hadn’t been interrupted, you would have let me fuck you right there on that table—”
I practically leap across the table to clap a hand over his mouth just as footsteps still in front of us.
“Shall I come back?” Devram says, holding the dessert menus to his chest like a shield against our indecency.
“No, it’s fine—ah!”
I snatch my hand back and drop back into my seat.
Because Julian has justsucked it.
My face is hot as Devram goes over our dessert options, and I turn my hand over on my lap, staring at the pulp of palm that has just been in Julian’s mouth. My mind replays the moment over and over again, scrabbling to recall the exact look in his eyes when he did it, if there had been teeth—
“Anything for you, ma’am?” Devram asks, thrusting me right back into reality.
“Yes, Sean, anything for you?” Julian asks, not even bothering to hide his amusement.
“No thank you,” I say, wearing my most genial smile. “Just the check.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re making out in Julian’s car.
I don’t know exactly how it happens. The last thing I remember is putting on my coat and preparing to call an Uber, formulating plans about calling Winona to give her a recap, and stepping out into the cool September evening. What follows afterward is a blur—I vaguely recall Julian convincing me to let him drop me off, walking one block to his car, and piling inside. I don’t remember if we drive to my apartment first or just go at it right there in the street. I have no clue who makes the first move. I don’t even remember how we end up in the back seat.
What I do know is that touching Julian feels like an original sin. That we snap together like magnets, my arms around his neck, his wound tight around my waist, the space between us molecules thick. His desire feels avaricious, his mouth molding, molten, to mine, hands exploring my every square inch. He trails them up my back, finds my bra, unlatches it, and I hike his sweater up to expose his chest, wanting to feel the heat of his skin against mine. Distantly, I wonder what the car looks like from the outside, if the soft glow of streetlights is enough to illuminate us for all to see, if the contrast between the heat of our bodies and the chill of the outside autumn air is enough to layer our windows with suggestive condensation. But I don’t care enough to look. I’m much too preoccupied by the feeling of those full lips trailing down my neck, those broad hands cupping my breasts under my shirt. I’ve devolved, I think, regressed to some more primitive life form that wants to fuck first and ask questions later.
Julian seems determined to get me there. The bulge in his pants hits me just right, sending alarming bolts of pleasure through the seat of my thin leggings as we kiss. His hands drop to cup my ass, guiding my frantic motions, arching his hips the way I’m sure he would if he were inside me. I’m climbing higher, higher, our movements becoming so urgent that I’m certain we’re shaking the car, and am I really about to come from rutting on this man like a repressed teenager—
Yes, yes I am.
“Oh god,” a voice cries out, mine. Layered under it, Julian’s low, satisfied groan.