The Italian

“What? Heard that some poor bastard asked you to marry him and you knocked him back and dumped his sorry ass?”

I put my hand over my face in embarrassment. “It sounds cold when you put it like that.” I peek out from behind my hands to see him smirking at me.

“What happened?” he asks.

“We were never going to work out. I’ve never been so shocked in my life as the day he proposed. It was awful.” His thumb is under his chin and he is wiping the side of his pointer across his lips as he listens, his gaze locked on mine.

“Why wouldn’t you have worked out?”

“We weren’t …compatible.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Compatible,” he repeats.

Why did I say that?

“You mean sexually?” His eyes darken with an emotion I’m familiar with. Arousal.

“Among other things,” I quickly add. I suddenly feel very uncomfortable.

“Why aren’t you married?” I blurt out.

He smiles a slow sexy smile. “I haven’t found anyone who fits the job description.”

“What’s the job description?” I breathe.

His eyes bore into mine with an intensity that heats my blood. “Someone who fucks like a slut, with the morals of a nun.”

I choke on my coffee. Of all the things I thought he would say, that was definitely not it. I feel a frisson of uneasiness creeping up on me. “You can’t be serious?” I gasp.

“Absolutely.” He nods as he takes a sip of his latte, his eyes not leaving mine.

“You want to marry a slut?”

He nods again. “It depends what your definition of a slut is. What do you think a slut is?” he asks.

“Someone who will sleep with anyone,” I reply.

He nods and takes another sip of his latte. “You see I think a slut is a woman who loves to fuck.”

I swallow the large lump in my throat. His voice has dropped to a low husky sound, one that is screaming to my subconscious. He continues, “I couldn’t be with a mousy woman who doesn’t love to fuck as much as I do. I have an insatiable appetite for sex.” He licks his lips. “High maintenance so to speak.” His eyes burn into me once again, silently daring me to say something. His eyes drop to my lips and want pools in my stomach. “The woman I marry will have to endure hours and hours of being tied to our bed, legs spread wide while I pleasure her with my tongue and fuck her with my hands. Then put up with me continually driving into her tight cunt with my

cock so hard that she won’t know where I end and she begins. Constantly. She would have to love taking me orally, vaginally and anally…. repeatedly.” He gazes at me again and steeples his hands under his chin.

For the love of God, my mouth has gone dry.

“Can I take your order, love?” I jump, oh shit did she just hear that?

“Um, bacon and eggs please, and an orange juice.” I’m embarrassed and put my head down to hide my blush.

“I’ll have the same.” He smirks a sexy smile at me.

Bloody hell.

Ok, my brain has fried. I can’t even speak as I visualize exactly what he has explained to me. Orally, vaginally and anally……shit.

That sounds exactly what I want to do today. Is he trying to drive me out of my frigging head? He’s not playing fair.