I lick my lips, considering how to move our encounter from art perusal to the sex we're actually here for. My cock is half-hard and ticking every time I look at her ass in that fitted skirt and her legs in those shoes. I want to fuck her in those shoes and nothing else.
The host in me realizes that Nicole hasn't had any lunch, and it's getting past that time. Her stomach grumbles as if it knows what I'm thinking, and she clutches at it scrunching her face with embarrassment.
"I think I need to feed you," I say, taking her hand and leading her across the hardwood floor to the kitchen. "Sean always prepares me a light lunch just in case I'm home early."
"Sean?"
"My chef. He lives downstairs."
"Oh, you have staff. There was me thinking you were going make me a bacon buttie."
"A bacon whattie?" I ask, laughing.
"Never mind," she says, shaking her head as if I'm a clueless idiot. "Let's see what Sean has cooked up for you."
I leave her perching on a stool at the counter and go to the fridge where the food is waiting. Sean has prepared a delicious-looking Asian salad and some sushi. There's also freshly squeezed mixed-citrus juice in a jug. Perfect.
As I spread it all out in front of her, she peers at each bowl and plate with interest.
"So, this is what the people on the Forbes list eat for lunch," she says. "It looks like something I could buy from M&S!"
"M&S?" I asked, feeling a little frustrated that I'm not getting her attempts at humor. Nicole grins, taking a swallow of juice, licking her lips. I momentarily lose my train of thought.
"Marks and Spencer. They sell posh food in England."
"Ah yes, I know that."
Nicole giggles. "I just had an image of you popping into M&S for a nice pair of corduroy trousers and some tartan slippers."
"You don't think I would look good in corduroy?" I say in mock indignation. Her raised eyebrow is comical. "And it's pants, not trousers," I add just to tease.
"Pants are what you wear under your trousers," she laughs. "Why is it that you Americans think that you can take our language, change it, and then correct us for continuing to the use the original?"
"It's because we're arrogant," I say without shame. "And because there's more of us than there is of you."
"That's where you're wrong," she says. "Over a billion and a half people speak English in the world."
"Is that a fact?"
"I'm interested in linguistics," she says, eyeing the food that I'm placing on the counter. "I want to learn another language to make my job easier. There are so many companies out there where English isn't a well-spoken language. I've been trying to decide between Spanish and Mandarin."
"I think either of those would be good, but maybe Spanish would be more useful for life in general."
"Yeah, for the cool holiday destinations."
We plate our lunch, and I take a seat next to her. "So, Nicole. Is this your first time in the U.S.?"
She shakes her head, chewing on her first forkful of food. Her eyes roll just a little with enjoyment. Maybe it's better than M&S food. Dabbing her mouth, she lowers her fork. "No. I've been to a couple of other cities on business. And Vegas on holiday."
"Vegas? You don't strike me as the Vegas type."
"I'm not really. It was my friend's idea…we were all turning twenty-five, and she thought it would be fun to do a big quarter-century party in Sin City."
"And did you sin while you were there?" I ask, feeling a twinge of jealousy at the possibility that she might have had a fling or two.
"You know, you shouldn't ask questions that you might not like the answers to," she says with another raised eyebrow.
"You should try to answer a question with a straight answer!"
"Well, there was plenty of gambling and some general gluttony and drunkenness…but that isn't what you are asking, is it?"
I pop a piece of sushi in my mouth and chew, wondering why the hell I'm proceeding down this line of inquiry. It isn't like me to be territorial about someone, but that's obviously where my subconscious is at. I shake my head and change the subject, not wanting to indulge my jealousy.
"Where do you live in the UK?"
"Just outside London. You wouldn't know it. It's a suburb. The same area I grew up in. My parents live about ten minutes away, and I rent my own place."
"You don't want to buy something?" I ask, shuddering at the idea that she's wasting money renting.
She looks at me with amusement. "Have you seen property prices in London? I have student loans to pay off. I'll be probably be renting when I'm claiming my pension."
"I do know London," I say. "I have a place in Kensington. I think it must be made of solid gold for how much it cost me!" Way to go, Aaron. Super sensitive. I shake my head at my own stupidity, wondering what it is about this woman that makes me lose my composure.