My pussy clenches, and damn, at this rate, I’m going to need a change of panties soon.
“Deal,” I whisper, and his lips quirk into a grin. He’s so close. Close enough that I could close the gap between us in a heartbeat, press my lips to his. I want to. I find myself tilting toward him, unstoppable, unable to fight the gravity.
That grin widens and he leans back in his chair once more. Damn him. He knows what I want. And he’s enjoying withholding it.
“That’s all you want from me, huh? Just my cock?”
He says it loud enough that a couple at the table beside us glance over, eyes wide. My eyes widen too, and I duck my head, face flushed.
“No, I—”
“It’s cool.” He winks. “I’ve been told it’s pretty addictive, so I can understand.”
I aim another kick at him under the table. “How long have you been doorman-ing, Zayne?”
“Oh, we’re not going back to boring first date interview questions already, are we?” He shakes his head.
I laugh. “I’m just proving I want to know more about you than just how big your cock is.”
“Two years,” he replies. “First job I picked up when I moved here and I liked it.”
“What about it?” I tilt my head, studying him.
He smiles. “The people. My tenants. Helping them out, making sure their lives run as smoothly as possible. I like that. I like being able to see the results of what I’m doing first-hand. I help somebody get their laundry done or send out a package or ferry their groceries upstairs, and I get to see the results real-time. Before this, I worked in an office, pencil-pushing gig. You did all this work but you never got to see anybody happy from it. You never saw proof that what you did mattered.”
I can feel myself nodding again. “I get that. I feel that way a lot of the time at my job. Like nothing I do makes a real difference. Not to real people.”
He slides a hand across the table to squeeze mine quickly. “I’m sure it does, Clove. You just don’t always see them through your screen is all.”
I sigh and nod again. “Maybe I envy you a little. That instant feedback.”
“I do enjoy instant feedback.” He glances down at my phone which is resting face-down on the table. “Speaking of which. If you did hypothetically want to know about my cock… I mean, since you asked.”
Right on cue, my phone buzzes. I have to laugh, even as I pick it up. There, right on the home screen, is a new message. A photo attachment. I glance back at him, lean forward to check under the table. How did he send that so fast, without me even noticing?
“You came prepared?” I ask.
He smirks. “Maybe.”
I open the photo and immediately fight the urge to hide my phone. It’s strange to look at his dick while he’s sitting right here across from me, out in the open. Especially in a public place where anyone could walk right past our table and see my phone.
Zayne must sense that I’m debating closing it again because he snatches the phone from me and plants it face-up on the table. “You asked for this,” he reminds me in a low voice. “You should enjoy it to the fullest.”
So, I resist the urge to hide and bend forward to take in the picture. This one was taken from a bedroom—I spy a duvet in the background. He’s completely naked this time, not just pulling himself out of his boxers. And damn, his cock looks even better than I remember. It’s flushed, standing on its own. He’s standing too, and as full as it is, it stands straight out from his body, strong and hard. I imagine bending over in front of him, letting him thrust that thing inside me, and it makes my pussy feel white-hot with desire. My clit throbs, feeling heavy and weighted between my thighs.
“Your turn,” he murmurs.
“What, here?” I cast a glance around the coffee shop.
“You’re right.” He stands and drops a handful of change on the table, more than enough for a 20% tip. “They’re about to close. What say we continue this next door? There’s a little Irish pub on the corner, and the bartender owes me a few drinks on the house.”
I trail after him, heart pounding. As we exit the coffee shop, he catches my hand, and I wind my fingers through his, loving the feel of his thick, strong fingers enclosing mine, protective and possessive all at once.
The walk to the bar is far too short, mostly because once we get there, he lets go of my hand again, and my skin burns where he was just touching me. I want nothing more than to grab his hand once more. Or better yet, pull him against me, crush our bodies together and pull his lips to mine. I want to kiss that grin off his face, replace it with a sexy, sultry smile. I want to taste his mouth, his tongue. I want to kiss my way along his stubble-dusted jawline, down the side of his neck. I want him to push me up against this bar and take me right here.