Cherry Popper (Cherry 1)

I didn’t know if he was referring to himself or to Wyatt. “We’ll see what happens. I’m young, and I have some time before I start worrying about it.”

“You aren’t in a hurry to settle down?”

“No. If it’s meant to happen, it’ll happen, whether I’m thirty or forty.”

“You have a long way before you turn thirty.”

I shrugged. “No good comes from expectations. If you set expectations for yourself and don’t meet them, you’re just setting yourself up for sadness, especially when it’s arbitrary. I’m not in a hurry to be anywhere at any specific time. Where life takes me…it’ll work out.”

He smiled. “That’s a good philosophy.”

“I think so too.” I took a long drink of my wine then left the empty glass on the table. If I kept drinking like this, I wouldn’t be able to find my way home. Now his bed seemed more appealing, especially when his sweaty body was on top of mine. “I should go. Thank you for dinner.”

“Of course.” He rose from the chair and walked me to the door. There was no argument about getting me to stay. There was one thing he wanted from me above all else, but he didn’t pressure me. “My driver will take you home.”

“He doesn’t need to do that.”

“He’s on the clock—may as well give him something to do.” He hit the button on the elevator so the doors opened. “Have dinner with me tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

He circled his arms around me and brought me close into his chest. He restrained his kiss and pressed his forehead against mine as he held me on the threshold. His large hands spanned across my back completely, and he slowly moved them up as he brought me in even closer. When one of his hands reached my hair, he fisted it and gave me a deep kiss.

The kiss was just as good as the one he greeted me with. Full of passion, heat, and adoration. He cradled my head and kept me close to him, letting me feel his breath fill my lungs. His other hand snaked down to my ass, and he pulled my dress up so he could squeeze my bare cheek. He moaned as he kissed me, like he missed my ass as much as the rest of me.

If this kept going, I would be naked in no time.

I pulled away and licked my lips. “Good night.”

His hands didn’t release me right away, like he had to fight himself to be a gentleman. He lowered his hands away from my ass and hit the button again since the doors had shut. “Good night, sweetheart. I can call you that again, right?”

I stepped inside the elevator so he wouldn’t try to kiss me again. “Yes.” I held his gaze as I watched the door close, knowing he was hard in his sweatpants because I’d felt it right against me. I knew his fingers would be wrapped around his length tonight, thinking of me, just as I would be thinking about him with my fingers under my panties.

I sat across from Slate at the table in the restaurant. The wine bottle sat on the surface, and both of our glasses were full. Our entrees had been selected, and now we sat there in silence because there wasn’t much to say.

We were running out of things to talk about.

The basis of our relationship was sex, so it was impossible to think about anything else. Slate wanted it from me and I wanted it from him, but would it happen? I didn’t know. But when he stared at me like that across the table, I felt like the prey he would dominate the second we were alone together. This dinner seemed like a pointless task.

“Sweetheart?”

I drank my wine before I set the glass down. “Yes?”

“Do you know how to touch yourself?”

The question caught me off guard, especially since the tables around us were filled with other people. Conversations were loud, dishes clanked against tables, and utensils chattered, so our quiet words probably faded away, but it was still a question that should only happen behind closed doors. “Why do you ask?”

He wore a dark blue t-shirt with denim jeans, refusing to adhere to the dress code of nicer restaurants. He still wore his Omega watch on his wrist, so that hinted at the wealth sitting in his back pocket. His face was always his ticket inside any place, because most people in the money world knew exactly who he was. “You’re inexperienced. I’m just curious to know how inexperienced you are.”

“That would mean I haven’t had an orgasm in twenty-three years.”

He shrugged. “You haven’t had sex in twenty-three years. That’s even more shocking.”

“Yes…I know how to touch myself.” Heat moved up my neck and into my cheeks. It was an embarrassing question, and I had an embarrassing answer.