Blind Date #3
‘Oh my God, how embarrassing,’ I mutter the moment we’re out of earshot.
Adam laughs.
‘I saw you there together and was thinking maybe I should leave you to it.’
‘Absolutely not. He must have thought I was such a weirdo!’
‘What are the chances, eh? I guess I’m not the only man in London rocking Dior’s latest ties,’ Adam grins, showing off his perfect teeth once again. They have the flawless gleam of someone with money. They’re either veneers or whitened to absolute perfection.
‘How did you know who I was?’ I ask as we get to the bar.
‘Well, I sat here for a minute, feeling a bit confused, then I spotted you, looking all pretty and glamorous and awkward with this older bloke wearing a polka dot tie, and I put two and two together.’
‘Check you out, Columbo,’ I tease.
Adam gives a jokey, ironic shrug before picking up the cocktail menu. Aside from his slightly questionable tie choice, he’s dressed immaculately in a flattering black suit, crisp white shirt, and gold cufflinks.
‘What do you feel like? Champagne?’ he asks.
‘Well, I need another drink after that, and champagne would be perfect.’
Adam smiles and catches the barman’s eye. He comes over instantly, smiling brightly and asking us for our order.
Adam has such a commanding presence that it feels like the world must just open up to him, effortlessly.
Why on earth would someone so good-looking be so shy about sharing a selfie?
Perhaps he doesn’t want to get mobbed online?
Maybe he just wants to talk about books and keep things low-key.
Like me. Not that I’d get mobbed if I regularly posted selfies.
I’m pretty enough, but I’m not about to break the internet.
‘A bottle of Dom Perignon please,’ he says.
If I recall correctly, when I browsed the cocktail menu earlier, a bottle of Dom Perignon cost well over ￡200.
‘Coming up,’ the barman says, before retrieving a bottle from a fridge behind the bar. He places it in an ice bucket on a silver tray next to two champagne flutes.
‘Wonderful, thank you,’ Adam says.
‘Would you like to pay now or later?’
‘Later. We might get a second bottle.’ Adam gives me a cheeky smile.
He thanks the waiter.
‘Shall we get a table?’
‘Definitely,’ I reply. The butterflies in my stomach are beating their wings once more.
Adam takes the tray and carries it over to a table in a quiet corner of the bar.
I follow, admiring his broad-shouldered, gym-toned body and his six-foot-three-or-four height. He really is gorgeous.
‘So, we finally meet!’ He says as we sit down.
‘We do!’ I reply as he pours me a glass of the champagne, holding eye contact.
His eyes are deep and brown, and the rest of the bar melts away. It’s just him, those dark eyes, and the champagne, which he remembers about just in time, stopping before he overfills my glass.
He hands me the glass, and our fingers brush against each other’s.
I smile as he pours himself one.
‘You look very dapper,’ I tell him.
‘And you. Well, what’s the female equivalent? You look beautiful. Very beautiful.’
Heat floods my cheeks. Bloody hell.
‘Thanks!’ I reply, taking a hungry sip of my champagne.
‘Cheers,’ Adam says, and we clink glasses.
‘Cheers,’ I echo.
I eye him over the rim of my glass as I take a sip. The champagne is cool and crisp, and the bubbles fizz softly down my throat.
‘So what’s with the whole anon internet persona, then? Refusing to share photos.’
‘Isn’t it more fun this way?’ Adam asks.
‘I suppose so,’ I’m forced to admit. ‘You weren’t lying about the Heathcliff comparison, by the way. Pretty spot on.’
I take another sip, still unable to believe my luck.
Adam laughs.
‘I’m glad you approve,’ he says, moving his seat a little closer. ‘I wouldn’t have lied to you.’
The blush lights up my cheeks again.
As we sip our drinks, we chat about our online connection, my choice of venue, and the London dating scene.
The lighthearted banter we exchanged via DM seems to have translated effortlessly into face-to-face contact, and it feels as though we’ve picked up where we left off.
Except now, it’s even better, because now I get to sip Dom Perignon and admire his gorgeous face.
He refills my glass.
‘Interesting choice of tie, by the way,’ I comment, raising an eyebrow.
Adam smirks. ‘Don’t you like it?’
I smile awkwardly as he places the bottle back down before fingering the silk.
‘This was very expensive,’ he tells me.
‘That doesn’t necessarily make it good,’ I retort without thinking.
His lips twitch as he eyes me darkly.
‘You’re quite right,’ he says.
‘Of course, I am,’ I joke as I take another sip.
‘It would look good on you though,’ he comments, as his leg brushes against mine under the table.
I eye him, confused. He takes a sip of champagne.
‘Around your neck… Covering your eyes…’ he says as he places his glass down and reaches under the table for my knee. He brushes his fingertips lightly against it and strokes my inner thigh.
Around my neck? Covering my eyes? What the hell?! He holds eye contact and squeezes my thigh, almost a little too hard.
I feel a throb of desire in my groin. I reach across and touch his tie, running my fingers over the soft silk, caressing it.
It feels so soft and luxurious, as though all my senses have suddenly become heightened and I’m sensing the touch of every fibre.
Adam eyes me darkly as I trace my fingers over the fabric.
I draw them higher to the knot around his neck, and hooking my forefinger under it, I smile darkly, matching his sultry, playful gaze as I gently tug him towards me, planting a confident kiss on his lips. Bet he didn’t see that coming.
His lips are incredibly soft, and up close, he smells musky, like sandalwood.
He moves closer, placing a firm hand on the back of my neck as he parts his lips and lets his tongue slide deeper into my mouth.
His other hand moves higher up my thigh.
I feel my skin prickling with goosebumps.
I’m still gripping his tie, tugging him deeper into me.
I feel lightheaded with pleasure as he traces his hand further up my thigh until it’s buried under my skirt, just an inch or so away from the lace hem of my knickers.
Suddenly, I remember where I am. The Ritz! Snogging the face off a random man. Even if he is wearing a Dior tie and we’re drinking Dom Perignon, it’s still not particularly classy behaviour. Reluctantly, I pull away.
I wipe my lips on the back of my hand as subtly as I can and take a sip of champagne.
Adam picks up his own glass, casting me a naughty look. With one of his hands still concealed under the table, he traces his fingertips over my inner thigh.
‘Well, I think I was right when I suspected we’d have chemistry,’ he says.
‘Funny how you could tell just from messaging,’ I comment.
‘I just had a feeling. I like to follow my feelings,’ he says, running his hand further up my leg.
I clench my thighs together. I already feel lightheaded, and I don’t need to lose it in the middle of this bar.
Adam’s fingers inch back towards my knee, smiling cheekily.
I take a few more sips of champagne. The bottle feels like a chore now—a nuisance. The quicker we polish it off, the sooner we can take things upstairs to one of the hotel’s luxurious rooms.
‘Am I unnerving you?’ Adam asks, tracing circles over my knee.
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Well, you're knocking back that champagne pretty quickly,’ he observes.
‘That's not because I’m unnerved,’ I insist.
He looks perplexed.
‘It’s because the quicker we drink this, the sooner we can go to bed.’
A delighted grin spreads over Adam’s face.
‘Fuck the champagne.’ He moves to stand up. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
I can’t help laughing. We’ve only drunk half the bottle, and yet Adam is perfectly happy to leave it, abandoning more than ￡100 worth of the stuff.
I’m so used to making ends meet on my meagre freelance writer earnings that I’m not even sure what feels more outlandish – leaving the undrunk Dom Perignon or sleeping with a strange man I met online.
Adam tells me to wait as he heads over to the bar to pay.
I refill my glass and savour the taste, relishing the light fizz of the bubbles against my tongue.
I watch as Adam chats to the barman and hands over his card.
I let my eyes roam over his body, taught and firm under his suit.
Soon, I’ll get to see it all. No suit blocking my view.
My eagerness to fuck him is suddenly interrupted by a voice in my head, a small cautious voice, questioning, ‘Is this safe?’ Adam may be overwhelmingly sexy, but he could be anyone, literally anyone.
I barely know anything about him, and yet here I am, about to go up to a hotel room with him.
Anything could happen. And yet, I’d be lying if I said the danger and the mystery of all this weren’t a large part of the thrill.
I take another swig of champagne and try to drown out my nerves as the barman hands Adam his card.
He places it back in his wallet and walks towards me, smiling that winsome smile.
‘Let’s go,’ he says.
‘Let’s,’ I concur, placing my glass down.
Adam takes my hand as we leave the bar.
‘So are we getting a room?’ I ask as we walk into the foyer.
‘Yes,’ Adam replies. ‘But not here.’
‘Oh.’ I’m taken aback. ‘Where then?’
I assume he must mean that he’s taking me back to his hotel. From what Adam has told me, he pretty much lives in hotels since he spends most of his time travelling.
‘Where are you staying?’ I ask.
‘Not my hotel. Somewhere else,’ he replies mysteriously.
I shoot him a quizzical look as we collect our coats. I can’t help noticing the bashful, flirty way the receptionist bats her lashes as she hands Adam his coat. I can’t help smiling to myself a little smugly. It feels good to be leaving with such an obviously desirable man.
‘Don't worry, it’s not too far from here,’ Adam insists as the doorman opens the door for us.
Adam thanks him, and we walk out onto the street.