He’s No Angel
HE’S NO ANGEL
Vera
“Do you normally stare at people while they look at the menu?” I glanced at Alistair, who wore an idiot’s grin at the dining table.
Judging by his Rolex watch, this guy owned a pretty pricey wardrobe. Money didn’t impress me. He had removed his tie and jacket and unbuttoned his collar. That, combined with his rolled-up sleeves, gave him an aura of casual sexiness and sensuality.
Hot damn.
“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to intimidate you,” he replied, then shrugged. “I was checking you out.”
“You weren’t intimidating me,” I said. “I’ve been stared at before. But I’m not used to being stared at with such ferocity.”
Alistair continued playing with his watch, then tapped his foot rapidly on the ground.
“You fidget a lot,” I observed.
“I have ADHD,” he admitted. “Contrary to popular belief, not everyone with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder is rowdy and loud. I was one of the quieter ones when I was diagnosed as a kid. I take my medication, and while it’s not a cure, it helps.”
“I didn’t mean to pry—”
“Sweetheart, what you see is what you get.” Alistair’s eyes met mine with seriousness.
There was something I admired about a man who was humble enough to reveal his true self. I put my menu down. “I love your honesty. Thank you for the champagne the other night. It really wasn’t necessary.”
“I needed something to catch your attention,” he said, holding my gaze.
“It worked. You caught my attention for five seconds, but I was rather occupied that night.” Twirling my hair, I gave a teasing smile. “So were you.”
“You’re one of a kind.” Alistair chuckled and relaxed his shoulders, his fixed gaze still holding me captive
“What do you mean?” I stared coyly at him.
“I’ll be upfront with you. I like you. I’d fuck your sweet pussy now if we weren’t in a restaurant. I’m not a man who uses fancy words like a deck of cards. I speak what I think, and I don’t beat around the bush.”
I gazed at Alistair’s dark brows, his moving lips, and his square, shaven jaw. Not bad at all. Do you know the feeling of attraction growing as familiarity rises? I felt it.
“What’s your fetish?” Alistair asked. He leaned over the table and placed one hand over mine. He was close enough for me to catch his masculine scent, a spicy cologne blended with a cinnamon note.
“There’s bondage, spanking, body rubbing, and dirty talk. Plus, there’s nothing sexier than an intelligent man.” I winked at my date. “What’s your fetish?”
“Sugar, I’d like you to deep throat my cock. Then I want to taste your pussy and fuck you all night.” Alistair’s eyes targeted mine, and his lips quivered into a sly smile. “Do you dress up?”
“What? Do you mean, role-play?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“I prefer being naked and natural. However, I do dress in a schoolgirl’s uniform on special occasions. You’ll need to bring a whip or a belt, though.”
“I knew it,” Alistair exclaimed. He leaned back and tapped the table three times. Grinning, he shifted his seating position and placed one finger on my arm, teasing it with his sensual touch.
“Shall I call you ‘Daddy’?” I placed my hand on his and drew light circles on his wrist, enticing him with my soft touch.
“You can call me ‘Daddy’ any time.” He grinned, pupils blown wide with the kind of craving that took what it wanted. Heat surged up my chest, hot and invasive. My desire morphed into something raw, aching. I wanted to take him. Right here. Right now.
I covered his hand with mine, locking in the heat between us as he leaned in, closing the space. The moment nearly combusted, until the door behind us swung open, slicing through it all with a cold draft.
“Can I take your order?” Barnaby, the badged waiter, interrupted our dirty exchange, glancing at Alistair’s Rolex.
“I’ll have a Guinness pie and a pint of Guinness,” I said.
“I’ll have a steak, fries, and a cola,” Alistair ordered, playing with his watch again.
“Whoa, don’t you want something fancier?” I asked, surprised by Alistair’s order. Here I was, sitting across the table from a real-life billionaire who chose the plainest dish on the menu.
“If I wanted fancy, Vera,” he murmured, moving in closer to whisper, “I would have taken you to Arrivederci. But no, feisty Mona Lisa insisted we avoid the place.”
“Oh, I do like fancy, Mister Scott. I have whipped cream, sweet chocolate, and fresh strawberries at home,” I teased, batting my eyelashes to add drama. I wore a little more mascara to emphasize my eyes.
“I might take your offer. Or I might not.” He winked, licking the left corner of his upper lip. “Call me Alistair. Or Scotty. Or Daddy.”
Oh, that dirty, dirty smile.
“Mister Scott,” I purred, drawing out the ‘o’ as I dragged my tongue over cherry-red lips. “That’s how I like it. You’re trouble.”
He matched my energy, eyes glinting. “Miss Richland. Guilty as charged—I play dirty.”
He slid another fry onto my plate. I didn’t thank him. Just leaned in, took it straight from his fingers, let my lips drag across his skin. A slow bite with wide eye contact.
I eased off my stilettos. My toes found his ankle, then climbed, slow, deliberate, up his calf and thigh until I felt him straining beneath the fabric. His fork paused mid-air.
I took another bite of pie like nothing was happening.
He passed me the last piece of his steak. I paused. His gaze held mine steadier now, like he saw more than just the games.
I opened my mouth. Took it. Let the bite melt on my tongue.
“So, are you single?” Alistair asked. He leaned in, his lips ghosting my cheek, but it was his hand that held the conversation.
His fingers slid along the inside of my thigh, measured and unapologetic.
The lace I wore offered nothing but a suggestion.
One pearl nestled against my clit, slick with anticipation.
“I am available, Daddy.” I continued my fancy footwork on his jewels.
“You say you’re available. However, does that mean you’re single or in an open relationship?” Alistair asked.
“I’m single. Now, it’s my turn for questions. Do you believe in love?”
“I do.”
“You’ve been married before, and you’ve fathered a child with your ex-wife. Were you in love?”
“You really are a lawyer with those questions.” He let out a slow breath, eyes steady on mine. “The truth? I was never in love with my ex. But there was someone else. Someone I actually loved.”
I noticed his eyes crinkled when he gave a tight smile, indicating he was older than his youthful energy alluded. He could have passed as thirty. “Are you still in love with her?” I asked, sipping the rest of my beer.
“No.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m thirty-six.”
“I’m twenty-seven.”
“Age is just a number.” Alistair sensually rubbed his thumb on my hand. “It’s what’s in our hearts that matters.”
“I know.” I threw him a sophic grin.
“Ah, there’s the Mona Lisa smile,” Alistair said, eyes lighting up like fireworks. “God, you are so fucking sexy, do you know that?”
“I know.” My foot continued to massage his groin in circular motions.
“Let’s talk about our experiences,” he suggested. “You’re an incredibly sexy woman, and I want to know everything about you.”
“Everything?” my voice hitched. “I keep my bedroom secrets locked.”
“I’ll start,” he said. “I enjoy BDSM. Whips, handcuffs, and spanking. How about you?”
Chuckling, I answered, “BDSM is part of my sex life. I also like to have some fun with two or more partners. What’s been your experience?”
“The more, the merrier,” he replied with a smirk.
“How many?”
“Ah, wouldn’t you like to know, sweetheart?”
“How about anal sex?” I asked. “Do you give, receive, or both?”
“I do both. Now, Vera, which gender do you prefer?”
“Mmm, both. And you?”
“I prefer women, but I’ve had sex with men,” Alistair confessed. “Age difference… younger or older?”
“I’ve been with both,” I admitted. “The youngest was a construction worker six years younger, and the oldest was a partner of a law firm in his mid-fifties.”
Alistair raised one eyebrow. “Interesting choices. My ex is an older woman, and the youngest I’ve been with is twenty-one. Tell me about your construction worker.”
“Oh, he was working near my apartment, and I happened to walk by. We started talking, and the rest is history.”
“What’s his name? Maybe I should hire him to fix a few things in my apartment building.”
“Do you expect me to remember names?” I scoffed, causing Alistair to laugh. “Moving along, what haven’t you done yet?” I asked.
“You,” Alistair said, staring at me. “I want you,” he repeated.
“Can I get you something else? Some coffee or dessert?” Barnaby bounced from behind me.
Way to go, Barnaby. Just fuck off, please.
Alistair scratched his upper wrist and tilted his head toward our waiter. “No, nothing for me. How about you?” His finger tickled my inner thigh.
“No, I’m good,” I answered.
“I’ll settle the bill,” Alistair said, then dipped his head low when Barnaby disappeared.
I couldn’t help but notice a tuft of short, curly chest hair below Alistair’s throat.
He ran his fingers through a crown of light-brown curls on his head, which accentuated his handsome face’s sharp angles.
I felt a voracious appetite for Alistair Scott, who looked like a tempting snack.
My stomach was sated, but my pussy screamed for his cock.
I took his hand, which teased between my legs, and slipped it inside my thong so he felt my wet sex. I’m not ready to let you go, I wanted to say.
Alistair’s jungle-green eyes shone with a readiness to ravage me. He cleared his throat and asked the inevitable question. “My place or yours?”
“There’s a place I know where we can go. Do you trust me, Daddy?”
“Of course, sweetheart. I trust you.”
I was a huntress on a big-game hunt for megafauna, and my hunger was insatiable. I was ready to taste Alistair Scott.