Beckett The doorbell rings. She’s here. Since Arianne doesn’t have wheels, I hired a car for her. I drop the bottle of Italian red on the dining room table and eat up the floor underneath me on my way to the door. Eager to see her again, I fling it open. All the blood in my brain travels south so fast, I falter back. A ray of sunshine greets me. Arianne’s brown eyes sparkle and her sunny smile dazzles against the darkening sky as the sun sets behind her. I give her an appreciative onceover. Her hair is now up in a messy updo with loose strands flirting against her cheeks. Her makeup is as subtle as it was earlier. She’s wearing a vampy, off-shoulder dress with a frill ruffle running at the front that hits her right above the knee in a light shade of yellow that displays her tempting slender curves to perfection. She completes the look with a pair of open-toe high heels in gold. My cock twitches in approval. “The plan was for us to have dinner before I have my way with you, but you’re making it hard in that dress,” I say in lieu of a greeting. “You look like my naughty dreams come true.” This newfound monogamy thing is unheard of for a guy like me. Lo and behold Rhys’s scheme changed me. Arianne is the only woman I’ve been with in a while and she’s the only woman I want to be with. I’m used to scratching an itch and responding to my basic carnal needs without a second thought. My cock often does all the thinking. Not since this woman walked into my life. No-strings-attached-Beckett is now attached. Un-freaking-believable. I fucked her on Sunday morning before leaving Germany, since then I’ve been horny as hell. Her looking as good as she does now doesn’t help my case. She works her lower lip. Those mischievous eyes tell the whole story. “This was planned,” I say. “You didn’t show up here looking like a goddess by mistake.” “I wanted to look pretty for our first date.” I give her another onceover. “Sorry, cupcake, you failed. Forget about pretty. You look fucking hot.” She beams. No more sedate business suits for my girl. I’ll never admit it, but I sometimes miss obsessing about what she’s hiding underneath her armor. “Let’s talk about the el ephant in the doorway,” I say. She looks behind her. “I’m talking about those, silly.” I point to the bags she’s holding in each hand. “Just a few gifts,” she says with a coquettish one-shoulder shrug. “Arianne.” I shake my head. “What did I tell you?” “You said just to bring myself—” “I said just to bring your fine ass.” She blushes. “Well, my fine ass grew up with Scottish parents. Showing up emptyhanded isn’t in their DNA—hence, it isn’t in mine. Since you took care of the food and dessert, I figured I’d supply the drink.”
“You didn’t have to.” “I know, but I wanted to.” “I have the wine covered—” “I figured you’d say that.” “What did you get us?” She lifts one hand. “I took care of champagne.” “I already bought champagne to celebrate tonight.” “Oh.” She frowns. “You can never have too much champagne.” “I agree. What else did you bring?” “Since you thoroughly enjoyed cognac while we were in Germany”— she lifts the other bag— “I thought I’d get you a bottle. I’m sure you must have some in stock, but in case you run out.” “You kill me.” “I wanted to be more original, but...” “But?” “There’s so much I don’t know about you.” “Hence, why we’re dating. Get your fine ass in here.” She st eps inside, and I grab the bags from her. “Thanks,” she says. “I got a crash course in cognac today. Who knew there was so much to learn?” I drop the bags on the console table, close the door and lock it before returning my undivided attention to her. “What did you learn?” “Well, you just don’t walk into a liquor store and ask for a bottle of cognac. You have to know what you’re looking for. You have different levels of sophistication for different price points and different palates,” she says. “The salesperson told me if I wanted to impress my host, a bottle of Louis XIII would make for an unforgettable gift. When I saw the staggering price tag, my eyes popped out of their sockets. Three thousand seven hundred dollars for booze? I settled for a refined bottle of Rémy Martin XO—” “You did the right thing by settling.” “Glad to hear I dodged that bullet. It would’ve been embarrassing had I showed up on our first date with something subpar,” she says. “You know, I would’ve been more than happy with just your fine ass.” “Scottish parents, remember? To finish my story, I told the salesperson, the Louis XIII was too rich for my blood. I explained how my current client didn’t pay me enough to be able to afford such luxury. That said, I made a mental note to speak to said client first thing tomorrow morning about beefing up my fees so I can have discretionary income for pricier booze.” Tease. I pull her to me. “Why wait until tomorrow? You can talk to your current client about your fees as early as tonight... preferably in his bed, naked and willing. I’m sure he’d be far more rec eptive than he’d be at the office.” She looks up at me, batting her eyelashes like an innocent debutante. “My word, sir. I’d never dream of crossing the line. That would be wrong. Not to mention, I doubt my new boyfriend would approve.” My hands rove down to the small of her back. “You sure about that?” Lust ripples through my body, feeling her this close. Damn. I’ve missed her sexy little body. “On second thought, I’m sure my new boyfriend would understand that my client drives a hard bargain.” Her coated voice and lidded eyes are my demise. An endless list of priorities made it easy for me to be a good boy today, the gloves are off. I crush her lips, plunging my tongue de ep inside her mouth, searching for hers. I ravish her mouth, making up for the last three hours since my lips were on hers. I cup her ass and squeeze hard, forcing her to feel the length of my desire as I grind my hard cock against her stomach. I let out a low growl as the passion between us ratchets.
Fuck. I break our embrace. “Let’s have dinner before I devour you.” “I think you already started.” “Let’s put a pause on things while we’re still ahead, then.” “If we must,” she says with feigned affliction. “Eager much?” “Not that I’m counting, but it’s been three days.” I shake my head. “I’ve created a maneater.” We both laugh. I grab the bags and with our fingers interlaced, I drag her to the kitchen. Her head turning left to right as we stroll through the house. “I’ve never ventured in a mansion before.” “You’ll get the grand tour after dinner.” “I’m surprised you didn’t feel claustrophobic in the diminutive bathroom at my place. Your house is palatial.” “I was focused on only one thing,” I say. “Not to mention, the small size of the space made my cock look even bigger so I can’t complain.” She laughs. “That didn’t sound vain at all.” “Not at all.” I smile. “Welcome to Casa di Beckett,” I say with a ceremonious bow when we enter the kitchen. “Did you buy a restaurant out of business?” Her eyes take in the multiple bags sitting on the kitchen island. “I’m not as good as my brother or my cousins in the kitchen. They’re all single dads, so they have an incentive. I thought I’d leave it to professionals.” “I’m not a great cook myself.” “Look at that, we have so much in common,” I say. “So, so much,” she says. “If you didn’t whip all this up, who’s responsible for the spread?” “Belloni is one of the best Italian restaurants in the city. They’re pretty strict when it comes to their food.” “What do you mean?” “You won’t find them listed on any food delivery services’ website,” I say. “You want their food? You show up. And it’s not like they’re next-door. It’s a trek to get there. Every delicious bite makes up for it.” “I’m starved inhaling the amazing aroma, and your glorious review makes it worse.” “Wait ’till you sink your teeth into the food. It’s an experience. I got small portions of their most popular dishes and all of my favorites. I also bought a platter of Italian charcuterie and cheese. Dessert at Belloni is equally unforgettable. I stuck with the classics—tiramisu and cannoli. Belloni add their twist to cannoli by flavoring the mascarpone cream. It’s a thing of beauty.” “Good thing I brought an appetite.” “Good thing, indeed.” She assesses the mountain of food. “What can I do to help?” “Nothing. You’re my guest. Sit and enjoy.” I point to a stool in front of the granite kitchen island. “I can give you a hand.” “Tonight, my job is to take care of all of your needs. I don’t want you lifting a finger, unless you’re about to wrap your hand around my cock.” She swats my chest. “You’re impossible.” “I know.” I grin. “Not to mention, your dress is way too pretty to play the role of sous-chef.” “I feel like a princess.” “You are a princess. My princess.” “Lucky me.” I open my mouth to say something, but I hesitate. “What is it?” I have zero experience in dating. “I’m flying blind here, Arianne.” I run a hand through my hair. “Maybe this first date is a little too
low key. Ideally, we’d be sitting at a Michelinstarred restaurant and I’d be serenading you with expensive wine and a meal to remember, but we’re so high-profile these days... I wanted tonight to be about us. No audience. No photographers. No celebrity bloggers. No paparazzi. No autographs to sign. Just Arianne and Beckett.” Her mouth twists into a small smile. “Being with you is more important than being seen with you. And for the record just Arianne and Beckett is perfect.” She gets on her toes and offers her lips. No way am I going to say no to that.