“It’s quite all right. Besides, I enjoy listening to you talk. I find it … refreshing.”

“Yeah, right. I’m probably putting you to sleep. Anyway, you know what they say …”

“No, why don’t you enlighten me?”

I smirk. “It’s the quiet ones you have to be careful with. They have the dirtiest minds.”

He roars with laughter, and somehow that makes me happy. Once he’s calmed down, he drains his wine in one gulp, places the glass on the table, and turns to look at me, amusement dancing in his green eyes.

“I’m not a saint, Blaire. I’ve lived my life fully and had more than a few indulgences along the way.”

“Good because I’m no angel.”

“Come here, Blaire, let me take a look at you,” he says, his voice growing husky.

I take another sip of wine as we eye each other, making the moment stretch a little longer. The way he’s now staring at me—all traces of laughter gone—unnerves me, but I won’t cower in front of him. If anything, it makes me want to make him uncomfortable in return. I want to watch him lose his cool. Once I return my glass to the table, I wipe the corners of my lips with the cloth napkin that was on my lap and place it next to my spoon before I stand.

When he realizes that I plan to sit on the table in front of him, he pushes his chair slightly back to give me the space I need. Once I’m seated, we face each other silently, each daring the other to finally cross the line we’ve been skirting all night and acknowledge that this isn’t some sort of romantic date. Quite the contrary.

“Go ahead.” I spread my legs as wide as the tight skirt of my dress will allow. “Take a look.” I place one hand on the cool wood underneath me for support, and use my free hand to pull my black thong to the side, completely baring myself to him. “Tell me, Lawrence … do you like what you see?”

He’s quiet as he takes all of me in. His breathing doesn’t catch. His eyes, though dark with desire, don’t hesitate to boldly peruse my body. He remains calmly seated in the high-back wooden chair as I brazenly expose myself to him. I should be ashamed—embarrassed—but instead, pure and unadulterated excitement runs through my veins, making my body hum with an illicit kind of thrill. The man is a taboo … forbidden, yet so appealing.

After several seconds, or an eternity, he stands between my legs, the chair making a scratching sound as he pushes it back. He strokes my upper thigh with the back of his hand ever so gently. Higher and higher his touch invades, assaulting my senses until it’s dangerously close to my entrance.

“Tell me, Blaire. Why do you think you’re here?” he asks nonchalantly as I watch his hand finally slide between my thighs, spreading me open with two of his fingers. I can feel the roughness of his jeans caressing the inside of my thighs when he steps closer to me.

I’m about to answer him when I feel his middle finger flick my clit, rubbing it in nice slow circles. I suppress a moan. “I’m here because I have something you want, and you have something I want.”

“Spread your legs wider,” he orders and I follow. “You’re correct. I want to sleep with you for as long as I’m in New York. No strings attached, no feelings, no complications. And, Blaire, I’m willing to pay whatever you ask as long as you don’t forget those basic and simple rules.”

“I won’t, but what happens after?”

“You walk away with a full bank account.”

Then he slips one … two … three fingers inside me, thrusting evenly, coating his fingers in my body’s reaction to his touch. Pumping in and out, fingering me on a table that probably costs more than two months of my rent.

“You’re so responsive,” he says, withdrawing his damp fingers. He brings them inside his mouth and sucks them clean. I watch the flash of his tongue as he drags them out, my taste leaving a trace behind.

I swallow hard when he returns his three fingers to my entrance and starts impaling me with his hand, forcing me to feel every single inch as they leave my body only to be driven back with more force than before. A part of me wants to hate his touch, wants to be disgusted with his proposition, but I would only be fooling myself. The real Blaire, the one who rules my decisions, fucking loves it.

“What do you say, Blaire?” I hear him ask hoarsely, his voice finally giving him up. He’s as affected as I am.

I moan, my body tight with pleasure and tension. My head swirls in a haze of lust. I’m a wanton woman at his feet, and I don’t care. As I watch his glistening fingers disappearing between my legs, I pant, “But what about love, Lawrence? Don’t you want my love too?”

“No. Save that for your infinite conquests,” he says, the pad of his thumb now rubbing my clit mercilessly while he continues to finger-fuck me, driving me closer to blissful hell. “Or that special someone you talked about.”

I gasp, placing a hand on his shoulder for support. I’m so close to coming … the colors in the room become brighter, my senses heightened. I don’t know why I asked that question. We understand each other perfectly: we use and we discard.

He drives harder and harder and harder until my release hits me with the blinding power of thunder. A bodily frenzy takes over as I come undone from the inside out. My body drained from such a powerful climax, I open my eyes to find him watching me closely. The crests of his cheeks flushed, his hair still perfect, but the spark in his eyes burns so brightly, so vividly, I can feel it searing a hole through me. He leans forward as he pulls out and runs his wet fingers over my lips. I can smell myself on him, and if I wanted to, I could taste myself on his fingertips.

“If love is what you seek, I suggest we finish dinner and pretend this conversation never happened. Let me keep your memory alive by not regretting having met you and being disillusioned with reality. I would rather remember you as the strikingly beautiful woman with the hunger in her eyes who didn’t care for plebeian feelings such as love.”

“No need for that. I don’t want any of those things either. Love ruins everything.”

“Good. So what do you say, Blaire? Will it be a yes … or a no?”

“I’ll need a lot of money. I want a flat in SoHo with my name on its deed.” I grin. “I want to be spoiled rotten.”

“Of course. I’ll give you that and more.”

“Just one more question.”

He smiles, appearing to have expected that. “Yes?”

“Why choose me when you could be with anyone? Someone famous and more beautiful?”

“More beautiful than you? I doubt it.”

“Really?” I raise an eyebrow sardonically and purse my lips, which makes him laugh.

Quiet for a moment as the room becomes a blur around us, he focuses his gaze on me and runs a hand through my long hair. “You’re too smart for your own good, Blaire. You know that, right? But fine. It’s because we speak the same language. You and me … we’re cut from the same cloth. We see something we want and we take it. We don’t let emotions get the better of us.”

What do I have to lose? If I’m honest with myself, this is my dream come true. No feelings. No emotions. Just sex, and a shit load of money.

“Okay,” I swallow once, “make me an offer.”