Page 24 of Dark Seduction

Luk leans in a bit. "Speaking of which, what’s your story, Dalia? Where are you from?"

Dalia relaxes into her chair. "I’m from Maple Grove, a little town in Rhode Island, not far from Providence. My mom’s a schoolteacher, loved by everyone. And my dad is a second-generation Egyptian-American and runs the general store there—your typical middle-class businessman."

Watching her, I'm struck by her poise and the way she articulates her background with such pride. Her confidence is incredibly appealing.

The contrast between her public persona and our private encounters is strikingly sexy. Dalia handles herself with a no-bullshit attitude that commands respect from everyone around her.

Yet in the privacy of the bedroom, she transforms into a yielding plaything, eager and pliant under my control. This duality fascinates me, and as much as I admire her assertive side, the thought of her sweet submission is enough to get the blood pumping to my cock.

I want more.

And I’ll have it.

Chapter 10

Lev

Lunch concludes and we stand outside the restaurant, saying our goodbyes.

I turn to Dalia. "I'll take you back myself."

We walk toward my car, a sleek Mercedes-Benz S-Class, its glossy obsidian black finish catching the afternoon sun.

“Nice car,” she says as we approach.

“Thanks.”

As I open the passenger door for her, she teases, "A bit old-fashioned, aren't you?"

I flash a quick smile. "I assure you, I'm anything but old-fashioned. If anyone should know that it’s you.”

She glances back at me as she slips into the car, a tinge of blush on her cheeks.

Once we're both settled inside, I turn to her with a proposal. "How about we both take the rest of the day off?"

She looks surprised, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Why?"

Leaning back, I meet her gaze directly, the intensity clear in my eyes.

"Because all I could think about during the meeting was how much I wanted to make you come again," I confess.

She gasps at my frankness, but the mischievous sparkle in her eyes betrays her intrigue.

“You’re the boss.”

I start the car and pull into the stream of city traffic, the engine purring smoothly.

"Where do you live?" I ask, glancing over at her as we navigate the bustling streets.

"In Wicker Park, on Pierce Avenue near the park entrance.”

"Have you ever given road head?” I ask with as much nonchalance as if I’m asking her favorite color.

She laughs for a minute before realizing I’m serious. “Uh, no, I haven’t,” she admits, but I can see her interest is piqued.

“Well, then, you should try it. As in right now,” I say. I watch her squirm in her seat out of the corner of my eye.

As I return my focus to the road, she reaches over, unzipping my slacks with a delicate yet eager touch.

---