Page 22 of Plum

What?

“I mean, it’s your money. I can be anything you want. But if the fantasy is to fuck a white trash whore in the bathroom of the fancy restaurant or whatever, you’re gonna have to let me know. I don’t generally feel less than, so I’m gonna have to dig deep to get into character.”

It’s as if she slammed me in the chest. I take a sip of wine to play for time. She glares at me, and for some reason, it’s hard to meet her eyes. The tension is now mutual. And then there’s my dick which only seemed to hearfuck in the bathroom. I’m so hard, my cock is pulsing.

Now I really don’t know what to say.

I was in a weird head space? It was late. I have insomnia, and I’d been up almost forty-eight hours at that point? It was spur of the moment?

Until I saw her again, I’d fooled myself that it was a sleep-deprived bout of temporary insanity, but if I said that now, it’d be a lie. I want this woman. I’m hungry for her in a way I’ve never been for a woman before. It’s insane. Probably unhealthy. Definitely ill-advised. Maybe it’s a delayed rebound reaction to the break up with Renee. Maybe the stress of juggling Thomas Wade’s expectations and Eric’s mad plans is finally getting to me.

I glance out the window, and I catch my reflection. In my Zegna suit and my hundred-dollar haircut, I look like I belong. No one would think I don’t.

And then there’s Plum, her cheap dye job and her obvious knockoff purse. No jewelry. White pleather stripper heels. So out of place she might as well be from a different planet.

It doesn’t make sense—I don’t understand it myself—but I don’t want her to sit there and think I’m a piece of shit for asking her here.

I’ve never had trouble with women. Not at Mountchassen. Certainly not since. But goddamn, I have no idea what to do. I want her to want me back. Ineedto taste this woman. Breathe her in. Stroke that soft skin and make her moan. Pinch her tits and make her squeal. I shift and the heat of my cock on my thigh almost burns. It’s stuck down my pant leg again.Fuck.

Thank goodness the waiter comes. “And have you decided, sir?”

While I was all up in my head, the charcuterie arrived. Plum’s eating a duck rillette with a spoon.

I pause, give her space to respond. She shrugs and keeps munching on the rillette.

“I’ll have the wagyu ribeye. Medium. She’ll have the lobster medallions.”

“And the squab,” she pipes up. “I’m not walkin’ out of this joint without tryin’ squab.”

“The squab then. Excellent.” The waiter’s smile is tight. I want to punch it off his face.

“And the lobster.” She’s eyeing me, a sparkle in those blue eyes. It sends a zing through me, that sparkle. I love it.

“Of course, madam.”

“And this.” She has the wine menu, and she’s pointing to a two thousand bottle of champagne. Of course, there are no prices. She must have some intuitive sense, though, because she went unerringly to the champagne at the bottom of the list.

I frown, pretend to be put out. Like I guessed, pissing me off amuses her. The ghost of a smile plays at the corner of her lips.

“Sir?”

“And the champagne,” I say. “That’ll be all.”

Her face finally breaks into a smile, maybe the first real one I’ve seen, and damn, but sheglows. Her cheeks chub, and her eyes squint, and her whole body kind of quivers. I can’t tear my gaze away. A primal part of me wants to reach for her, drag her onto my lap, devour those upturned lips.

The smile fades too quickly, and I’m casting around in my head for something that’ll bring it back. I’m lost, though. Not surprising. All the blood that normally flows to my brain is pooling in my dick.

We sit in silence until the sommelier brings the champagne. Plum’s uptight and folded—arms and legs—when he pours a sip for her approval. She deliberately stares out the window. She must be unsure of what to do. I wave him off before he can begin his spiel.

As soon as he leaves, she grabs the bottle and tops her glass off. Then she drains it, daring me to say anything with those jaded, blue eyes.

“Is it good?”

But I don’t really have to ask. The look of surprise on her face tells the story, as does her moan of delight that goes straight to my cock. It’s aching now, chafing against my boxers. Shit, I haven’t been this hard and ready since I was sixteen. Was she serious about the bathroom?

“Yup.” She pours herself another—she’s not letting me anywhere near the bottle—and then she gulps down another glass. This time, the bubbles must tickle her nose because she lets loose a series of little sneezes.

“Bless you.”

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