Page 36 of Tarek

“This is a first. I never had a woman ask if I was flirting. Normally they would know.”

Clearing my throat, I straighten myself on the chair. “Well now I know. What’s next?”

Tarek burst out laughing, the staff all turn in our direction. “Right up next is a callaloo soup with dumplings.”

The next hour, six courses are presented to me, one tastier than the other.

Tarek pours wine into my glass. “What do you think?”

“I think you are about to get a Michelin star in the Caribbean,” I state as I sip my wine.

He folds his arms and leans on the table. The more I look at him the finer he gets. His eyes are hypnotizing. His irises are silvery gray, they almost look metallic. I think they stand out more since they are framed with long black lashes.

“It’s a shame that such beautiful lashes are wasted on a man,”

He shifts his eyes down, as if he is pretending to blush. “I can strongly say nothing is wasted on you Penelope.”

Did his voice just get deeper? I felt that. It shot from my brain straight to my pussy. Oh, I didn’t notice this tone of voice before.

“I have a question?” Yes, his voice is definitely heavier.

Those irises, sees right through me as he asks, “Where do you see yourself, five years from now?”

With my hand under my chin, I glide my fingers on the rim of the glass.

“More successful with a kid.”

“What about the man?” he asks sounding a bit offended.

“I don’t need one.” I wait for his judgement.

His chuckle is deep almost mocking. “How do you intend to get a child?”

“Either I find a sperm donor or go to a clinic,” I state without pretense. This has been my plan for the longest.

“You’re joking?”

“Nope, I just broke up with my last boyfriend. I don’t really need a man.”

Tarek strokes his chin. “You have it all figured out.”

“Yes I do.”

“What about lo—” His phone rings, and he pulls it out of his pocket.

“Excuse me.” He leans back in the chair and answers, “Yeah.”

As he is on the phone, it’s the perfect opportunity to take him in fully. I pay attention to his hands—long strong fingers with prominent veins and his nails are neatly trimmed. They have a rugged charm about them. Like his grip would be wide and firm. The lines of tattoos sneak out at the edge of the shirt.

His broad chest tapers down to a narrow waist. He stands and begins to pace, and I am so thankful. His long legs that are encased in his pants, give hints of a sculpted wide thigh. I enjoy seeing the way his clothing shifts on his body. He turns, and his ass is enough. It’s sufficient to squeeze, and hold.

“I don’t give a fuck, fix it,” he speaks into the phone.

As he turns my eyes are trained on his zipper. Normally I can tell how big a man’s dick is by his dick impression. I wouldn’t say I am a cock connoisseur, but I can tell the size of a man’s cock by looking at a man’s zipper. With Tarek, I can’t tell shit.

I squint, my eyes strain, trying to see it. Maybe he has tucked it away or maybe he has a micro penis. Oh, to be this tall, handsome and have a dick that can only be seen under a magnifying glass. It’s such a shame. If he would stand still, I would be able to see. As if he is reading my mind, he stands on the other side of the table, facing me. Still I see nothing, I squint harder, still nothing. My god where is it? A throat clears and my stare meets his icy eyes. His brow arches. Busted. Quickly, I look away, fixing the napkin on my lap.

His dark shoes come to my side as he stands right next to me with his back facing the kitchen.

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