He wore a midnight black suit with a stunning blue tie. Anytime he wore dark colors, it always complemented his dark hair and eyes. He was the kind of man that constantly combated facial hair. It seemed like every time I saw him, he had a shadow along his jawline. He didn’t have hair on his chest, and it didn’t seem like he shaved it. His shiny watch on his wrist was never the same as the one he wore before. He changed it every day, so he must have had two dozen watches hidden in his closet somewhere.
Anytime a woman saw me with him, she probably hated me. A woman who could win over a man like him was naturally the most hated woman on the planet. I would probably feel the same way if I spotted him with someone else across the room. I would fantasize about the incredible sex they had on a nightly basis. I would imagine what it would be like to come home to him every day.
Too bad he wasn’t the romantic type. All he cared about was fucking virgins—like it was a game.
I had no idea why he was like that.
“Does your brother do the same thing?”
He watched me as he finished chewing his bite. He took his time, as if he didn’t care how long he made me wait. “Yes, he manages the hotels on the east—”
“I meant screwing virgins. Is he into that too?”
He stilled at the question, clearly not expecting it. “No. He has a fiancée.”
“Does he know you do this?”
“I don’t care what he does in the privacy of his bedroom, and I imagine that feeling is mutual.”
“Does anyone know you do this?” I scarfed down three pieces of pizza and slurped my soda.
“Other than Max and the women, no.”
“You’ve kept it a secret for five years?” I asked in surprise.
“Yes. There are some people who suspect what I do, but they don’t have any evidence. Most women don’t want the world to know I paid them to pop their cherry—or they just asked me to do it.”
“So…how many women have you been with?”
“Virgins?” he asked.
“Yes.”
His eyes shifted back and forth as he counted in his head. “Three a week times fifty-two weeks…times five…a lot.”
I couldn’t do that math in my head, but it was definitely a lot. “And you don’t get tired of it?”
“No.” He grabbed his fork and took another bite of his salad. “There are brothels all over the world that still offer these services. In ancient times, rich men paid a great deal for the experience. It’s not that rare. And trust me, more men would do it if they could afford it. We’re all dogs—some just do a better job of hiding it.”
“I don’t think all men are like that.”
“Not all—but most. Good men are the ones who are honest about it.”
“You can be honest about killing someone, but that doesn’t make you a good person.”
“Not the same thing, sweetheart.” He finished his lunch then drank his water. “You must have fantasies too. Maybe you’re not experienced enough to have them, but you do.”
“But they’re normal fantasies, like finding a good man who will treat me right, be faithful to me, and have a family with me. That’s my fantasy—someone to grow old with. I don’t want just a relationship or to be in love. I want loyalty—real loyalty.”
“Loyalty is hard to find.”
“Which is why it’s so valuable.”
He rested his elbows on the table as he looked at me. “I have a charity thing to go to on Saturday night. Would you like to be my date? It’s black tie.”
“Your date?” I asked in surprise. “Have you ever publicly had a date?”
“Not for over five years now. But I don’t care what they print about me.”
So he’d had a public date before that?
“My company gives a big donation to the police department. So we’re one of the big sponsors of the night. There will be dinner, drinks, and I’ll give a speech. Nothing too exciting.”
“You’ll give a speech?” I asked. “That sounds fun.”
“Is that a yes?”
“No,” I said. “I want to know why you’re asking me first.”
“Maybe seeing me give a speech in my best suit will turn you on.”
“So that’s the only thing you care about?” I asked with a laugh. “Any opportunity to get laid?”
He didn’t show any shame when he gave his answer. “Yes. That’s all I think about every time we’re together. Our hot, sweaty bodies moving together on the sheets as I rock my big dick inside you over and over. I think about the drops of blood of your innocence staining my sheets. I picture the tears that fall down your cheeks. I imagine the moans you make when it starts to feel good…then I picture the screams when you come. Yes, sweetheart. That’s my end game. I want you to let me have you.” He blurted out his thoughts so fluidly, telling me exactly what was going on in that big brain of his. “So, will you come with me?”