When I cross my arms over my chest and lean back in my seat, I notice the way her eyes scan my tattoos again. I didn’t miss the way she reacted when I removed the jacket, completely flabbergasted by the sight.
Posh women like her always go nuts for the ink. And the muscles, too. It tugs at their proper education and snobbish values, and they can’t compute the thoughts they trigger. Their brains begin to wonder if maybe bland-and-boring-Bernard, or whatever the fuck their partner is called, is what they really need after all.
Given the place she picked for us to meet, I figured she was upper-class, so I knew my appearance would surprise her to some extent. But she had to know the kind of men her very specific request would bring, didn’t she?
“Do you do this often?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Certainly not. This is the first and probably last time.”
“Am I being so terribly disappointing, red?”
The nickname earns me a glare, but she still answers, “You’re not what I expected.”
“And what did you expect?”
She ponders for a moment, her pretty little head tilting to the side as she assesses me. “Not someone this intense.”
Despite her earlier shock—which I was expecting—she seems to have a bit of spunk. That bold lie about her not being Jessica was greatly entertaining, and the way she owned it was admirable. It’s a good thing. I like them fiery inside and out, or it quickly gets dull.
“You’ve seen nothing yet, red.”
The freckles are gone again, and she squirms in her chair. Just like that, I know she’s imagining my pierced cock in her pussy, and it compels me to do the same. Well, if this doesn’t lead to sex, I’ll be going home with the bluest balls I’ve ever sported.
As though reading my mind, she puts her glass down and faces me, her expression grave. “If we were to engage in coitus,” she hesitantly starts.
“Don’t call it coitus.”
She disapprovingly frowns. “It’s the proper terminology.”
“Unless you want a man to go flaccid, don’t call it that.”
That’s a lie, though. I’m hard as fuck in my jeans, somehow turned on by her rigid manners.
“I couldn’t care less about the state of your… appendage.”
I grin, unable to hold it back. Just thinking of my dick makes her cheeks pinker. “You were saying about us possibly fucking?”
“Yes, I need to clarify a few things.”
“Clarify away.”
“First, I’d need to see recent STI test results.”
Well, she doesn’t beat around the bush. “Sorry, love, but I always use condoms. Especially with strangers from random dating apps.”
“It would be in addition to the use of a condom,” she states firmly. Then, after a brief moment of silent thought, she asks, “Does the latex impede the sensation of the piercings?”
“No. If we fuck, you’ll feel them. And me.”
My crude words make her blush even redder, and the way she presses her crossed legs together isn’t lost on me. She likes this, my attitude, the unknown territory she’s venturing into, the way we couldn’t be more mismatched… It works for her as much as it works for me.
“I get tested every two months, and I’m currently waiting on the results from last Wednesday,” I offer as a compromise. “Would that be recent enough?”
She thinks about it for a couple of beats and nods. “If we do this within the next ten days, that’ll suffice, yes.”
“Brilliant. Anything else you need? My social security number? Place and date of birth? My family’s medical history?”
The playful banter doesn’t land well this time, and her face falls into a vexed scowl. “If you’d rather not abide by my rules, we can put an end to this and call it a day.”
