Kept for His Appetites Read Online Free Page B

And presumably drop, just as carelessly. But then he said,
     
    “Maybe you’d like to be a more established member of the team.”
     
    ‘Team’? What was he talking about?
     
    “Anyway, dinner,” he said, “Have you decided yet?”
     
    “Decided?”
     
    “What we’ll have?”
     
    “Oh, yes. Of course.” I hadn’t. He said,
     
    “So?”
     
    I was struggling to stay on top of this conversation. I needed an exit line. Why could I never hold my own with this man? How was I always on the back foot? I had to say something. I said,
     
    “So, about 9.30, then?”
     
    He laughed. I left. I was half way across the foredeck when I heard him call out,
     
    “Isn’t there something else?”
     
    I stopped. Was there? What? If there was something else, why didn’t he just say what it was? Why the guessing game? I turned and stepped back into the sunlounge, my cheeks blazing. I didn’t trust my voice, and so I waited. He said,
     
    “Don’t you want to know how many of us will be dining?”
     
    I laughed. Fair enough, yes I did need to know that, and I said so.
     
    “Two.” he said. “And we’ll have it on the deck out there.”
     
    I was still smiling, feeling lighter, and I thanked him before I left again.
     
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    ~~~~~~~~~~
     
    I found some great looking steaks and I made fries, with mustard and a simple salad on the side. Not complicated, not especially clever, but if it’s done well, it can’t be beat. I bet there isn’t a restaurant in the world too smart to offer steak and fries as one of their top main courses. My daddy showed me how to cook a steak, and it’s never been anything but great.
     
    A table was already laid on the deck, with two chairs. There was nobody there. It was 9.30 exactly. The table was out under the sky, and bathed in moonlight. There was no sight of land that I could see. No lights, except for those spilling from the boat, and the full moon above. I set the plates out on the table, and the salad. The sea sparkled. Wispy clouds drifted above, the boat was still, apart from a gentle swaying. Ripples of the sea lapped at the sides of the boat. It all looked wonderful.
     
    I heard his voice behind me, “It looks wonderful.”
     
    How did he do that?
     
    He came around to one of the chairs, pulled it out and stood by, holding it.
     
    “What?” I said. Or something equally brilliant.
     
    “Two for dinner. You, and I.”
     
    About as wittily as I could I said, “but…”
     
    “Did you want to change?” he said, through that damn grin, “only, it will go cold, wont it?”
     
    We ate. His eyes were on me, the whole way through. His dark eyes sparkled in the moonlight, and they flitted all over my tunic. They brushed up my neck and, pleasingly enough, although terrifyingly, they spent a lot of time locked on my eyes, too. The steak was as good as I’d hoped. He poured us gorgeous, rich red wine. We chatted and laughed, we had an astonishing amount to talk about, and he listened to me with a fierce attention. It was all good. Really good. This was one fabulously attractive man, and his interest in me was clear, open and frank.
     
    I don’t have sex on a first date. Ever. It doesn’t matter who the man is, or the setting or the occasion. It’s a shortcut to disaster, never fails. So, it’s a rule, I just won’t do it, under any circumstances. And, especially, never with a colleague or an employer. Nuh-uh.
     
    He ripped his shirt open, the buttons flew. The table fell with a lot of clatter. Everything in my head screamed, ‘RESIST!’ No part of my body complied. His hands flew to my soft, round buttocks, and our mouths docked with an airtight seal.
     
    His lithe tongue plunged into my waiting mouth as he explored me. His hips drove into mine, and I felt his massive cock press against my pelvis, against my thigh, against my buzzing clit, my hot, soaking, desperate puss. He ground up between my legs, through those damned chef’s pants,