“Jonathan, please stop being childish. You and I have meaningless sex. That’s it. There’s nothing more to it. I’m sorry if you’ve started to like me, but I don’t like you—at least not in that way. I don’t think about you at night, you don’t cross my mind throughout the day, and I just use you for some much needed stress relief, so if you could just—”

He pushed me against the wall and forced his lips on top of mine, kissing me so hard I could barely breathe. He slid his hand underneath the slit of my dress—running his hands across my thighs. Then he twisted my panties and ripped them off.

“Jonathan—”

“Shut up.” He lifted my leg and hooked it around his waist. “Put your arms around my neck.”

“Jona—”

“I’m not going to ask you again.”

I placed my arms around his neck and heard him unzipping his pants.

“You don’t think about me when you’re alone in bed at night?” He looked into my eyes.

“No, I—” I suddenly felt his dick slamming into me, knocking my body against the wall. I tried to unhook my leg from around him, but he cupped my ass and held me steady.

“I never cross your mind during the day?” he whispered harshly.

“Never.”

He slammed into me again—over and over, making me scream so loudly I was sure the other people in the restaurant could hear me. He grunted as he squeezed my ass and impaled me—going deeper and deeper with every stroke.

I clawed wildly at his neck, wanting him to stop this passionate torture, but I couldn’t bring myself to say ‘stop’; it felt way too good.

He yanked the top part of my dress down and began kissing my hardened nipples—sucking them greedily, nearly sending me over the edge.

I was sure I was going to cum right then and there, but all of a sudden he pulled out.

“You honestly only use me for stress relief?” He teased my entrance with his dick, circling it around and around.

I didn’t answer him. I looked down and tried to catch my breath, tried to gain back the resolve he’d so easily broken.

“Answer me.” He pulled me by my hair and forced me to look up at him.

“Yes...You’re nothing but stress relief...”

And with that answer he plunged into me even deeper. “Why are you lying to me, Claire?”

“I’m...I’m not...” I couldn’t focus anymore; he was moving in and out of me at a teasingly slow pace, hitting every tender spot. “I’m not lying...”

He reached down and wrapped my other leg around his waist, gazing into my eyes as he gripped my hips and moved me up and down.

“Claire? Claire?” Michael’s voice sounded from the other side of the room. “Are you in here?”

“Yes...” I felt Jonathan increasing his rhythm, gripping me even tighter.

“Are you alright? Did the food upset you or something?”

“No...I’m...” Tremors started racking through my body and my hips began to jerk. “I’m....I’m...”

“What did you say? I can’t hear you, Claire. Are you allergic to shellfish?”

“I’m...” My entire body shook violently and I bit Jonathan’s shoulder to prevent myself from crying out. “I’m...I’m amazi—great...I just....” I sucked in as much air as I could and tried to pull myself together. “Some food went down...Some food went down the wrong pipe and I’m just waiting for it to move completely... I didn’t want you looking at me while I tried to force it... It’s not very appropriate.” I scowled at Jonathan.

He scowled back.

“Oh...I’m so sorry.” Michael actually sounded sincere. “Well, that’s okay. I would’ve helped you if you needed me too...Do you need anything? Water maybe?”

“No...” My breathing was still erratic. I was still feeling the aftershocks. “I’m fine...Thank you.”

“Okay well, I’ll go ahead and order dessert. Is chocolate soufflé okay with you?”

“That’d be perfect... I’ll be right out.”

I heard the door shut and Jonathan set me down on the floor.

Without saying a word, he took a few cloths from the dispenser and wiped between my thighs.

He pulled the dress back over my breasts, deftly securing the fabric into place. Then he reached down and smoothed my hair—attempting to make it look like it did before, even removing a bobby pin and sliding it where it used to be.

He raised his eyebrow at the Batman Band-Aid, and possessively ran his fingers across the Harry Winston bracelet.

It took me several minutes to completely catch my breath, to wrap my head around what had just happened. I shook my head, still in disbelief. “What the hell is wrong with you, Jonathan? Are you insane?”

“No, but you must be. You had the nerve to bring a date here of all places.” He scoffed.

“I didn’t pick this place, but even if I did, how was I supposed to know that your business meeting would be here?”

“The restaurant is called Statham, Claire. I own it. It’s also right down the street from corporate and my picture is in the hallway. There’s always a chance that I could be here.”

“Fine. A major oversight on my part, but that still doesn’t give you the right to interrupt my date.” I spun away from him and walked out of the stall, over to the mirrors.

“Do you like him?” he asked.

No...

“I don’t know yet. I think I need to get to know him better before I come to any conclusions.”

His eyes met mine in the mirror. “You plan on going out with him again?”

“Yes. He seems like someone who wouldn’t give me a childish jealousy fuck in a public restroom.”

He rolled his eyes and walked towards the door. “Get rid of him after dinner. Let me know when you make it home so I can pick you up. We need to talk.”

“And if I don’t feel like talking to you?”

“Then we don’t have to talk.”

Chapter 11

Claire

I wasn’t sure why I called Jonathan to let him know I was at home. A part of me was furious about what he’d done to me in that bathroom, but another part of me—a part I couldn’t explain, was happy that he’d showed up and interrupted my night.

As he steered his Bugatti through the city and past the suburbs, I sat back in my seat and wondered when he was going to start talking. He hadn’t uttered a word since he’d picked me up, and he hadn’t looked over at me once.

Why do I even care? I’m not supposed to like him...

He sped through the sandy lanes of Ocean Beach, way past the familiar common areas that I was used to going to. There were no more lampposts or sparkling sand lights that helped lead the way along the shore. There was nothing but darkness and the pale glow of the moon from above.

After what felt like forever, he pulled in front of a massive wooden house and turned off the car. He stepped out without saying a word, and then he walked over to my side and opened the door.

He reached for my hand and led me up the porch’s steps, pressing a few buttons on a keypad. As his finger tapped the last key, the door slowly opened and he pulled me inside.

My jaw dropped as soon as I stepped forward. The vaulted ceilings were at least fifty feet high and they were made of black glass. There were paintings by Renoir and Amadeo—the originals, gently tucked in their own gilded frames that hung high. The room was filled with earth-toned furniture—soft brown sofas, emerald green chaises, and bronze accent pieces, that all reflected against the windows on the back wall.

This is beautiful...

“Take off your shoes,” he ordered.

I slipped out of my flats and followed him into a kitchen so grand I wasn’t sure if it was real. It reminded me of the royal British kitchens I’d seen in Architectural Digest, the kitchens I would’ve killed to visit someday.

He motioned for me to sit down on one of the silver barstools and then he switched on the stove.