Chapter 11

When I got the memo that there was a company lunch this afternoon, my initial reaction was confusion. I wasn't in a position to be invited to company luncheons unless they were preplanned and company-wide.

Then, after my confusion faded, I asked around if anyone else had gotten invited to the luncheon. And panic filled me, because no one else had gotten the memo.

It was just for me.

And I knew without a shadow of a doubt this was about Anthony.

I honestly hadn't thought he would look me up. For all I knew, he did things like this—fucked women with cigars and then smoked them afterward—all the time.

So when I walked into the upscale, Italian restaurant at noon on the dot, my heart was racing, my palms were sweaty, and I was pretty sure my chaotic breathing was visible to anyone who looked my way.

I gave the company name to the hostess, who promptly led me to one of the booths in the rear of the restaurant. It was secluded, private, reminding me of that alcove in the cigar lounge just two nights before.

I didn't see anyone at the booth, but there were two glasses of red wine already placed across from each other. I took a seat, my skirt having ridden up, so the leather seat felt cool beneath the back of my thighs that were now only covered with a sheer layer of pantyhose.

And then I waited with my heart in my throat.

I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly before inhaling. My hands were shaking, so I clasped them together and placed them on my lap.

God, I'd never been so nervous.

It was when I lifted my head and opened my eyes, staring at my wine glass, that I knew I wasn't alone. I could see out of my peripheral vision a large body standing right beside me. He was shrouded in dark clothing and smelled of expensive cologne… one I was familiar with as if it were now a core memory.

It was a scent that had every part of my body igniting instantly. It was an aroma my body recognized very intimately from Saturday.

I didn't know why I was frozen. Why I didn't look over at him right away. But nerves had every cell in me stalling, tripping over each other.

"It's good to see you again, Pyper."

I swallowed, but it felt like my heart was literally in the center of my throat, and I choked a little. I reached for my wine glass, taking a long drink from the crystal before setting it back down.

Could he see my fingers were shaking? Could he smell the adrenaline and anxiety that poured off me?

I did look at him then, starting at the buttons of his expensively tailored suit, traveling up the massive expanse of his chest, and continuing upward to his broad shoulders. I knew the material hid a strong, masculine, and muscular body.

And then I went farther up his corded, tan neck and stared right into a face I had only seen partially, since a mask had been covering it the sole time we were in each other's presence.

The website photo, the video he left on my phone—neither did him any justice; nothing compared to laying eyes on this man's handsome face in person.

I recognized his full lips, and the trimmed, salt-and-pepper beard was familiar. My body sure as hell remembered the way he felt when he spit on my pussy, and then licked me off his fingers and the cigar.

And the way he'd growl those obscene things to me.

Heat consumed me.

I swore I still felt the abrasion of those whiskers on my neck, and my muscles clenched internally, feeling the remembrance of how warm his breath had been when whispered in my ear.

"Hi," I whispered, and my cheeks went hot.

I didn't know what else to say. How did you address the masked man who fucked the hell out of you just two days before? I certainly hadn't thought I'd see Anthony again, not unless we ran into each other by happenstance.

He didn't respond, just took a seat in the booth right across from me. God, did he look good, fill the leather seat because he was so large that, even if I wanted to be beside him, there wouldn't be nearly enough room for us to sit comfortably together.

He reached out with that big hand, his long, thick fingers curling around the stem of the wine glass. Because they were so large, it appeared as if he'd snap the crystal in half like a toothpick in his grasp.

I watched as he brought the glass to his lips, ones that were full and masculine and had kissed me so thoroughly I thought I'd lose my mind.

Anthony took a long drink, his gaze never leaving mine. His eyes were dark, the lighting in the restaurant showing the flecks of amber woven through the almost ebony-colored depths.

His short, salt-and-pepper hair was styled elegantly yet slightly disheveled across his forehead, as if he'd been running his fingers through it as he sat in a board meeting all morning.

After setting his wine back down, neither one of us said anything for what felt like ages. He must've ordered for us already, because instead of asking what we wanted, the server came by and set down a family-style platter of spaghetti and meatballs, a plate of garlic bread, and two side salads, then we were once again left in private.

I looked at the meal and then at him. "You took liberties, I see." My voice was soft, void of any real heat.

He gave me a little smirk that set my insides on fire. "You ever been here before?"

I shook my head.

"They have the best spaghetti and meatballs in town. I did you a favor."

I snorted in shock at his arrogance but didn't bother saying a thing in response. I licked my lips and glanced at my hands still in my lap, my fingers twined together nervously, because I'd pick at my clothing otherwise.

"I told you I wasn't finished with you, Pyper."

I snapped my head up at the sound of his commanding tone. My eyes widened at the authority in his voice. The possessiveness. "I don't even know what that means," I replied, my voice nothing but a soft whisper that had that smirk of his growing fuller.

There was something strange and enigmatic about this man. Something dangerous that had warning bells going off inside me. He had to be twenty years my senior, and I'd never wanted anyone more than I wanted him.

And by his statement, it was clear this man was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted it. He probably didn't hear the word "no" very often, if at all.

What was it about Anthony Blackwell that did this foreign thing to me? How could one solitary person consume you so thoroughly in such a short amount of time?

"You know what it means." He let those words sink in. "I'm a man who gets straight to the point. When I say something, I mean it, Pyper. And when I said this wasn't over with, I meant that in every single way." He leaned in, bracing his forearms on the table.

I could see the way the muscles bulged against the expensive material, remembering how he gripped my hips when he'd been giving me his cock hard and fast, fucking me from behind. The strength and power in his arms were such a turn-on that I probably could have orgasmed from the sight of them alone.

"You invited me here, and I'm sure it wasn't for pasta. That's not being ‘straight to the point.'"

Anthony just stared at me for a moment, his lips twitching as if he was trying to hold back a grin, before he grabbed his fork, put his napkin over his lap, and started eating, as if to pretend I was wrong. I, on the other hand, was too self-conscious and nervous about the conversation to eat right away. But when he gestured toward my plate, I figured maybe a little sustenance would help clear my thoughts.

At the very least, it would level out my blood sugar and help the dizziness. I felt like I was about to pass out, even though I was sitting down.

I took a bite and started chewing, then swallowed. I repeated this, barely tasting the food I was so tightly wound. Finally, I asked, "What is it exactly that you want, Mr. Blackwell?"

He smiled, but it seemed irritated in a way. "I think having my cock in your tight, wet, pink pussy and fucking you until you creamed all over my shaft makes things intimate enough between us that we can skip the formalities, baby doll." He took a bite and chewed slowly. "Don't you think, Pyper?"

I glanced around nervously. He'd spoken loud enough there was no way the waiters passing us as they hurried to the main dining area hadn't heard. "Could you say that shit any louder?" My voice was a raised whisper filled with shock and my own irritation.

"Fuck everyone else." Anthony stared at me with such intensity I exhaled slowly. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you," he finally said after several long seconds.

He leaned back against the booth with his wine glass in hand. He let that hang between us as he took a sip of wine, while I went through the motions of eating and swallowing, then wiped my mouth. I needed more wine.

"Thoughts of you just kept pestering me for the last two days. They grew until it started to piss me off."

I choked on what I'd just been sipping, surprised at his choice of words.

Pestering? Pissing him off?

"Sounds like a personal problem," I snapped back, feeling a lot of fire in my veins.

For a second, Anthony didn't respond, didn't even show any expression on his face. Then a hardy, low chuckle oozed from him, making me shiver. "Nothing is ever personal to me… unless I'm fucking you. Then it's real personal, Pyper."

I felt my cheeks turn warm, knew they were probably tomato-red. This man had a way with words, the kind that stole a woman's breath, had her heart racing, and caused her panties to dampen.

"Tell me, baby doll," he said low, his tone laced with sexual intentions. "Did my cum leak out of you for hours like I told you it would?"

I bit the inside of my cheek to hold off the moan that would have spilled past my lips at his crude—so damn arousing—words.

"From your pretty, pink cheeks and the fact that you're trying not to make those sexy little mewls for me again, I'm going to assume your panties have been wet ever since I filled you up with me."

I closed my eyes and looked away, too embarrassed and turned on to meet his eye.

I clenched my thighs together, knowing I couldn't hide how he affected me. Anthony Blackwell could read my body language as if he had a PhD in the subject.

"I have a proposition for you, Pyper, and I won't take no for an answer."