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Julia

“Let’s talk limits,”Chris said casually once we’d both taken a sip of the bold wine.

My eyes widened. “Limits?” It was a good thing I’d already swallowed my wine, or I probably would have spewed the red liquid all over his crisp, white shirt.

“I find it best to have this discussion before reaching the bedroom. That way, expectations are clear.”

“Do you do this often? Did I unknowingly proposition a professional escort?”

He smirked. “No. Like you, I have my reasons for not getting romantically involved. But unlike you, I don’t deprive myself of pleasure.”

“And you think I do?”

“You haven’t had sex in seven years. Or allowed a guy to finger you. Or go down on you. I’d say that qualifies as denying yourself immense pleasure.”

“Why don’t you just announce it so everyone can hear?” I laughed nervously, gesturing around at the darkened space. However, the handful of other diners paid no attention to us as we remained tucked away in our little corner of the room. Private. Secluded. Alone.

“No one can hear us, Belle. So, back to my point. You’ve spent the past seven years depriving yourself of what you crave.” He licked his lips, then asked, “Why?”

If I thought he’d drop the subject, I was wrong. He was like a dog with a bone. Going to chew it until there was nothing left.

Much like I feared this arrangement was going to do to me. Chip away until the woman I’d been the past few decades was nothing but a distant memory. Wasn’t that a good thing, though? Didn’t I deserve to step out of the shadows? Reinvent myself?

If there was any birthday to do it, forty seemed like a good one.

“Probably the same reason you prefer not to get involved with people,” I answered finally, swallowing down a large gulp of wine.

He thought a moment, then nodded. “Fair enough. So what do you do to pleasure yourself?”

I coughed. “Are we really having this conversation right now?”

“When should we have it? Need I remind you we only have a week together? I’d prefer to go in knowing precisely what you like. What kind of things get your heart pumping and your panties wet.”

“You don’t have any shame at all, do you?”

“If by not having any shame you mean I have no problem speaking my mind, then you’re correct. Life’s too short for anything less.” He zeroed his eyes on me, the look stripping me bare. “Don’t you agree?”

“It’s ironic, don’t you think? A twenty-seven-year-old man telling a forty-year-old woman that life is too short?”

“What’s it going to take for you to stop obsessing over this age difference? I like you. Judging by the way you’ve been blushing all evening, along with the fact your body buzzes to life whenever I so much as skim a hand against your flesh, you like me, as well. Why should it matter if there are a few years between us? I’m attracted to you. You’re attracted to me. That’s all that should matter. That’s all I’d like to matter. Okay?”

I marveled at how mature he sounded. How well he carried himself.

It made him seem older than he was.

Hell, it made him seem older than me.

I inhaled a calming breath, then nodded. “I can do that.”

“Good.” He straightened, swirling his wine glass and taking a sip. There was something incredibly erotic about watching him move the liquid around his mouth, savoring the flavor before licking his lips to get every last drop.

It made me want to lick his lips, too.

“So…,” he continued. “What do you like? When you get yourself off, what do you use? Toys? Fingers? Combination of both?”

“I told you last night. I have a vibrator.”

“I remember that quite clearly.” His mouth curved into a smile so sinful it should have been illegal. “How often do you use it?”

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