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I level my eyes at him over the drink that I realize, after it arrives, I’m not terribly in the mood for. What I am in the mood for, the moment I lay eyes on Jake again, is to be back where we were a few days ago. Whatever distance he had before seems to be gone now, and just the suggestion of going back makes me blush.

But I have to do the responsible thing, right?

“We’re in the middle of preparations for the big launch party,” I tell him.

Not convincingly enough, though, to either of us. Already I’m mapping out the problem in my head. Lacey doesn’t really need more of my input on the dishes. We have them planned and all that’s left is to order, which is something I can do from anywhere. Chester has some plans for cocktails to pair with each dish, but there’s nothing in his playbook that we don’t already have behind the counter. Gloria isn’t causing any trouble lately — probably for fear of losing her job, and rightfully so. The bottles and labels have been designed, approved, and ordered. Do I really need to be there?

“You’ve done a lot of work on this hot sauce launch,” Jake says in that urging, cajoling way he has. “Surely you can take a little time off. Just today.”

I want to put up more of a fight, but he leans over and kisses my earlobe, and then my neck, and whatever defenses I have melt away like the rest of me.

“I… can probably send a few texts…” I struggle to say as he slides a hand up my thigh beneath the white tablecloth that covers our laps. “Jake…”

“Let’s go, baby,” he mutters quietly, as his fingers graze my clit through my panties.

And I’m beat. “Okay… yeah…”

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound of approval as he tugs the edge of my panties down and gives me a gentle pinch and a few slow circles. No one’s staring, but I have this feeling like everyone here knows what’s happening to me. Somehow, I can’t bring myself to care.

Just before I make a real scene, Jake withdraws, and lays a hundred-dollar bill on the table. He doesn’t bother to ask for the check. Some waiter just had a lucky day. We make our way hastily out of the place and to Jake’s car, and then we’re off to paradise again.

It’s everything the last trip was and more. This time, I get my mouth on him first, kneeling between his knees while he reclines on the plush couch. Every time I feel his cock swell and begin to trickle, I give his heavy balls a tug, and grin at the sound of him gasping. I manage to keep him on the edge until he’s groaning my name and begging.

He tries to stop me when I’m ready for him to come. “I’m close, Janie. You gotta stop, babe,” he moans. He’s careful not to pull my hair, but there’s a tug. “Fuck… you’re gonna make me come…”

Which is the point. And the moment I swallow down the last spurt of it, I climb up and settle onto his lap.

The look on his face is priceless, his eyes wide and his mouth open. His body twitches as I envelop him, giving him a taste of his own medicine — he almost tries to wrestle me off him, he’s so sensitive now, but I have him pinned by the arms. Even though he could probably push me off if he really wanted to, he suffers through it while I ride him.

Normally I need a little stimulation to get off like this, but something about having the power right now is so hot, and the angle of his cock is just right, and in a few minutes of watching his sweating face contort with alternating amazement and lust, I’m clenching and sweating as my own orgasm breaks. We spend the next twenty minutes teasing one another before we finally rest.

During that time, he pours me a glass of wine and hands it to me, raising his own glass. “To the best fucking orgasms we’ve ever had,” he says confidently.

I laugh and start to take a sip, but maybe it’s gone bad because the smell of it nearly turns my stomach. It’s insane to me that he can tip his glass up and drink this swill at all, but maybe being rich doesn’t mean you have a palate. Still, I don’t want to be entirely rude, so I take a tiny sip and then put the glass down. “The best orgasms we’ve ever had?” I ask, one eyebrow up. “That’s bold.”

“You’re saying it isn’t?” he asks me, sinking onto the couch with that feral, hungry grin of his, eyes sparkling at the thought of a challenge.

“I decline to comment,” I tell him, but I’m already having a hard time suppressing a delighted giggle as he nuzzles around my thighs with the promise that if it’s not the best yet, it soon will be.

“You know, I think we fit together pretty well,” Jake says, his lips grazing my bare thigh.

“We’re not a bad pair, I suppose.” I stroke his hair. What’s he saying, exactly?

“We look good together, too,” he says.

It sounds like a familiar line.

“Is that so?” The humor is out of my voice, and Jake can hear it. He sits up, looking sheepish as hell, and I can tell it’s to cover up something else.

He sighs, and looks me over. We’re both naked, so I do the same. Why can’t he just be pretty and fuck my brains out and let that be enough?

“What would be wrong with people knowing we’re… you know, involved?” he asks softly.

“We’re having sex,” I tell him. “Which is a degree of being involved, but not the sort of thing I care to air out in public.”

“Sure, yeah,” he says, as if it’s a given; so obvious it doesn’t need to be said. Apparently. I can tell he’s either guilty or hurt, one or the other.

As always, I look for the good. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I didn’t mean it like that, I mean… I’m just not really sure what we have…”