"What?"

"Nothing. No, our age range doesn't bother me. It did, before I met you. I envisioned you old, wrinkly, with grey pubic hair…" I grinned wickedly at him.


"How do you know I don't have grey hair down there? I could have a whole forest."

I wrinkled my nose and tossed a piece of bread at him. "Gross! Besides, I sneaked a peek last night, while you were drooling in your sleep." He laughed and grabbed my hand, bringing it to his mouth for a quick kiss.

"I can't keep my mouth off of you," he murmured. A stream of deliciousness shot through my body. I took another sip of champagne and met his sexy eyes across the table. God, this man is tempting.

"Another bottle of Dom, Mr. De Luca?"

Another? What happened to the first? I looked at my now empty glass.

"Yes. Are you ready to order Julia?"

"You go ahead. I'll know in just a moment." I quickly scanned the menu. The prices made my eyes widen. The seafood tower Brad had just demolished was three hundred and fifty dollars! I tried to find something relatively inexpensive, but gave up on that mission. I finally settled on a filet, which was something I at least knew I liked. Most of the items on the menu I didn't even recognize. I heard Brad order a prime rib and about four side items, then the critical waiter's eyes were on me.

"Filet please, medium rare." I smiled sweetly and handed him my menu. He nodded primly and left. I leaned forward and whispered. "This place is ridiculously expensive! Do you know how much that lobster I was throwing away costs?" His eyebrows rose at my indignation and he smiled.

"Julia, it's all comped. All this," he gestured around, "is on the casino. Their focus is on gambling, and I pay them royally for it. This is your first time in Vegas, and I want you to have a good time." He smiled good-naturedly at me. "But I appreciate your concern about my wallet." He raised his glass for a toast. "To bigger and better, may you enjoy this weekend." I raised my glass and clinked it to him.

My eyes floated through the room. We were tucked in a beautiful little corner, and had a nice view of the other tables. My eyes froze on a couple by the window. "Brad - that's George Clooney!"

Brad glanced over his shoulder and shrugged. "You'll see a lot of celebrities this week. Vegas is their playground, especially the Bellagio." I saw George Clooney reach across the table and rub his date’s hand, a platinum blond with a blue dress. I tried not to bounce in my seat with excitement and forced my eyes away from the actor. Becca would never believe this. I wondered if I could sneak a photo with my iPhone, but dismissed the thought. Brad was watching me, a smirk on his handsome features.

Our food came, sizzling steaks on white china with melting butter on them. Brad had ordered creamed corn, mashed potatoes, and mushrooms, and a group of waiters brought out the plated dishes. Brad's eyes lit up and we both dug in. Other than occasional moans, there was silence for the next few minutes. I finally took a break, and sat back with my champagne. I blissfully closed my eyes and let the food settle a bit in my stomach.

"Enjoying yourself?"

I nodded without opening my eyes. "Immensely."

I felt his hand underneath the narrow table, caressing my knee. My eyes opened and I moved my knee out of his reach. His eyes turned playfully mournful.

"I haven't decided whether I'm going to let you have that. I'm trying to be a good girl."

"Good girl?" he swallowed a swig of champagne. "I haven't seen that side yet."

I harumped and leaned forward on my elbows, staring at him. "I'll have you know I am a VERY good girl, even if I have had weak resolve lately around you. I plan to go back to my prudish ways, starting tonight." Maybe.

He leaned back in his chair, his hand on his chin, rubbing appraisingly. "Is it for religious reasons, this attempt to abstain?"

I shrugged. "Not really. I have a healthy relationship with God, and I don't particularly think he cares if I choose to express my love in a sexual manner. But that's what I feel I am doing with sex, expressing my love. What you do is f**k. And I'm not used to that, or don't know if I feel okay about that - not for religious reasons, just for my own. I hear about women who feel used or guilty after sex, and I’ve never felt that, and don't want to start."

"I feel like most of the women who feel that way are having sex in order to accomplish something - win a man's affection, impress him, gain financial security…" he waved a hand generically. "The man they are sleeping with is "fucking" them for one reason - pleasure. Not because he loves them, or wants to love them, or wants to pay their light bill, but because he wants to get off, and they are conveniently around. After sex, his feelings haven't changed at all, and they all of a sudden have a boatload of expectations, and get their feelings hurt when nothing has changed. Women think sex is this magic act, when in fact it isn't. There are too many women ready to hand it over too easily."

I glared at him. "You make us out to be so… pathetic. Is that how you view women, as disposable receptacles to stick your dick into?"

He rubbed his head exasperatedly. "Julia, I am being honest about sex. Your college boys probably don't know enough about sex or how they are feeling yet. I am a mature man trying to explain to you how we, as men, work. It's a point of view that most women never know."

"So that is why you sleep with your clients? To get a sexual release? Don't you think that you risk too much for something you can get from all of the wanton women laying around waiting for you to f**k them!?" My voice had risen a little too high, and Brad glanced around before answering.

"Julia, the clients I do f**k are adult women, most of them mature, who realize what we are doing, and what our roles are in it."

"What are your roles?" I asked, my tone sharp.

"Julia, I don't need you to attack me just because you don't believe in my lifestyle choices. I have absolute confidence in my sexual relationships and don't need to explain them to anyone. I am choosing to explain them to you because I hope to f**k you in the future (he placed careful emphasis on the word "fuck") and I don't want to do it with any misplaced expectations on your part."

I ate a mushroom and chewed slowly, putting off a response. Damn man.

His voice, taking on a gentler tone, continued. "Our roles, when I am with a client, are pretty defined and simple. We don't screw at the office. I come to her house, she is never in mine. When I take my clients on business dinners it is for just that, business. If she is interested in sex, and I am sexual attracted to her, then we meet later, have sex, and I go home."

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