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booth, hiding the lower halves of our bodies from public view.  My skirt splayed out over us, covering us.  And as he moved under me, I could feel the hard outline of his burgeoning desire rubbing against my bare skin.
    “I can’t stand this,” he rasped.
    “Can’t stand what?” I said.
    “Them.  Seeing you.  Thinking about what they want to do to you.”
    “What do you want to do to me, Alexander?  I’m yours, remember?  It’s you I want.  Only you.”  I wriggled lightly on his lap, stroking myself with the hard length of his cock.
    “ Christ ,” he breathed.  “What are you doing to me?”
    I felt reckless.  I wanted to please him.  And I was already wet with anticipation.  I could feel the throb of excitement in my juicy depths.  I’d never had sex in a public place before and I was surprisingly turned on by the thought.  No one would know.  I’d be innocently sitting on Alexander’s lap, sipping my champagne, kissing him, talking.  With him deeply, thickly inside me.  As the men, and others, watched me from across the room, unaware.
    The restaurant was dimly, romantically lit.  I kissed him lightly.  A fond, demure kiss appropriate for a crowded restaurant in Paris.  I lifted myself, adjusting.  With one hand I took a sip of my champagne.  With the other, I reached down to unzip Alexander’s pants.  I took his heavy length in my fist, squeezing gently.  He groaned, the quiet sound both erotic and pained.
    “Hush,” I warned softly, squeezing him more tightly as though to scold him.  He was incredibly hard, like silk-covered stone.  That scent of him, so distinctive to me, infused me with need, as though the cloud of his pheromones were drugging me.  “Look at me.  Tell me, very quietly, what I want to hear.”
    “I love you,” he said.
    This, in fact, I was not expecting.  I went still, stunned by his brazen declaration.
    Before I could fully recover, he pulled me down onto him as he murmured into my ear, “Yes.  I love you, honey girl.  I want you.  I need you.  You’re all I can fucking think about.  I love the way you taste.  You drive me crazy.  I love the way you feel.  You haunt my dreams and you inspire my days.  I love your mouth, your skin, your eyes, your lips.  Is that what you want to hear?”  The head of his huge, hot cock parted the folds of my pussy and pressed into my slippery entrance.  I was definitely no longer a virgin, but I was still exceedingly tight.  His thickness slid insistently into me, filling me and stretching me in a total, sensual invasion.  “I love the way your tight, luscious little pussy grips me, like you can’t get enough of me.”
    Oh, hell.   This might have been a bad idea.  I didn’t know if I could suppress the moans that rose in my throat. He was so big, so deep inside me I went instantly wet around his rigid bulk.  I shifted very subtly from side to side, adjusting to the slight discomfort of his substantial invasion.  He smoothed my skirt and the tablecloth to cover us.  One of his large hands gripped my hip, pulling me closer as he reared deeper into me with understated insistence.  “Or is this what you want to hear?” he whispered, his voice low and darkly graveled.  “I want to take care of you.  In every way I know how.  I want to pamper you and pleasure you.  I want to give you everything you want.  Everything you’ve ever dreamed of.  I want to keep you safe and use all my power and money to protect you.”  He nipped at the lobe of my ear.  Very, very quietly, he added, “And possess you.”
    If it was music to my ears, there were one or two notes that had the encroaching potential to be off-key: a thought that held then faded before it was fully formed.
    “Don’t look now, sweetheart,” he said, “but here comes the waiter.”
    Oh, Jesus Christ.   My inner muscles clutched involuntarily around him as I sat up straight, as though primly poised on Alexander’s lap, the