“So destiny brought the future basketball player and the future sports agent together under one roof, and the rest is history, huh?”

“Something like that.” I look around for the waiter to refill my drink. “Sorry that got so heavy.”

“I don’t mind heavy,” she says softly. “Life is heavy sometimes.”

And there it is. She’s one of those people who isn’t uncomfortable with the pain of others. It’s not awkward for her. She doesn’t say those weird things, the pat phrases that don’t actually mean anything, that don’t do anything, like empty calories.

The server brings our food and we dig in, both making appreciative noises instead of talking when the dishes first hit the table. We quiz each other over steaming plates and several more drinks. Banner finds a fruity one with no pineapple and plenty of alcohol. I begged the waiter for a Jameson and am on my third by the time we’ve excavated the last ten years of each other’s lives and at least some of the things we never knew.

The air around us thickens with every drink we take and every secret we share. Our drinks must be spiked with lust, some aphrodisiac that has us both heavy-lidded, licking our lips, linking ankles under the table, stealing touches every chance we get. I’m torn between continuing the most stimulating conversation I’ve had in years and taking Banner home for the best sex of my life.

“So now that I know everything from your favorite color to your favorite movie,” I say. “I think it’s time to dig deeper.”

“Deeper?” She relaxes into the seat, sipping the deceptively frothy concoction our server has plied her with all night. “Go on. Ask me anything.”

“Strangest place you ever had sex.”

The word “sex” planted in the air makes me hard. I read an answering flare of need in Banner’s eyes. She tips her head back, draws in the fresh air off the Caribbean, and looks so much like she did last night: head tossed back, riding me, driving, controlling the pace of our bodies colliding. And the mark on her neck she didn’t bother hiding, shaped like my mouth, ringed with my teeth, is yet another reminder of how we claimed each other.

“Hmmm.” She looks up at the ceiling like she has to think about it. “Well, I did have sex on a desk in my office last week.”

“That cannot be the strangest place you ever had sex.”

Her grin would border on bashful if she wasn’t looking at me like she might crawl across the table and straddle me.

“I think it might be,” she says, her laugh a little self-conscious. “I guess I just haven’t been adventurous.”

“Or maybe you haven’t had the right lovers,” I offer with a roguish grin. “You’re welcome.”

“Asshole.” She rolls her eyes, predictably, but still smiles. “And what about you, Mr. Sex Anywhere?”

“The strangest? Let’s see. Once backstage at a U2 concert.”

“Damn, you do have good taste in music.”

“Told you.” I laugh and keep going. “Once in chambers. She was a judge. Aisle four of a grocery store. She was closing.”

“Okayyyy.” Her expression grows more curious and incredulous with each revelation. Since she’s a Catholic, I think it best to omit my sexual encounter in a church confessional.

“A PTA meeting.” I laugh at the horror on her face. “One of my clients was out of town and asked me to talk to the teacher.”

“So I guess you enjoy the thrill of possibly getting caught?”

“No, I just like sex and have it whenever the mood strikes me.” I shrug and shoot her a lopsided grin. “You should see your face right now. You’re like Green Eggs and Ham, the Sex Edition.”

“What?” She wrinkles her nose, obviously confused. “What does that even mean?”

“I would not do it here or there,” I affect a droll accent, quoting Dr. Seuss. “I would not do it anywhere.”

“Oh my God,” she chuckles. “You’re ridiculous.”

“A train! A train!” I keep at it. “Could you, would you on a train? Not on a train. Not in a tree. Not in a car.”

“Shut it!” she manages through her laughter. “I’m not a prude or anything. I just haven’t been given the right opportunities.”

“Ohhh, you haven’t been given the right opportunities,” I say, eager to provoke a response. “And here I thought you were the kind of woman who made her own.”

Her eyes slit at my prodding, lit with a mixture of excitement and determination. She glances around the deserted terrace, and I’m not sure if I should be scared or aroused by her impish grin. I’m gonna go with aroused, since that seems to be my default with Banner.

“You know what,” she says, tossing her napkin on the table. “You’re right. That is the kind of woman I am.”

She slides down her seat and disappears under the table.

“Banner, what—”

The sibilant hiss of my zipper jerking down shuts me right up. Her hands at my belt make me go still. I like where this is going.

“This is really happening?” I ask, afraid to hope.

“Uh huh,” she says, her voice muffled through the wood.

I slump in my seat and spread my legs. I want to make this as easy as possible for her.

She pulls me out, her hands firm and cool, her mouth hot and wet.

Holy fucking shit.

All the alcohol I’ve consumed starts boiling in my blood and rushes to the head below my belt. I’m going to enjoy every damn minute of this, and if our server comes back, I’ll stab him with my steak knife.

“I like this done a very particular way,” I say, striving not to sound breathless. “Do you need direction?”

“You tell me,” Banner says, before taking my cock nearly to the back of her throat.

I grit my teeth and fist the tablecloth, determined not to moan.

“You’re doing just fine,” I choke out.

“Mmmm,” she hums, the vibration traveling from my dick to my toes. She drags me over her lips until only the tip is still in and then licks me like that vodka popsicle. Thoroughly, greedily, like I’m worth a billion points and she can’t get them down fast enough. I slam my hand on the table, disrupting the glass and china. Banner’s laugh is steamy around me, and I almost lose it.

“Excuse me, sir?”

You have got to be kidding me.

“Uh, yeah.” I compose myself enough to answer the server with some semblance of coherence as Banner rolls my balls in her hand.

“Dessert?” he asks.

Shit, I’m gonna come. I’m pretty sure my eyes are rolling in the back of my head.

“What?” I manage. “Huh?”

“Would you like dessert?” he repeats, casting a curious glance toward Banner’s empty seat. “Or would the lady like something?”

“I don’t know that I . . .” I spread my legs more and slide down, pushing another inch into her mouth “. . . saved room for anything else.”

“The lady?” he asks again.

“She-she . . .” God, she excels at this. “Um, went to the bathroom.”

At that very moment, Banner’s enthusiastic bobbing below bangs her head on the table. The glasses and plates lift and clang. The server’s eyes widen and he clears his throat.

“Dude, double tip if you get the hell outta here,” I rasp, on the verge of spilling my life down Banner’s throat.

Without a word and with guaranteed discretion, he quickly leaves the terrace.

With him gone, I slide the table back enough to see Banner’s pouty lips spread around my cock. An image to store away for future fantasies. I tangle my fingers in her hair, urging her to take more and faster. My other hand slips into the strapless dress to twist her nipple. Her breath stutters, disrupting the steady pace of her mouth on me, and I decide those are not the lips I want to see on my dick. I tug her hair until she has to release me. The look she sends up is leaded with passion, free of strictures and ready to give me whatever I want.

“Get up here,” I command, only getting harder when she immediately raises from her knees to stand. I venture under her dress, finding her panties and working them down her legs. Our eyes never let go as the silk descends, and as soon as they ring her ankles, she steps out and positions herself over me. Her thighs rest on mine, and the bright orange dress bunches at her waist. She leans in to kiss me, her mouth an open invitation, but pulls away just enough to make me chase her. My mouth strains to recapture hers. Husky laughter wafts over my lips with the Caribbean breeze while she reaches between us and guides me inside.

This must be how it feels to enter a temple. With eager devotion. With reverence. With the first thrust up into her body, the tenuous hold on my control snaps. I grip her hips, and the silk of her dress flows over the backs of my hands with our every undulation. She hooks one arm around my neck, and the other arm hangs limply at her side while she rides me with abandon, head flung back, eyes squeezed tightly shut, and the only sounds on the terrace our ragged breaths and grunts permeating the balmy air.

I can’t take my eyes off her. Something inside irrationally taunts me that if I look away, she’ll disappear. She’s a storm I can’t find the eye of. I need to hold her tightly, assure myself she won’t get away—that she doesn’t want to get away. Even with my arms locked at her waist, I can’t contain her. I try to grasp her in parts, but her breast overflows my palm. Her ass spills past my hands. Everything is ripe. Everything is full, except my way in. My passage into her body is narrow and tight, allowing me only so much, but I take that path over and over, like a battering ram at a castle door, hell-bent on reaching the queen inside.

It’s still not enough. Even with our bodies locked and grinding like gears, working each other into a frenzy, there’s a gap, a space where doubt creeps in. Hunger for something deeper than physical possession gnaws at my gut. I thought this would satisfy me. It always has before, but I know instinctively that finishing now, I’d only want her again, still hunting for another entrance, for way in deeper.