Maneater by Mary B. Morrison Page B

Who cared? Not me. I wasn’t interested in marrying him. I wanted to suck his dick, then spit out his seeds.
    â€œSo,” Danté said, “what do you think about me?”
    He’d left room for an entire person to sit between us.
    â€œCharming,” I said, crossing my legs, stretching them in his direction.
    â€œCharming. That’s it?” he asked, smiling.
    Matching his smile, I said, “Don’t know your middle or last names, address, dating history, the real reason you invited me out, or your mother. Charming is appropriate.”
    â€œMiddle name, Danté. First name, Demarcus. Last, Davis.”
    Prejudged that one incorrectly.
    â€œDating history. Haven’t been out with a woman in over six months.”
    Liar.
    â€œHaven’t had sex with a woman in over six months.”
    Double liar.
    â€œI’m a workaholic.” He smiled as he gave me his address. “And I asked you out because you’re beautiful, sexy, brilliant, and you’re perfect,” he said, touching his nose to the back of my hand, then inhaling.
    Shaking my head, I placed my hand in my lap, then replied, “You don’t know that.”
    â€œHaven’t been wrong about a woman since my divorce.”
    Sounded bitter. My pussy didn’t want to hear any ex-wife drama. Not tonight. “How long have you worked for Maverick?” I asked, staring into his eyes.
    He stared back. “Don’t work for Maverick. Work for myself. Own my own company. Been driving Maverick and his clients around for seven years. Before he had real money, I took care of him. Gave him a break. Two-for-one discounts. He’s loyal to me. I’m loyal to him. Strictly business,” Danté said. “If I knew there was going to be an interview, I would’ve applied for the job.”
    The driver parked in front of the House of Blues.
    â€œWhy here?” I asked.
    â€œLove the drinks. Like the food. Can’t beat the entertainment. We can go somewhere else if you want,” he offered.
    â€œThis is good,” I said, getting out of the limo, thinking about the last time I’d been here with Seven. Missed her terribly.
    I drank more champagne than I ate of my Voodoo Shrimp or spinach and strawberry salad. Danté ate more of his Southern Seafood Bake, with shrimp, crab, rice, mushrooms, and red bell peppers, than he drank.
    He leaned forward, then whispered across the table, “You’re incredibly gorgeous. I want you. I’m asking. Please say yes.”
    I leaned back against my chair, not wanting to anxiously accept his offer. “To do what?” I asked.
    â€œNothing. I don’t mind doing all the work tonight,” he said. “You ready…for me?”
    I nodded.
    A few minutes later, the tab was paid and we were back in the limo headed to…I wasn’t sure, but I would shortly know.
    Cuddling in Danté’s arms, I relaxed all the way to…my house. Actually, my place was better. I’d be more comfortable with him in my space.
    The driver opened the door; I led the way straight to my bedroom.
    Danté held my face in his palms, gently looked into my eyes, then said, “Thanks for a great evening. Thank you for letting me into your home. I promise I won’t disappoint you.”
    His muscular hands slid my straps over my shoulders, down my arms, easing my dress and thong over my hips. Scooping me into his arms, he carried me to my bed, then laid me atop my leopard comforter.
    â€œKeep on the shoes and the pearls,” he said, parting my legs and placing the pearls in his mouth.
    His wet lips grazed my clit. His tongue swiped first over, then under, the pearls, making me wetter, hornier, on the verge of cumming. His tongue slowly slid up my shaft, returning to my clit.
    Yes, Lord. My body shivered with pleasure. The snapshot of Seven having sex with four men came into view. For a moment I imagined I was Seven. Every part of my