Mia fidgeted with her cosmo in the crowded London bar. Tonight, she would meet him.
Him.
The older man she'd been texting for a week.
The man who'd kept her awake at night and distracted during the day.
The man with the roguish smile, the witty banter, and the dirty mind.
Quickly, she opened the dating app on her phone and swiped to Aaron. His photo was taken from the side. He grinned rakishly at the camera, his sandy blond hair falling in his face. He was forty, fit, handsome — close to twenty years older than her.
And he made her delirious with excitement.
She glanced around. People jostled her on either side, rubbing elbows, but they were too drunk and noisy to pay any attention. Hiding her phone inside her fuzzy jacket, she found the video she'd watched so many times, she'd practically worn out the screen: a beautiful cock, flushed with arousal, the skin tight and shiny, gripped in its owner's fist. That fist shamelessly jacked it, becoming a blur, until creamy cum spurted out, flying all over the big male hand.
Mia's mouth watered, and her pussy buzzed insistently. With the text that followed the video —
kneel between my legs and clean me up, baby girl —
she'd stroked herself to a frantic orgasm. Countless times. God, he was delicious.
"Aaron," she murmured, scanning the bar. Her nipples tightened and her whole body flamed at the prospect of finally meeting him. Seeing him, hearing his voice.
Touching him.
At first, they'd just chatted. The subjects ranged from philosophy to their favorite bands to embarrassing childhood stories. He'd made her laugh out loud. Snorting tea out her nose in a cafe, in fact.
Then she got up the courage to confess four things:
She'd always wanted to be with an older man.
She was shy.
She was kinky.
She wanted to be taught.
And he drank it up. Always respectful, always making sure she was willing, but filthier by the day. He led her down a rabbit hole that started with dirty talk.
Pictures followed.
You have the most beautiful tits, little girl. So big and firm, your pink nipples begging for my tongue.
Then came the videos. He coaxed her to hold her phone close to her slick pussy and stroke her swollen clit for him until she exploded in a flash of pleasure.
Mia loved the coaxing. She loved yielding to him, following his increasingly dirty orders. In the end, what took her over the edge in that video was knowing how much she pleased him.
God, she was wet. She squirmed on the barstool. They'd agreed to just talk at this first meeting. Get to know each other. Aaron had assured her he didn't expect anything.
What if I want you to expect something?
she'd teased.
She smoothed her long dark hair, streaked with purple, and glanced down. Under her jacket, a low-cut black shirt showed her generous cleavage. Her short plaid skirt rode up her thighs, encased in black tights, as she scuffed one sneaker against the other.
Six months ago, she'd only dreamed of dressing like this. As she'd confided in Aaron, she'd come to London to try to break out of her shell.
Mia took a gulp of her cosmo. She'd been careful not to share identifying details, but she'd shared just about everything else. Now, she wondered if he was really who he said he was. He seemed too good to be true.
A sandy blond head in the doorway caught her attention. Her heart rose into her throat.
This was it. The meeting might be a total flop. She stuffed her phone in her purse and clasped her hands together.
Please,
she prayed to whoever was listening,
let this be goddamn perfect.
She started across the room, her pulse skyrocketing. That was definitely Aaron walking into the bar. He looked around calmly. Confidently. Unbuttoning his coat.
She'd worried that he wouldn't look like his picture. That even the videos lied. But as she approached him, it was clear that the man in front of her was no lie.
For a second, she thought about running. Not because she didn't want him, but because she wanted him so much. They'd connected so easily over text. She'd told him things —
shown
him things — no one else could even guess.
She stopped in front of him. When his warm brown eyes met hers, her throat closed up.
Dammit, don't be shy now. He's seen you naked.
He tucked a strand of purple-streaked hair behind her ear, and her cheeks burned. The simple gesture made it hard to breathe.
"Hi," she managed. "It's me."
He flashed an impish smile, showing the dimple in his square chin. "You."
Along with the smile, there was a strange tickle of recognition that she couldn't place.
She stretched out her hand, and he took it.
"And it's you." Her dry throat made her voice rasp.
"None other." He surveyed her, still holding her hand, then pulled her into a hug.
It was a friendly hug. No pressure, no expectations. But her arms instinctively tightened around his neck, and her body followed.
Even through their winter coats, she felt her breasts bump his firm chest. She let out a soft noise as his hands settled on her curvy hips.
"Molly, sweet girl," he whispered.
Right. In an abundance of caution, she'd used a different name on the app, planning to tell him her real name in person if all went well.
At the time, it had seemed like a great idea.
Mia pulled back. "I have to tell you something."
"Anything." He took her chin in his hand.
Recognition pulsed, stronger. She'd met this man before, and she couldn't place where. Something shifted in his eyes, and he peered at her more closely.
"My name isn't really Molly." She fought to hold his gaze. "It's actually Mia. I used an assumed name on the app, you know, just to be on the safe side..."
He blinked, surprised, then grinned. "All right. I'm not mad about it. Mia's a beautiful name. And I understand—"
His eyes suddenly widened, then narrowed. Her name had rung a bell. As he opened his mouth, the truth came to her too.
"Mia," he repeated. "Would that be Mia—"
"Oh my God." She put her hand to her mouth.
"Mia Hawkins?" His arms stiffened around her.
"Oh God, you're—"
He held her away from him.
"Shit," he gritted. "Shit, shit."
"Jesus," she breathed.
