Her eyes narrow. “You seem to remember an awful lot about that night for someone who’s probably screwed any number of women since then. How often have you touched yourself thinking about me?” She’s not trying to be seductive. She’s angry. And sick bastard that I am, I like it just as much. “Too many times to count,” I admit, savoring her sharp inhale. “So next time you and your boyfriend are sitting across the table from me, you’ll know I’m remembering your sweet pussy wrapped around my dick and I’ll know you’re remembering my fingers and tongue in you, and how hard I made you scream. You
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