Claiming the Playboy

I watch him play the room, flirting with all the women, his roving eye undoubtedly picking the one, or more, he’ll spend the rest of the evening with.

He’s hot, and there’s no law against fantasising, his hands grazing my nipples, his lips on my clit.

Fantasising is all I’ll be doing though. I’m too ‘plain Jane’ for a player like that, and even if he did want me I don’t want to be just another notch on his bed-post, and I can’t see him ever settling down.

There’s as much chance of that as there is of me winning the lottery.

“He’s got his eye on you.” My friend leans in close, giggling. I ignore it. He’s got his eye on everyone.

And yet as the night draws to a close the other flirty women leave empty handed.

“Lost your touch,” I say, as he joins my friend and I for a last drink. She excuses herself, he grins.

“Not at all. Just finally realised I’m wasting my time.”

“What?” My heart thumps in my chest.

“It’s you I want, Zara. Not them.” He flicks his hand in the direction of the door, as though to indicate all the women who’ve passed through it tonight.

I raise a brow. “You’re not getting into my pants that easily.”

He nods. “I didn’t expect, too.” His gaze holds mine, and the desire in it is clear. “What do I need to do to show you I mean what I say.”

I make a list; dates, romantic gestures, public displays of affection — when I’m ready for that of course.

I add ‘not even looking at another woman’ to the list, though it’s not something I’d normally expect of a partner. Eeveryone is human after all, and there are plenty of attractive people on the planet. But his whole recent past has been jumping from one woman to the next as though he’s on a mission to inseminate us all.

He agrees to it all.

I refuse to get my hopes up.

The weeks pass.

He takes me on picnics, buys me flowers, cooks for me, even.

He tells other women how beautiful I look. He puts an arm around my shoulders, holds my hand, brushes his lips across my fingers.

He stops flirting with other women.

“Why?” I ask. “Why now, why me?”

“It’s always been you,” he tells me. “You were always going to be my forever. I just wasn’t ready to settle down yet. I was scared of not being enough.”

“What changed?”

“You.”

I raise a brow.

“The older you get, the more beautiful you are. I’ve seen men eyeing you off. I knew if I didn’t make my move I’d lose you for good.” He gives a dry laugh. “Plus, I realised I was getting older. And I don’t think age is going to be as kind to me as it is to you. If I wait too much longer, you might not want me at all.”

I lean in close, press my lips against his. “I’ll always want you,” I whisper, running my fingers through his short hair.

“I love you, Zara,” he whispers. “Will you marry me?”

Instead of speaking my answer, I unbutton my shirt, and bring his hand to my breast.

His touch is unsure, gentle stroking not venturing further until I drop my shirt to the ground and undo my bra.

“I want you,” I whisper again. “All of you. Here. Now.”

We’re in a park, in a secluded spot behind large bushes. We’re hidden from view, unless someone wandered this way.

I don’t care.

I stroke his cock through his jeans as he kisses my lips, my ears, my neck, his hands massaging my breasts, squeezing my nipples.

I fumble with his belt, his buttons, his zip. His cock bulges out of the new opening, straining against the fabric of his underwear, and I slide my hand beneath to cup the length of him, moisture building between my legs as he throbs under my touch.

“God, Zara.” His voice is strained. “Here, now. Are you sure?”

I hold his gaze. “I’ve never been more certain.”

He pulls up my skirt, and I kneel so he can slip off my panties. In no time he’s buried between my legs, his tongue exploring my folds, and circling my clit before tasting inside me.

It’s been so long since I’ve been fucked I come quickly, and then he’s kissing me again, my juices salty on his lips, his cock pressing against my cleft.

I spread my legs wide, urging him in.

As his cock filled me he finally let go, his thumb moving to rub against my clit as he gripped me with his other hand, pounding so hard and fast all I could do was cling to him.

“Fuck.” He groaned pulling out to cover the grass with his cum.

“Shit, sorry about that.” He mumbled into my mouth, his thumb still working me until another orgasm ripped my body.

I sag against his chest, and nuzzle into his neck.

I’ve never felt so fulfilled, so satisfied as I do know.

“Is that a yes?”

I pull back, as his gaze searches out mine.

“Yes?”

“Will you marry me?”

A grin spreads across my face. “Yes.” I hold his cheeks as I kiss him. “Yes, yes, yes.”

---

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