I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse

'Let's f**k on the dining table and eat dinner on the bed tonight,' I said between sips. 'She is gonna make me an offer I can't refuse,' you said while swirling ice cubes in your glass.

'Are we quoting Godfather now?' I replied in my clever, sarcastic tone.

You smiled still looking at your glass, not at me. The lady in me took offence. But I'm too proud to beg for attention. I don't beg, I command attention. I caressed my wounded ego with those words.

'It would be nice to have a man run his tongue from my neck to cleavage and spend good 15-20 minutes there. I yearn for that kind of wetness on my boobs,' I buttoned up my coat pretending it suddenly became cold. As if the mercury dipped below freezing while I was setting the mood on fire.

You looked at me.

'And he looks into my eyes when he is f*****g me,' I finished my sentence and sat straight crossing my ankles in perfect Duchess Slant. You looked into my eyes. You looked like a monk - and - I, your salvation.  I looked back into yours. For that brief moment, I owned you. Without saying a word. Without showing an inch of my skin. 'Do you need a refill?' I changed the topic.


'Not all people know how to enjoy scotch,' I heaved. 'So, how do you do that?' you asked knowing too well the answer would be more intoxicating than the $300 bottle we were about to finish.

'Hmmm... you drink after sex. Never before. You drink naked under the sheets while listening to music and silence. But remember you don't listen to one kind of music. You switch between Keith Urban, Ed Sheeran, Saajan songs, Coke Studio, Prateek Kuhad, Jagjit Singh and the shallow breaths of your man - now that's the best kind of music. Sharing bed with a man is easy, it's difficult to share his silence. So scotch helps. And that's how one should drink it. After sex, on the bed, under the sheets, listening to music and silence.' I finished still thinking about all the great singers I missed in my monologue.

'I have a better suggestion,' you said. 'Drink scotch after sex, on the terrace, under the sheets, listening to music and silence. What do you think?'

I knew it's was not the kind of question you answer with words. 'Never let anyone know what you are thinking,' I whispered into your ear and took off my heels.

'Oh, are we quoting Godfather now?' you said while breathing on my neck.


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