the menu closer."
"My fault, darlin'. You let me order, remember? What else don't you like?"
They talked about food while enjoying the incredible dinner, but tension wound higher, subtle at first, but more and more pronounced. She kept jumping every time he moved or spoke, unsure why she was so tense. Her nerves jangled, sensitive to the least signal from him. Pushing his plate away, he stretched out his legs beneath the table, deliberately wide and sprawled so his thigh rubbed hers.
She moaned softly before she could silence it. The tension mounted, thick and oppressive, matching the darkening storm in his eyes.
Finally, he leaned over and breathed into her ear. “I think it's time to give you that extra credit."
Startled, she glanced around the restaurant, but nobody sat close enough to hear. The alcove was dark and made for lovers. Surely he wouldn't—"What, here?"
"Yes, here."
The waiter brought a thick slice of death-by-chocolate layered cake. Conn loaded the fork and fed her bite by bite, his eyes locked on her mouth. Every few bites, he put the empty fork in his mouth and licked it clean. His eyes blazed. From the chocolate? Or her taste?
She tried to quell the heat spreading through her. “Don't I get to feed you?"
One corner of his mouth quirked. “I thought you'd never ask."
Leaning down, he licked her neck, his teeth grazing her collarbone. Just a nibble, but she jolted with surprise just the same. He slid his arm behind her, his palm sliding hot down her right arm. His body heat seared her left side, back, and thigh. Sitting in public, she felt covered by him, possessed by his little touches and potent stares. It was odd, terrifying, and thrilling at the same time.
How far would he go? How far would she let him go? In public?
As she lifted the fork to his mouth, her hand shook. She put the empty fork in her mouth as he'd done, and he rumbled with approval. “Do you taste me, darlin'?"
Maybe it was her imagination, but she did taste just a hint of that sultry darkness of the mastery of his mouth. Shivers took hold deep in the pit of her stomach. Tightening her thighs together, she closed her eyes, trying to calm the roaring desire.
"Put the fork down.” He whispered the words against her ear, but she recognized it as an order. Silverware clattered against the dessert plate. He breathed deeply against her ear, his breath warm and moist. With his left hand, he slowly turned her head toward him.
Wildly, her gaze flickered about the room. Was anyone watching? Did she care?
Smoldering with heat, he stared deeply into her eyes, drowning her with his will, his control. Tension mounted, his gaze a physical touch sliding down to her mouth. Lazily, he let his gaze drop lower, and her breasts burned to feel his touch, to feel the heat of his mouth, the stroke of his tongue. Trembling, she made a soft noise, desperate and needy yet so afraid she'd embarrass herself.
His gaze worked back up to her mouth. Her lips fell open; she couldn't help it. She couldn't stop her tongue from wetting her lips in invitation, either. He lifted his gaze to hers and she sucked in a deep breath, bracing for attack.
Tilting her head just so, he slanted his mouth across hers. His tongue slid deep, conquering and claiming every inch of her. This was no little torment or play; this was total domination. His mouth took hers, his tongue thrusting like his body would, not fast, not unsure, but deep and steady, demanding thrusts which left her no defense. One, two, and she quivered, crying out softly into his mouth as climax roared through her. Her hands scrambled on the table, her body shaking against his. She finally got one hand under the table, her left, and reached for his groin.
He made a rough sound against her lips, his hips jerking, thrusting his erection firmly into her palm. God, he was big and hard, swelled against those black jeans. Her body tightened down all over again, aching to feel him sliding inside, claiming
"My fault, darlin'. You let me order, remember? What else don't you like?"
They talked about food while enjoying the incredible dinner, but tension wound higher, subtle at first, but more and more pronounced. She kept jumping every time he moved or spoke, unsure why she was so tense. Her nerves jangled, sensitive to the least signal from him. Pushing his plate away, he stretched out his legs beneath the table, deliberately wide and sprawled so his thigh rubbed hers.
She moaned softly before she could silence it. The tension mounted, thick and oppressive, matching the darkening storm in his eyes.
Finally, he leaned over and breathed into her ear. “I think it's time to give you that extra credit."
Startled, she glanced around the restaurant, but nobody sat close enough to hear. The alcove was dark and made for lovers. Surely he wouldn't—"What, here?"
"Yes, here."
The waiter brought a thick slice of death-by-chocolate layered cake. Conn loaded the fork and fed her bite by bite, his eyes locked on her mouth. Every few bites, he put the empty fork in his mouth and licked it clean. His eyes blazed. From the chocolate? Or her taste?
She tried to quell the heat spreading through her. “Don't I get to feed you?"
One corner of his mouth quirked. “I thought you'd never ask."
Leaning down, he licked her neck, his teeth grazing her collarbone. Just a nibble, but she jolted with surprise just the same. He slid his arm behind her, his palm sliding hot down her right arm. His body heat seared her left side, back, and thigh. Sitting in public, she felt covered by him, possessed by his little touches and potent stares. It was odd, terrifying, and thrilling at the same time.
How far would he go? How far would she let him go? In public?
As she lifted the fork to his mouth, her hand shook. She put the empty fork in her mouth as he'd done, and he rumbled with approval. “Do you taste me, darlin'?"
Maybe it was her imagination, but she did taste just a hint of that sultry darkness of the mastery of his mouth. Shivers took hold deep in the pit of her stomach. Tightening her thighs together, she closed her eyes, trying to calm the roaring desire.
"Put the fork down.” He whispered the words against her ear, but she recognized it as an order. Silverware clattered against the dessert plate. He breathed deeply against her ear, his breath warm and moist. With his left hand, he slowly turned her head toward him.
Wildly, her gaze flickered about the room. Was anyone watching? Did she care?
Smoldering with heat, he stared deeply into her eyes, drowning her with his will, his control. Tension mounted, his gaze a physical touch sliding down to her mouth. Lazily, he let his gaze drop lower, and her breasts burned to feel his touch, to feel the heat of his mouth, the stroke of his tongue. Trembling, she made a soft noise, desperate and needy yet so afraid she'd embarrass herself.
His gaze worked back up to her mouth. Her lips fell open; she couldn't help it. She couldn't stop her tongue from wetting her lips in invitation, either. He lifted his gaze to hers and she sucked in a deep breath, bracing for attack.
Tilting her head just so, he slanted his mouth across hers. His tongue slid deep, conquering and claiming every inch of her. This was no little torment or play; this was total domination. His mouth took hers, his tongue thrusting like his body would, not fast, not unsure, but deep and steady, demanding thrusts which left her no defense. One, two, and she quivered, crying out softly into his mouth as climax roared through her. Her hands scrambled on the table, her body shaking against his. She finally got one hand under the table, her left, and reached for his groin.
He made a rough sound against her lips, his hips jerking, thrusting his erection firmly into her palm. God, he was big and hard, swelled against those black jeans. Her body tightened down all over again, aching to feel him sliding inside, claiming
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