Chapter 14
“Teaching?”
She watched his fork bob back and forth, dancing in the air as he considered the merits of his own question before making its way at last to his mouth, his long eyelashes fluttering closed as he savored the rich chocolate and caramel. Her mother would have had a conniption to see them eating dessert—tuxedo cheesecake, drizzled in caramel and tiramisu—as the starter course, but Violet had discovered over the weeks that his admission of having a sweet tooth was quite serious and that she’d need to acclimate to dessert coming before anything else.
“I make more at Morning Glory,” she admitted. She had applied for her substitute teacher’s license shortly after graduation, thinking it would be a good way to supplement her job in the urban planning office, but it paid a pittance and she’d quickly remembered just why she’d pursued art history and not art education, as her mother had wanted. “I’m also really terrible with kids, so . . . not the best fit.”
He made a strangled noise of revulsion, his face screwing up in disgust before stealing a forkful of her tiramisu. Lurielle’s warning had proved prescient, and her dessert choice was never safe from his darting hands. “They’d need to pay a fortune to make that job worth it. Grubby little hands, never listening, I don’t blame you.”
“No kids for you then?” They’d seen each other barely a dozen times and any conversation about anything more than a month or two in the future was comically wishful thinking on her part—not really, he’s already making plans for next Halloween!—so it made little sense for her stomach to flip-flop in wait for his answer.Why are you even asking him, you don’t even know ifyouwant kids.
“Now, I didn’t say that,” he corrected, raising his fork in defense. “I have no doubt in my heart that I’d love my own child with everything in me. Other people’s children though, they’re . . . they’re just terrible.” The room they’d been seated in was nearly empty, so there were no other patrons around to give her disapproving looks as she burst out laughing, sliding closer to him on the banquette, seeking his warmth.
Suggesting this restaurant had been by design: she knew they had a fabulous dessert cart that he would love, and there was no traditional seating. Couples would gather on huge velvet poufs and lounged on settees and sat closely together on the long banquettes, as they did then. She was absolutelynotplanning on initiating anything improper while they were seated in the sparsely populated dining room, she only wanted to be nearer to his warmth and press to his side, Violet told herself. If his strong arm were to come around her, so be it. If his thick fingers might stroke her thighs, she’d live. If they somehow made their way under her skirt, discovering her lack of underwear, she was prepared to deal with the consequences.
“Have you ever considered gallery work? Or something in an architecture office?” Finding her a job she would love was his new pet project, networking with his contacts and putting the word out amongst friends. She told herself it was only because he was the type that probably enjoyed a fixer-upper, which she was, but it still liquefied her insides to contemplate.That doesn’t seem like someone who’s only interested in a short-term thing, right?
“The architecture firms want a more specialized degree, and the gallery jobs are all taken by people who don’t plan on retiring until after they’re dead.” He’d wrinkled his nose adorably, nodding his agreement with her sentiment, and she edged closer on the velvet banquette until she was able to feel the heat of his thickly muscled thigh.
It happened midway through dinner.
She had pressed close enough to be flush against him and his arm had dropped around her at last. Violet was certain he was able to feel her heart thumping, could probably smell her arousal over the half-eaten plates of food before them. Her eyes slipped closed, breathing in the warm, woodsy smell of him as his giant hand rubbed the side of her hip, swirling the glass of dark red wine he held in the other.This is it, this is it.Violet felt the moment when he realized his fingers weren’t moving over any additional fabric beneath the short skirt of her dress, that nothing at all impeded the smooth glide of his fingertips against her hip, no silk or satin or cotton, not even the teensy strap of a thong. She felt him stiffen slightly against her, his hand pausing ever so slightly in its movement before stilling.
False alarm. You’d better buy a backup vibrator now so that when you burn out the first one sometime next week you won’t be left with no—Her treacherous inner voice cut off on a gasp, the air in her lungs forced out in a squeak when his velvety touch moved to the inside of her thigh, tracing softly up her skin until he met the resistance of where her thighs met, sealing him out. He stopped moving but hadn’t pulled away.You hold all the cards. Your comfort is the only thing that counts right now.Her chest was heaving, her breath leaving her in pants. He’d told her explicitly how things were going to work, and she’d been too obstinate to listen. She held all the cards. He’d not continue if she didn’t want him to do so. Her thighs parted.
“Violet, do you remember what I told you about what you could expect when you’re with me?”
His voice was stern, that of a principal questioning a naughty student; a priest before a sinner, and she gulped.
“You-you said my comfort was all that matters. That I . . . I hold all the cards.”
His finger had begun to move back and forth like a clock pendulum, the tip of it just barely grazing her cleft.
“Mhm, exactly. And what else?” Each stroke against her outer lips moved a little easier, a little smoother, aided by her slick against her newly waxed skin.Geillis is going to get the biggest bouquet of roses they sell.The velvety-soft digit pressed slightly, breaching her folds and still moving like a pendulum, only now his fingertip pressed into her clit on every pass, a jolt of lightning each time he did so. Her hands fisted in the material of his sleeve, her breath coming out in needy gasps.
“You said . . . you said you were going to spoil me.”
“Exactly.”
Her mouth dropped open and her head lolled against his arm when the same finger pressed, dipping into her hot folds completely, coating itself in the wetness it found there. When it was joined by one of its brothers—stroking and squeezing, pulling and circling against her clit—she whimpered, and his answering chuckle was so dark and deep she nearly came right then.
“Did you think that meant I wasn’t going to spoil this pussy?” His fingers had curled, trapping her clit between his knuckles, stimulating its hidden sides as they locomotored back and forth, pulling back its hood and making her see stars. “You just need to tell me what you want, sweetheart. You’re in charge.”
Violet didn’t feel in charge. She felt as though her spine had suddenly misplaced several vertebrae as she slumped against him, her legs opening a little wider, as though that would somehow help her achieve the friction she craved, the need to come suddenly obliterating everything else. Her clit felt like a live wire, and she was desperate for him to plug her in and make her spark. She didn’t see how she was meant to be in charge whenhewas the one playing her body like a musical instrument, laughing that dark chocolate laugh with his CEO voice.Besides . . . doesn’t he know you like him being bossy?
“You’re going to need to tell me what you want, Violet. What does this needy little cunt want from me?” Gruff and commanding, just above her temple, turning her to jelly.
“Please,” she whimpered, too aware of the other couple across the dining room and the server slowly making their way around the restaurant; too aware of the way he was rubbing her clit from the top, from the sides, anywhere but where she needed.
“You need to use your words, sweetheart. Please what?”
The outline of his cock stood out in relief in his bespoke grey pants, fat and full and desperate to come out, from the looks of it. She wanted to be filled by his cock, to have him stretch her beyond her limits and fuck her the way he’d fucked her in her dreams a hundred times already, she wanted to feel the way twenty-four ounces would gush out of her . . . but that would have to wait. Right now she couldn’t do anything, would never be able to leave this restaurant and see the sun again if she didn’t come immediately. He was smiling, she realized. Smilingthatsmile, the one that she loved, and the sparkle in his eye was completely evil. He was a bit of a bastard, but she probably wouldn’t have been so hot for him in the first place if he wasn’t.
“Pleasemake me come. But don’t get us arrested,” she added hurriedly, glancing guiltily around the room.
The press of his digits had settled into a rhythm by then, cupping her entire mound in his palm, just beneath the jacquard table linens, and she panted when they began rubbing over her clit at last.
“Is this what you need?” His voice was a low croon just above her head, but her eyes had glazed over by then. She was going to come very soon at this rate, orgasming in public, unable to control herself. Who knew what she’d do next in her frenzied state.I’m sorry, officer, I didn’t mean tofellatethis minotaur in the middle of the dining room, but you see, he’s been playing so fucking hard to get that I snapped.