“Where do you want me?” I sigh, regretting the phrasing the moment the words are out of my mouth. In your bed? On the table? Against the wall?
“You can just stand in the corner for the time being,” he answers, suppressing a smile. No need to make the obvious jokes, I guess.
I ignore him and take the seat opposite him.
He gives me an amused look, but he doesn’t bother arguing. Instead, he digs in. I watch, though I’m pretending not to give a shit, as he cuts off a large bite of the tiger prawn, ignoring the caviar. I’m tempted to tell him to take a bite of everything together, but I refrain. That’s not a hill I’m willing to die on.
I watch as he takes the first bite. It’s difficult not to watch his lips as he chews. Who knew that watching a man eat could be so arousing?
I’ve never experienced this before. When Dane would eat, I’d look away. He chewed with his mouth open, always dribbling bits onto his chin and beard. It was weirdly cute when we were dating. I’d tease him and wipe his face. But it quickly became embarrassing.
Watching Anton eat my food, though… It has me squirming in my seat, inventing new ways to fake like I’m not ogling him.
“Well?” I ask, waiting for a compliment that will never, ever come.
“What’s next?”
I sigh bitterly. Shame on me for getting my hopes up for so much as a crumb of a “good job” or “tastes nice.”
“I’ll go get your next course now,” I say, shoving away from the table.
“No,” he says firmly, forcing me back into my seat with the simple power of his gaze. “No, I’m going to need a refill first.” He rubs the rim of his wine glass in a way that shouldn’t be but somehow is suggestive.
“The bar is right there,” I point out. “I can see the bottle of wine on the counter. You can walk three feet, can’t you?”
“I prefer to watch you walk.”
Okay, he’s definitely flirting with me now. But I’m not sure what his motive is. Does he want to sleep with me? Or is he just trying to make me uncomfortable?
Or worse still, is he expecting me to betray my feelings for him by reacting? Whatever the case, I give him nothing. I stand up and walk over to the bar to retrieve the wine bottle.
It’s a beautiful vintage. The moment I pop the cork, the fragrance wafts out to greet me. I don’t think I’ve ever smelled a Sauvignon Blanc this summery as this before.
“Anything else?” I ask through gritted teeth once I’ve filled his glass almost all the way to the rim.
“I’m sure I’ll think of something.”
“Right. Well, have at it. I’ll just pop into the kitchen.”
“You will do no such thing. You’re going to stay right here and do as I ask,” he tells me.
“What am I supposed to do, twiddle my fucking thumbs in the corner?”
Eyes flashing, Anton takes the stem of the wine glass in his supple fingers and pours a single, crystalline drop onto his napkin. He stays locked on me the whole time, not even blinking.
“Oops,” he says. “Looks like I’ll need a new napkin.”
I grit my teeth.
This is not about service.
This is about humiliating me.
“You’re evil, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told,” he replies lazily.
“I’m not waiting on you anymore.”