His eyes flicked up. “If you sit there with your mouth hanging open for too long I might get ideas.”
I closed it, frowning. “How can you still be horny?”
He put his phone aside and leaned his elbows on the table, clasping his hands and fixing his attention directly on me. I squirmed and took a sip of ice water, but it did nothing to cool the flush moving up my neck.
“I’m always horny for you,” he said.
“Is that true?” I asked, curious.
He nodded.
“Even when you’re at work?”
“I’m busy at work, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get some intense flashbacks when I have a minute alone.”
“What do you do about it?”
“I have a bathroom off my office.”
My brows shot up just as the waiter appeared with a tray of shrimp and cranberry cocktail sauce and a bottle of wine. The corner of Peregrine’s mouth jerked and I had the distinct sensation of being eye-fucked by my husband over the dinner table. Our waiter poured my glass and I accepted it gratefully, sipping the wine and letting it warm my throat.
“Enough about me,” he said, once we were alone. “Are you horny while I’m at work?”
“I have classes,” I said. “I’m busy.”
“I’ve seen the books you keep in your nightstand.”
“Those are romances,” I snapped. “I just like reading them for fun.”
“I’ll bet you read them for fun.”
“Don’t touch my things.”
He lifted his palms. “I wasn’t, I just happened to open the drawer because I was going to purchase you something and I wanted to make sure you didn’t already have one.”
I blushed hot, unable to find words.
“It’s in your nightstand, if you want it,” he said. “But only for when I’m at work. When I’m home, that’s my job.”
“Are you really jealous of a toy.”
“Yes,” he said firmly. “I’m jealous of your fingers when they touch between your legs. I’m jealous of your fucking chair because you should be sitting on my face.”
I was speechless. He had a habit of saying uncomfortably honest things sometimes. His brows had lowered and there was a dark expression on his face. A possessive glint in his eyes. My nipples tightened beneath my sweater and I reached for my ice water again.
“Peregrine, what is this?” I asked.
“Dinner.” His gaze swept over the table.
“No,” I said, my heart pounding. “Are you taking me out on a date?”
“Yes, if that’s what you want.”
“Dates are for people who like each other.”
“I don’t dislike you, Lia.” His tone was icy. “Just because I don’t love you doesn’t mean I can’t treat you well.”
Everything he’d done to me over the evening flashed through my mind. His coldness, his surging desire, the fear he roused in me. The way he’d held my body down and praised me like it meant something.