Ijustcatch Calla’s delicate ankle in my hand before she makes contact for the second time. Resting the heel of her shoe on the edge of my seat, between my spread thighs, I swipe the pad of my thumb over the protruding bone, slowly shaking my head and allowing a quiettutto escape past my lips.
“What did I just say?”
Calla shrugs, all innocent doe eyes. “Was I supposed to be listening, sir?”
My cock thickens further, a steady ache, similar to the one in my chest, beginning to thrum through my balls as they grow heavy. “Don’t.”
Cocking her head to one side, she mimics me. “Don’t what?”
I tighten my grip around Calla’s foot, scrambling to hold onto my thin thread of sanity. Otherwise, I’ll be liable to bepicking her up, throwing her over my shoulder and walking out. Fake date or not. Thomas’ eyes on us or not. Right now, I can’t find it within me to really give a fuck. “Don’t call me that.”
“What?” She licks her lips, her upper teeth sinking into her glossy lower lip. “Call you sir?”
It’s all I can do but nod.
“But it turns me on, when you boss me around.” She blinks at me, never breaking my stare as she flexes her foot, pressing the toe of her heel into the prominent bulge between my legs. “Sir.”
“Are we ready to order?”
I just about manage to swallow back my groan as Calla snatches her foot back, straightening her back and peering up at the waiter, poised with his old-fashioned notebook and pen.
“Could we have a platter of bruschetta to share?”
The waiter hardly looks up as he scribbles. Good. Because otherwise he’s about to get an eyeful as I rearrange myself, ignoring Calla’s all-knowing smirk. “Mhm.”
“And then I’ll take the linguini mariana. Blake, what are you having?”
You. On this table. On the floor. In the back of a cab. In my bed. Really, I’m not fussy.
“I’ll take the gnocci al forno, please.”
“Great choices.” The waiter smiles politely as he collects our menus, tucking them neatly beneath his arm. “I’ll bring your sharing platter out as soon as it’s ready.”
I wait until he’s out of earshot, before I hiss, “You’re in fucking trouble.”
Calla takes a delicate sip of her water, leaving, I notice, a lipstick mark behind. “Whatever for?”
“You know exactly what for.”
She grins. “Don’t pretend like you don’t like it.”
Exactly.
That’s the whole point.
“Maybe I like it a little too much.”
Calla smirks and it’s only when she replies do I realize I’ve accidentally revealed my admission out loud. “That’s good to know. For future reference, I like it—”
“Calla Becker,” croons that fucking voice of his. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“It’s a small world, Thomas,” Calla replies, glancing up at him, her once sparkling blue eyes now like hard chips of ice. “How’s your staff meeting going?”
Staff meeting?
Calla turns to peer over her shoulder at the same time as I peer ahead, finding a single brunette dressed all in red, staring back at us.
“I thought you said tonight was a staff meeting?” Calla frowns, rightening herself in her seat.
