“Very well.” McAvoy rises slowly, taking his sweet time. “I guess Calla and I will have to find some other time to catch up. Perhaps in my office again?”
This time, he directs the question to Calla, the underlying innuendo spoken loud and clear for everyone around to here. As if on cue, they begin to whisper to one another, cupped mouths pressed to strained ears.
“As if,” Calla scoffs, retaking her seat, seemingly unbothered about the stares she’s gathering. “I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole, McAvoy, and I think it’s time you knew that.”
My heart soars inside my chest.
I can’t help but smile, satisfied when I see McAvoy’s features screw up with something akin to anger.
Straightening my back, I wait for his next spew of vitriol. But it never comes. Eyes narrowed, McAvoy smooths out his tie, turns on his heel and disappears into the throng of people still building at the entrance to the hall.
I turn back around just in time to see Calla glancing around at the faces of the people sitting at our table. “Anything you’d like to say?”
Not one of them pipes up.
“Good.”
Grabbing her cocktail, Calla clinks the rim against my whisky and swallows back the rest of her glass.
She still tastes of bitter lime from our tequila shots, now mingled with sweet peach, when I lean down to capture her lips with mine, pouring my gratitude, admiration and adoration for her in between our kisses.
I don’t care what anyone says.
Calla Becker is mine and mine alone.
Not a single soul mentions the confrontation between McAvoy, Calla and I for the rest of the evening. But I know the gossip is flowing around the tables. I can sense it in the way people look away when I catch their eyes, their mouths moving behind their hands at a million times an hour.
Strangely, I can’t find it within myself to give a shit.
I’m more than happy to simply sit with Calla, in our own little bubble, where we can chat and laugh uninterrupted except for a few of Calla’s friends who pop by to say hello.
When dinner is finally served, I’m starving enough to warrant wolfing down the first course of grilled avocadoaccompanied by diced pieces of spicy chorizo and a spoonful of deliciously fresh salsa. I pick at the sticky honey glazed salmon on a bed of rice they serve for our mains, seeing as how I’m not too fussed on the fish, before Calla and I share a dark chocolate brownie for dessert.
“At least this time I got to have dessert,” I mutter lowly into her ear, watching her glossy lips purse over the spoon. It feels like fucking torture to see her pink tongue peek out, licking the remnants of chocolate sauce from the back of the utensil. Beneath the table, Calla’s foot presses into my ankle, raising the hem of my suit trousers.
“What are you talking about?” she whispers back just as quietly. “You got dessert. It just wasn’t food, remember?”
My cock kicks in my boxers.
Of course, I fucking remember. How could I ever forget the sweet taste of her pussy gushing apart of my tongue and fingers before I made her break apart on my cock too.
“Did you know they say dark chocolate is an aphrodisiac?”
“Really?” I raise my brows, popping the raspberry the chef placed upon the brownie for decoration, into my mouth. “Does that explain the hard on I’ve had all evening, then?”
Calla pops her shoulders, trying for a look of angelic innocence. “I’m not sure. But lemme know when you want a hand with that.”
Pressing my upper thigh into hers, I lean my chin upon her bare shoulder, close enough to be able to count every single pretty little freckle peeking from beneath her makeup. I’m too far gone to remember that we’re supposed to be seen together only to make McAvoy green with envy enough to leave Calla alone.
Fuck that.
I’m sick of being selfless.
I’m gonna take what I want and keep it.
Watching the spoon dangling from Calla’s lips, I cup the back of her neck, keeping her close to me. Her lashes flutter, kissing the apple of her cheeks when I stroke her pulse point with the pad of my thumb.
“Look at me, Calla.”
