“This is a casual dining space,” I said, watching her scan the crowd.
“Oh yes, in Gucci jeans and handbags that cost more than most people make in a year,” she scoffed. Her jeans may not be a luxury brand, but I’d enjoyed how well they fitted her ass on our walk through the dining area.
“Rage about the injustice of it all after dinner,” I said, “the food here is spectacular, and Lorenzo will be deeply wounded if you get indigestion. He works very hard on these dishes.”
“Oh, you know him personally?” She flipped open the menu. “Of course you do.”
“Well, I did hire him.”
She looked up over the top of the menu. “Wait, this is your restaurant?”
“One of them. Try the Green Chile Prosciutto Rounds or the Gnoccheti. They’reboth spectacular.”
Fee put the menu down. “Done. I’ll try both. You said one of them? How many do you own?”
“Several. Tell me, Fee, short for… Fern?” She shook her head. “Feeona? Fyonie? What sort of arcane Irish name did your parents foist on you?”
“You’ll figure it out,” she said, nodding to our server as he put down grilled bruschetta. “Eventually.”
The meal and the bottle of Chateau Lafite smoothed over some of her sharp edges, and the mean-spirited witch laughed heartily when I pulled out my mobile and gave her a description of all the places my money had been spent from my stolen credit cards she had so generously distributed to her muddy band of do-gooders.
“Fifteen hundred Euros for drinks all around,andall night at a pub in Glasgow.”
She hid her smirk behind her wine glass.
“Three hundred and seventy pounds for lobster rolls and chips for a school group in Bristol.
“Then, the twelve-thousand-pound donation to the Basking Shark Rescue.
“Something… I can’t understand this charge but it had something to do with a Sweet 16 party in Manchester to the tune of thirteen hundred pounds… Shall I continue, or are you about to aspirate that wine?”
Fee was laughing so hard that she nearly choked. “I’ve never been prouder of my people. This is a mere drop in the bucket for you, but you might have earned a smidgen of good karma.”
She smoothed her hair back, the black, glossy strands perfectly framing her face. Her laughter faded and the air between us became heavier, thicker somehow.
“How’s your Capesante?” She watched me spear a scallop and bring it to my mouth.
“Delicious,” I said. “Would you like a bite?”
She leaned forward, her lips parted slightly and eyes closed. I took a scallop off my plate, feeding it to her from my fingers.
Her mouth tightened a bit in surprise, but her tongue darted out to swipe across my fingers and I stifled my groan. “Shall we talk about the elephant in the room?”
Fee licked her lips, forcing me to adjust the seam of my pants. “The elephant…” she purred. “Would you be talking about your cock?”
“You flatter me, but I was thinking more specifically about using it. On you. When you fed me that sandwich in the basement and rubbed your hot little center against me, I was hard enough to pound nails. Then, you left. That’s low, darling. Even for you.”
Settling back in her chair, she eyed me with amusement, though I could see the heat simmering in her eyes. “Well, we were about to be ambushed and most likely shot full of holes. You see my dilemma.”
“True,” I drawled. “But tonight, none of those initial constraints are present. It’s you, and me, and nothing else. I would very much like to be inside you. I would like to eat you out like you were my last meal and bite your little nipples until they’re raw.”
Folding her arms over those lovely nipples, straining against her thin t-shirt, she looked me over, biting her lower lip. “We really shouldn’t.”
“True.”
She wore an utterly diabolical smile. “I wasn’t joking about being a screamer.”
Subtly pressing down on my cock as it strained against my zipper, I groaned. “I certainly hope you weren’t.”
