He dropped a hand to her thigh and let out something of a growl. Oh yes, she wanted more. Too bad they were—
A cough sounded from above. “Your dishes, madame et monsieur.” An amused waiter set down her sea bass fillet and his lamb roast.
“Thank you,” Ani said, embarrassed by how heavy her breath came out.
Raffi mirrored her thanks as the waiter walked away. Ani noticed the deep berry-red stains on his mouth. Her thumb brushed gently across his lower lip, smudging the gloss she’d left behind.
His mouth parted slightly beneath her touch, and his eyes grew darker.
She ran the pad of her thumb once more across his lip, slower this time, and she could practically feel Raffi’s body vibrating with want.
His hand, until now, had been on the top of her thigh, resting partly on the fabric and partly on her flushed skin. But then he slid his hand underneath the skirt.
Ani gasped.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He ran his hand slowly up her thigh, stopping short of Ani’s underwear, his fingers grazing her skin so, so gently.
“God, your skin is smooth,” he groaned.
She managed, “Something else is, too,” before she saw stars. She wasn’t sure when the last time was she took a breath. He had to be feeling the heat emanating from between her legs.
Raffi sucked in a breath, sat back in his chair, and slowly removed his hand.
His gaze flicked to hers, then to the artisan ceramics on the table, the soft clink of cutlery around them, the waiter approaching another table with a decanter. They were in a public place where their chances of getting kicked out for lewd behavior were high. Right.
When he looked at her again, his voice was laced with restraint.
“If we weren’t sitting in a restaurant where the bread has its own biography”—his jaw flexed—“I’d already have you undressed.”
Ani looked down at her food, which objectively appeared delicious but at the moment held no interest for her. She agreed with him, but all she wanted was his hand back. Higher, higher.
“I’m not really hungry anymore.”
Raffi was adjusting his pants, and Ani didn’t dare glance down because she guessed what she might see and she didn’t think she could make direct eye contact with any of the waitstaff after that.
“Same,” he said, “but eat up. You’re going to need your strength for what I have planned.”
She let out a sound, a type of squeak, and that elicited Raffi’s wolfish grin.
Then, so sweetly, he wrapped an arm around her and kissed the side of her head. He picked up his fork and said, “Come on, let’s try our best.”
They ate, Ani vaguely registering a citrusy tang and a pleasant basil pairing with her fish, but mostly focusing on calming her breath enough to swallow and stop her imagination from running wild.
When she had eaten enough, she turned to Raffi, who seemed to be in a similar battle of forcing down food while not getting too horny in a Michelin-starred restaurant.
She leaned into him and whispered, “You know, I don’t really need to be home tonight.”
Raffi clanked his fork down on the plate. “Okay, fuck this, let’s get out of here.”
He whipped out a sleek black leather wallet and threw down a few hundreds, vastly overpaying.
“That’s more than—” she started saying, but Raffi grabbed her hand and led them out of their booth.
“It’s fine. I can’t do math right now. All the blood is gone from my brain.”
