“What are you doing?”
I tsk. “What if it’s poisoned?”
His face pales. “What? Why would you say that?”
He’s already swallowed his bar, and his throat clicks loudly with nerves.
“Just a question. Did you bring that or was it provided?”
“I brought it.”
“Hm. All right, so you wouldn’t poison yourself, but what if you’re trying to get rid of me? Is there poison in that?”
“I’m—” He huffs and then scowls. “I wouldn’t poison you.”
I don’t think he would either, but I like seeing him flustered. It makes his cheeks such a pretty pink. “Prove it.”
“What?”
I nod at the bar. “Take a bite. Prove it’s not poisoned.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Ansel mutters, tearing off a mouthful and chewing it while glaring at me. “There. You happy now?”
I smile sagely. “Perfectly. Go on then. Stuff it in my mouth.”
The way I say it, low and suggestive, makes his pale cheeks darken—a more cherry red than a pastel pink this time.
He holds the food out, and I lean forward, meeting his gaze and letting the chocolate-covered bar slide between my lips.
He stares at my mouth as it closes around the sweet bar right before giving it a nice, long suck.
I give this breakfast the best blow job before pulling back and chewing on it.
That snaps him out of it.
“Stop sucking on the granola bar. That’s not how you eat them.”
“I’m an entrepreneur,” I reply, letting my tongue peek out and wet my lips. I can taste the chocolate there, and I plan on having him use his fingers to wipe me clean. “Look at us. This is a perfect date.”
He blinks. “Um, what?”
“We’re eating together,” I say, nodding at the bar. “You ate some. I ate some. That’s a date to me.”
His lips twitch. He’s almost smiling. I can tell. Another few hours and I’ll get the good ones from him. The kind where he flashes those perfectly white teeth, those plump lips curling up. It makes me want to taste him. “You’re really messed up. I think you need therapy.”
“Says the kidnapper,” I say dryly. Well, he’s not wrong, and neither am I. I probably could use some therapy, and I’ve definitely kidnapped more people than the butterfly. “I’m ready for more, please.”
He slides another bite into my mouth. And when I suck on thebar again, he grunts and shoves the entire thing into my mouth, making me choke and laugh at the same time.
It takes me a minute to chew and swallow it, but when I’m done, my mouth is a mess. I can’t imagine what I look like.
What would my father think if he were alive?
Probably would have nothing nice to say about this lack of table manners.
Would definitely beat me over this.
I shove that away. I don’t want to be thinking about my shitty father at a time like this.
