Her breath catches as my thumb presses against her lip, parting it slightly. “Maybe I just hate him more than I hate you.”
I laugh, the sound low and rough. “High praise indeed.”
She shifts in my lap, and I have to bite back a groan as her ass grinds against my cock. “Can I get up now? This little revenge play is over.”
“Hmm,” I muse, tightening my grip on her waist. “What will you give me if I let you get up?”
She glares at me, those hazel eyes flashing with defiance. “You won’t get me scratching the fuck out of your face.”
“Maybe I’d like that,” I counter, my voice almost purring. I trace my finger along her cheek, down to her jaw. “Maybe they’ll leave faint scars. Maybe aim for my eyebrow.” I tap the spot above my right eye. “Heard the girls love an eyebrow slit.”
“You’re fucking deranged,” she says, but there’s less heat in her voice now and more amusement.
“Yes, I am.” I loosen my grip on her, letting my hands fall to my sides. “Go on then, Little Sinner. You’re free to get up.”
She pushes off my lap, and I expect her to storm out of the dining room, to flee upstairs and lock herself in her room like she’s done every night since moving in. Instead, she straightens her clothing, gives me a look I can’t quite decipher, and slides back into her chair across from me.
I raise an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. “Staying for dessert?”
“I’m still hungry,” she says simply, picking up her fork and stabbing at the barely-touched food on her plate. “And I’m not letting that asshole ruin my appetite.”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. She continues to fucking surprise me at every turn.
“Antoine,” I call, and the server appears immediately. “We’ll have dessert now.”
As Antoine clears our plates and disappears back to the kitchen, I study Seraphina across the table. The flush is still high on her cheeks, her hair slightly mussed from our little performance.
“That was quite the show you put on,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Didn’t know you had it in you to stand up to Vincent like that.”
She takes a sip of her wine, eyes meeting mine over the rim of her glass. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“I’m learning,” I admit, watching the way her throat works as she swallows. “Though I have to say, the jersey was a nice touch. Didn’t take you for the type to go for such an obvious power play.”
“I learned from the best,” she says with a shrug that’s too casual to be genuine. “Besides, it worked, didn’t it? He completely lost his shit.”
“Worked like a fucking charm,” I agree, raising my glass in a mock toast.
Antoine glides back into the room with two dessert plates balanced expertly in his hands. He places them before us with a flourish.
“Crème brûlée with gold leaf and Grand Marnier-infused berries,” he announces before disappearing again.
The dessert is a work of art—golden caramelized sugar topped with actual fucking gold leaf, surrounded by plump berries glistening with liqueur.
Seraphina picks up her spoon and cracks through the caramelized surface with a satisfying snap. She scoops up a bite, making sure to get some of the creamy custard beneath and a berry alongside it.
When she slides the spoon between her lips, her eyes flutter closed.
“Mmm,” she moans softly, the sound hitting me straight in the dick. “Holy shit.”
I shift in my seat, my dick going from half-mast to full on boner as she takes another bite, this time dragging the spoon slowly from her mouth.
“This is so good,” she breathes, licking a smear of custard from her bottom lip.
I watch, transfixed, as she savors each bite. Her little sighs and moans of pleasure are pornographic, her tongue darting out to catch every last trace of sweetness. My own dessert sits untouched as I grip my thigh under the table, trying to control the throbbing in my pants.
“Aren’t you going to eat yours?” she asks, catching me staring.
I clear my throat. “I’m enjoying the show.”
