Her eyes went wide—shock bleeding into outrage bleeding into something darker she refused to name.
"Your punishment," I said evenly, "for disobeying me."
"With what?" Her voice climbed higher, frantic and furious, hands gripping the edge of the table hard enough her knuckles went white. "For not showing up to your game? I already?—"
"For covering up my mark."
The words landed cold and certain.
Her throat worked, color flooding her cheeks in a hot rush as understanding clicked into place. The bruise. The one I'd left on her throat. The one she'd hidden beneath makeup and scarves like it was something shameful instead of exactly what it was—mine.
"I'm not going to?—"
I leaned in until my mouth hovered against her jaw, until she felt every word vibrate through her skin. "Either do that," I growled, letting the threat curl dark and unmistakable, "or I'll fuck you against this table with everyone watching."
Her breath stopped.
"You know I will."
She did.
That was the worst part.
She knew exactly how far I'd go, knew I didn't make threats I wouldn't follow through on, knew every line she'd watched me cross already.
Her eyes blazed with fury—pure, incandescent rage that should have burned me alive but only made my pulse kick harder.
But her hands moved anyway.
Trembling.
Furious.
Obedient.
She unbuttoned her jeans with shaking fingers, the quiet rasp of the zipper impossibly loud in the space between us. Then she shifted her hips slightly, working the denim down just enough—hidden beneath the table, concealed by shadows and angles and the high back of the booth.
The fabric pooled around her thighs.
I watched her face the entire time, drinking in every flicker of emotion that crossed her features—shame, rage, defiance, fear.
Arousal she'd never admit out loud.
My hand slid across her bare thigh, fingers spreading possessively against smooth skin, and her entire body went rigid beneath my touch.
"Good girl," I murmured darkly.
Then I slid my hand higher.
Her breath hitched, sharp and furious, but she didn’t move. Those dark eyes of hers burned into mine, searching for the lie, the bluff, the crack in my armor she could exploit. She wouldn’t find one.
I didn’t blink. Didn’t soften. Didn’t give her an inch.
The restaurant hummed around us—clinking silverware, low conversation, the distant laugh of a woman at the bar. None of it mattered. The world had narrowed to this. To her. To the way her pulse jumped in her throat, to the way her fingers clenched into fists in her lap.
She knew I meant it. Knew I’d do exactly what I’d threatened. And that knowledge sat between us like a live wire, crackling with something darker than anger, hotter than shame.
I didn’t look down. Didn’t let my eyes drop to watch.
