“Interesting idea,” is all I say, too enraged to say more. She’s so close to being bent over the table and taught to hold her goddamn tongue.
Once again, the doors open, and the next course is served. I have a pretty good idea what’s coming and sure enough, the chef doesn’t disappoint. She looks down at her plate, lip already curling in a disapproving sneer when she blinks in shock.
Our plates are both full to the brim with steak and chips. I can practically see her mouth watering as the server passes her a steak knife.
“Now this is more like it!” she exclaims, digging straight in, excited.
“Glad you’re happy.”
“Please tell me this is it instead of another ten courses?”
“Nine. You have ice cream for dessert.” I grin. Her happiness is infectious.
“Awesome!”
“Do you really love steak and ice cream that much, or do you just want out of here quicker?”
“A little of one, a lot of the other.”
I laugh at her joke and join her, eating in silence. I enjoy the steak almost as much as the view and the company.
After dinner, as she starts on her dessert, I change seats and sit beside the girl. She doesn’t say anything but I can tell from the tense set of her shoulders that she’s not happy.
I drop my hand to her thigh.
“What the fuck?” She growls, dropping her spoon and glowering.
“What?” I ask coldly. She’s not behaving like normal girls do, so maybe she needs a not so subtle reminder of how this is going to work. “I got you the dinner that you wanted, so why don’t you show me how grateful you are?”
My voice is steel. My eyes, ice. The weight of my intention presses down heavily on her bare skin. She doesn’t reply, move, react in any way.
“No, thanks. I’m taken,” she eventually says stiffly.
“I don’t see a ring.” I smirk.
She waves her hand in front of my face, and I laugh again. Her grandmother could have given her that ring. It means nothing to me.
“It’s on the wrong hand, honey.” I don’t like the taste of that term of endearment on my tongue. It doesn’t suit her at all. This girl isn’t sweet.
“Means the same thing though. I’m taken. And not interested.”
“Is that so?” I drawl. “Then why haven’t you moved my hand?”
I’m more than a little smug as she glances down at where my hand is still resting on her leg. Even now she makes no move to remove it.
Trying to provoke her further, I start to lightly stroke and work my way higher. Then I squeeze the soft skin in my grip.
She snaps.
Her hand shoots out and grabs something. She moves with such lightning fast reflexes, I can’t even process what it is. Fiery pain explodes through the back of my hand and I howl in pain. It’s the shock that does it. I’ve sustained far worse with barely a sigh passing my lips before now.
It turns out to be her steak knife which she has driven through my flesh. My dick springs to fucking attention like a goddamn masochist soldier reporting for duty.
She shoots to her feet, the chair toppling over, and rushes to the door. I grab the nearest napkin and attempt to staunch the blood. Before she can reach for the handle, the doors fly open, and both of our grandparents are taking in the scene with horrified looks on their faces.
“What’s going on?” My grandfather demands.
“Is everything okay?”
