Page 109 of His Eternal Claim

“Dinner first,” he rasps, though his gaze stays locked on my lips. “Before I lose my mind completely.”

The dinner table is ready for us, but as we move toward it, the smooth click of the pavilion doors draws my eyes to a waiter slipping out onto the roof. He carries two heavy, leather-bound menus, his gaze fixed politely on the floor to grant us a shred of privacy after what he just witnessed.

Before I can even slide into my seat, Zagreus steps in. He grips the edges of the chair and pulls it, with me in it, closer to his side of the table until our knees are practically locked.

The waiter hesitates for a fraction of a second, clearing his throat softly as he sets the menus down. “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Vitale. The chef has prepared a bespoke tasting menu for tonight, but if you would prefer to look over the standard options—”

“Leave the menus,” Zagreus interrupts, dismissive of the third wheel in our space. His grey eyes never leave my face. “And give us ten minutes before the first course.”

“Of course, sir.” The waiter bows his head and retreats quickly.

The moment we are alone, Zagreus leans over the armrest of his chair, crowding right back into my perimeter. The candlelight catches the sharp angle of his jaw.

“You aren’t even looking at the menu,” I murmur, my heart doing that familiar, erratic dance against my ribs. I reach for the leather binder just to give my hands something to do. “How do you know what you want to eat?”

“I already know exactly what I want to eat,” he rasps, his thumb catching my lower lip, tugging it down just enough to expose the damp swell where he kissed me moments ago. His gaze drops, tracking the movement.

And I know it has absolutely nothing to do with what the chef is cooking back there.

A blush creeps up my neck. “Zagreus. We are in public. Sort of.”

“My building, my roof, my wife,” he counters smoothly as a devastating, lazy smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He leans closer, his breath fanning warm against my ear as his hand slides down to grip my thigh under the table, his fingers squeezing firmly through the fabric of my dress. “I could eat you right here, Mrs. Vitale. Piece by piece. And I don’t think you’d survive every single bite.”

“I suppose you are hungry,” I say breathlessly, laughing as I try to maintain some semblance of composure. “But you’ll just have to wait.”

He rumbles, amused, his fingers giving my thigh one last squeeze under the table before he finally relents, leaning back into his chair just as the ten minutes expire.

Right on cue, the pavilion doors slide open again. The waiter returns, accompanied by a server carrying a sleek tray.

For him, it’s a perfectly prepared plate of Penne a la Vodka, the rich, fragrant tomato and cream sauce on top—a classic favorite of his. For me, they set down a stunning plate of truffle mushroom risotto, the rich aroma drifting up into the cool night air. Along with the food, a bottle of deep, ruby-red Amarone wine is uncorked.

The moment the staff disappears again, I reach for my glass, needing the liquid courage to combat the sheer heat radiating from my husband. I take a long, deep sip, the wine hitting me in the space of a breath, on an empty stomach. A soft, airy giggle escapes my lips as I set the glass back down.

“I can already feel myself drowning in this alcohol,” I tease, my cheeks flushing a pretty shade of pink.

“Careful, Dolcezza,” Zagreus murmurs, twirling a piece of penne onto his fork but keeping his grey eyes anchored firmly on mine. “Though I don’t mind you a little breathless and clumsy. It makes it easier to keep you right where I want you.”

“You’re terrible,” I whisper, taking a bite of my risotto, the rich flavor exploding on my tongue. “And completely shameless.”

“I’m a man who knows what he likes,” he says smoothly, taking a bite of his pasta, his gaze tracking the movement of my lips as I swallow. “And right now, all I can think about is how much better you taste than anything on these plates.”

My breath hitches, the blush spreading rapidly down my neck. “Zagreus, eat your dinner.”

He smirks, his eyes darkening. “I plan to. But the moment we are back inside, I’m going to open those gorgeous thighs of yours, spread your lower lips wide, and eat every single drop of you until you’re screaming my name under this sky.”

I look away, trying to hide the furious heat burning across my face, completely undone by just how ruthless my husband is when he wants something.

“You’re shameless.”

“When it comes to you? Yeah, I am.”

I roll my eyes, though my thighs clench tight. I can imagine him having his way with me.

I ignore his presence, or try to, as the waiter brings a plate of rich, dark chocolate fondant and sets it between us with a side of fresh cream and deep red strawberries resting on the edge.

I raise my brow. “Wow, you really want to get laid.”

He chuckles darkly. “Desperately.”